Big Bad Billionaires

by Naughty Aphrodite

  Chapter 5

  HARPER

  I arrived at Jordan’s penthouse the following Friday. I had always seen these towers on my way to and from work, but I never had the luxury of going inside one of them. I called Jordan once I parked my car. “Go ahead and walk through the front door. Let the security guard know that you are here to see me and he will buzz you in.”

  “Really? All of that for visitors?”

  “This is a very secure building,” he said, laughing. “The only way you will get inside is if you were invited. That’s it.”

  “So, I guess I should feel lucky then, huh?”

  “Lucky? If anybody is lucky, it is me. Go ahead and let security buzz you in. I’ll be upstairs waiting.”

  He hung up before I could respond to him. His comment made me blush, but he would never know that. Gloria was upset that I didn’t even speak to him regarding the community center on our last date. I tried to tell her that I was waiting for the right time, but she didn’t want to understand that. I didn’t tell her about this date, either. I knew she would hound me from the time I got here until I left, making sure that I mentioned something to him about the community center. I didn’t want it to go down, but I had a feeling that it was out of my hands.

  I stepped inside of the building. Soft jazz music bounced off the walls as soon as I walked in. The security guard was buff, but he was an older guy, dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt and a badge right on the front. His voice was sonorous when I approached the desk. “Hello, miss. Who are you here to see?”

  “Jordan. Jordan Hilton.”

  “One moment, please.” He grabbed his phone and called Jordan. Moments later, he hung up and walked me to the elevator. “He is on the 20th floor. He has the only suit on that floor, so just knock on the first door you see.”

  “Thank you.”

  The elevator ride was smooth from bottom to top. Mirrors were positioned on each wall as small lights decorated the top of the elevator near the ceiling. My heartbeat sped up as the elevator rose higher. I wondered what the night would be like I kept my eyes above, looking at each floor number light up as I traveled higher. I gripped a hold of my purse once I made it to the top floor.

  The doors opened slowly, and as soon as I stepped off, gray, marbled floors covered the hallway. A large door was straight ahead, and to the side of it, there were two plants with branches sprouting high towards the ceiling. They were like miniature palm trees as I stepped between them and knocked on the door.

  Jordan opened it, and as he stood on the other side, he smiled and winked. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said as he welcomed me in. There was a fish tank to my right as soon as I walked inside. Large fish swam about like they were in a small aquarium. On the other side of the tank, there was a spacious front room decked out with a large, plush sectional on top of a white rug. He reached for my jacket. “May I?” he asked politely.

  I removed my arms out of the coat as he slid it off and hung it in the closet near the front door. The penthouse smelled like lobster, shrimp, and seasoned crab legs as he led me into the front room. A large window was positioned on the wall, allowing me to see the Dallas skyline in the distance. My heels clicked on the marble floor as I walked to the window. “This… this is beautiful,” I said as I looked outside.

  He stood beside me with his hands folded behind his back. “Yeah, I guess it is. I mean, you get used to it when you live here, though.”

  “I could never get used to this.”

  “Sir, dinner is ready,” the chef said as he stepped out of the kitchen with his chef’s hat on and a white smock.

  “Just in time,” Jordan said as he escorted me to the kitchen. The table was covered with king crab legs, lobster, shrimp, and crawfish. My mouth watered as he pulled the chair out for me. “Did I get it right?” he asked as I took my seat.

  My eyes were wide as if I was trying to see everything at once. “Yes, yes. I am impressed. You stalker.”

  I winked at him as he laughed and took a seat beside me at the large kitchen table. “Yeah, well, I guess I will be a stalker then. It got you here, didn’t it?”

  “Am I going to have to call the police?”

  He cleared his throat, and with that, the chef dimmed the lights and lit a few candles that were on the table. Soft Jazz music picked up through the surround sound moments after the front door closed. “Well, I guess the mood is set.”

  He poured a glass of wine for both of us, and we began eating.

  Our date started exactly where the last one left off. We spoke over the phone a few times throughout the week before I was set to come over here, so I felt as if I knew him better than before. When we finished eating, we both had a few glasses of wine in our systems. We relaxed on the sectional as he massaged my foot while it was rested on his leg.

  “Yes, right there,” I said as I dipped my head back. “I haven’t felt any hands on my feet like this in a long time.”

  “That is hard to believe.”

  “Well, believe it.”

  As my eyes were closed, I felt him lift my foot higher. When I opened them, he had slid my toes into his mouth. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, “wait,” I said, softly. “Wait.” But he didn’t stop. His hand moved up my thigh until his fingers brushed against my vagina. A tingling rush shot through my leg as his finger stroked the outside of my panties. The will to resist was non-existent as he moved his lips up my leg.

