Backseat With The Billionaire

by Lilah May

  Not one to be fazed, she asks nonchalantly, “So, Coach. What’s on the training menu?”

  You are.

  CHAPTER 16

  LISA

  “We have to start with stretches. I don’t want you pulling a muscle.”

  The sight of him naked has made me hot with desire, bringing back all that sexual tension, or just sex, from the car ride up to the city.

  Honestly, when I caught him, I had been sneaking a peek, too. Since that night at the grocery, I could only imagine the rippling muscles hidden beneath his suit.

  I know I shouldn’t have looked, but I couldn’t stop myself, hoping I would catch a glimpse of his tight ass and wide muscular back.

  But I ended up with a whole lot more. Eight whole inches more. And it wasn’t even at full mast.

  Yet.

  Now with his shorts on, I can see every inch of his massive size through the tight material.

  I can barely wrench my eyes away from it before my gaze wanders upwards, that sexy pelvic V sitting right above, followed by his washboard abs, his pecs perfect slabs, his bulging shoulders, the veins running down his corded arms.

  