  I moaned deeply as my breathing increased. When I opened my eyes, he was on top of me, shirtless. His tattoos decorated his chest like graffiti as I pressed my hands against it. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer to me, pressing my lips against his. He wrestled with his pants until they were loose enough for him to discard them. “Wait,” I said, catching my breath. “Just wait. Where… where is–” the pleasure came back as soon as he slid his finger back to my vagina.

  My panties were soaked as he stuck his finger inside of me. I moaned as my breathing increased. My mouth hung open like a garage door as he stroked my clit back and forth, then pressed his lips against mine again. His lips twirled around my breasts, licking my erected nipples like they were Hershey’s kisses. I reached down and felt his dick, hard and pulsating. He brushed it against my pussy, teasing me. Pretending as if he was going to go in, just to stop and smile. He wanted me to beg for it.

  “Slide it in,” I said, softly. “Put that dick in my fuckin’ pussy.”

  Just then, I heard a rip, and as I looked down, he was stroking his dick as he slid the condom in place. I breathed heavier as I dipped my head back onto the cushion and as a tidal wave poured from my vagina, he slid right inside of me. He put his hands around my throat as I wrapped my legs around his waist. His muscles bulged as he held me down. His biceps rippled, his pecs bounced, his abs were defined as I ran my fingers over them.

  Suddenly, he ripped my legs off his waist and pinned them back on the couch as he pounded me. My titties bounced up and down as I closed my eyes, wincing from the pain of ecstasy. I could feel his dick in my stomach as he went to work. I was getting fucked by Jordan, and it was better than I could’ve imagined.

  ***

  The day had finally come for the building to get demolished. Jordan and I had begun a steady relationship over the past few weeks, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from moving forward with his plans. We stood outside in the parking lot, far away from where the wrecking balls and other machines that were set up to complete the destruction of the community center.

  We kept our relationship quiet for now to keep people from talking, but more importantly, to keep Gloria from thinking I was a traitor for not doing anything to stop him. Jordan stood next to me as I wiped tears from my eyes, “I can’t believe this is happening,” I said as I stood in the parking lot with my hand covering my mouth. It felt like a part of my life was being ripped away from me and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “You know you don’t have to be here,” he said in a concerned
tone.

  “No,” I sniffled. “No, I want to be here for the end. I need to be here for that.”

  The destruction crew counted down, and when they got to one, the large wrecking ball crashed into the side of the building like a bowling ball. It sounded as if dynamite had exploded and as I jumped backward, Jordan wrapped his arm around me, doing his best to calm me down. “Come on,” he said as he led me away from the parking lot. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  “No,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes. “No, I said I want to stay here.”

  “Harper, just come on. Please.” After a little bit of resistance, I finally gave in and got into his car. “Kurt, can you take me to the um, the other location, please?”

  He smiled, and in moments, we pulled away from the wreck. Crocodile tears rolled down my cheeks as Jordan scooted closer to me. I didn’t want anything to do with him right now. I scooted away as I wiped the stream of tears from my eyes. The car stopped almost ten minutes later and sat idle in the middle of a parking lot. Without saying a word, Jordan exited the car and left the door open, waiting for me to get out. “Come on,” he said after he realized I wouldn’t get out on my own.

  I huffed and exited the vehicle. “What do you think of that?” he said, pointing towards a new building that sat on a hill almost a hundred yards away.

  I sniffled, “it’s just a stupid building, Jordan. Who cares?”

  “Well,” he said as Kurt turned off the engine and stood beside us. “I was thinking about opening a community center right there. I mean, it's not too far from the old one. The only problem is, I don’t know of any directors that would be willing to run it for me. Do you?”

  My cries stifled as I looked at him, then at the building on the hill. I wiped my eyes, “are you serious, Jordan? This… this is going to be another community center?”

  He laughed. “I just purchased it last week. I wanted it to be a surprise, you know?”

  “Seriously? This is not a joke?”

  “Nope. Not a joke. This is your new community center. Now, I trust that you can run this without–”

  I leaped into his arms, nearly knocking him to the ground as I squeezed him as tight as I could. Just when I thought things were coming to an end, Jordan proved me wrong yet again. That’s what I loved the most about him. He always seemed to do the opposite of what I expected, and he never disappointed. “Um, Harper,” he said, “Harper, can you loosen up a little bit? You are squeezing me kind of tight. Harper? Harper?”

  THE END

  Ambivalent Heart

  Chapter 1

  So here we were, on our first day of College; or more realistically, our first day of lectures. Fresher’s week had been chaotic; UV raves at the student’s union, foam parties, and copious amounts of drinking. We’d made friends with our fellow dorm mates, and gone through the usual spiel of explaining that Tim and I had come to university as a couple and this would be our first time living together. Although we had separate dorm rooms, we spent every night in the same, small dorm, with a single bed, a small desk and chair, and a little sink which seemed to aggressively splutter water out every time you turned it on.

  Tim’s room down the hall was basically unused; we pretty much just stored our stuff in there, which freed up the much-needed space of my tiny dorm room where we slept.

  Throughout the foam parties, UV paint and drinking, I felt like something of an observer, rather than an active participant in the drunken shenanigans and debauched sexual stories. For most people, this was the first time they’d lived away from home, and that meant it was party time. No parents, no rules, just a bunch of horny teenagers drinking and having the time of their lives.

  But now fresher’s week had ended, and lectures had begun. The infamous ‘fresher’s flu’ had taken its toll on the campus, that - in combination with the week of drinking a partying - meant that the lecture hall was made up of a collection of weary, lethargic looking students; lamenting the week-long holiday they’d just endured, and the reality of studying for three years, which was about to begin.

  I wondered if I was the only one who was glad that fresher’s week was over. For me, it wasn’t nights of booze-fuelled antics and sexual encounters, but one of profound loneliness. I wanted to dance in the foam, drink myself sick and experiment with the cute boys I’d seen around campus; but I couldn’t. Though we tried to join in with the drinking games, once people realized Tim and I were a couple, we were treated differently. Sure, we’d made friends with the people in our hall, but everyone knew that we’d be the first ones to turn in during a night out; guys who chatted to me seemed to lose interest once they realized I was there with Tim, and the same applied to him. It’s not that I wanted anything to happen, it was more the freedom of possibility that I wanted; the freedom to not know how a night might end.

  Anyway, fresher’s week had ended. Soon, normality would resume, and I’d be able to focus on completing my degree, and my relationship with Tim. I loved him, and for the last three years, he’d been my rock. We’d spent some of the best parts of our high school years together. I wasn’t about to throw all of that away for a drunken fumble with a horny student.

  I sat at the front of the lecture hall, my eyes focused on the tutor. He was explaining how the semester would pan out, what books to buy and which ones to avoid. Though I tried to pay attention, my thoughts were wandering wildly, wondering what fresher’s week would have been like if Tim and I had decided to go to different Universities.

  Come on Cara, stay focused.

  The lecturer - Mr. Osidipe - which he said was pronounced ‘Oss-ee-dih-pee’ was a tall African man, with an unusually stoic nature about himself. His explanations were succinct, powerful and confident, wildly throwing his hands about as he spoke.

  “I am not just a tutor. I am here to guide you through every step of this course. I will encourage open debate and forum. The last thing I want is to be yet another tutor who stands in front of his students, says a few words, clicks through a few PowerPoint slides, and then expects them to regurgitate it later in an essay,” Mr. Osidipe explained.

  I looked down at my notes, realizing I’d barely written two lines.

  “The advancement of knowledge comes from each and every one of you exploring new ideas, studying new ways of thinking; it does not come from simply repeating what has been said countless times before.”

  I looked across at Tim, who sat idly staring around at the sullen faces of the freshers. He didn’t believe in taking notes. He believed that his subconscious mind would simply absorb all the information he needed, and he’d be able to use it later. It was that kind of thinking that meant we were doing a Criminology course together, instead of Forensic Psychology. His grades just simply weren’t up to scratch, but mine were. We compromised, and now here I was, surrounded by sneezing students and listening to Mr. Osidipe’s meandering philosophy about the process of learning.

  ***

  “The Stanford County Prison Guard experiments showed that anybody –when given authority- has the potential for sociopathic behavior,” Mr. Osidipe spoke. “It also showed that the institution of imprisonment has the potential to propagate and create criminal behavior.”

  The seminar had been an interesting one so far. Mr. Osidipe had separated us into two groups, one labeled as ‘Guards’ and the other as ‘Prisoners’. The prisoners were not allowed to leave their desks, nor move their thumbs from the tables, whilst the guards had to ensure that none of the prisoners moved their thumbs or left their tables; if they did so, they could subject them to the punishment of writing the line “I am a criminal”, as many times as they deemed fit.

  I had been labeled a ‘Prisoner’ and had been assigned a guard. After my thumbs began to ache, I moved one slightly, without removing it from the table. My guard - a tall, dark-haired man - demanded that I write ten lines. I protested my innocence. He increased the punishment to one hundred lines. Eventually, I began throwing my pens at my guard, and - lik
e many others - became angry and unruly, as the guards handed out harsher and harsher punishments.

  Mr. Osidipe’s micro-demonstration of the Stanford County Prison Guard experiments was quite effective. As criminals, we became angry, insubordinate, some even tipped over their tables. As guards, we became cruel, loud and demanding.

  I personally remembered my guard - whose name was Nathan - and the cocky smirk upon his face as he doled out punishments. There seemed an arrogance about him that I did not like, a cocksure attitude possessed by entitled public school boys with wealthy parents. Despite Mr. Osidipe’s demonstration being little more than a microcosm of a wider societal issue, I still harbored resentment for Nathan.

  I told myself not to be childish; it was just a game, nothing serious. Let it go and move on.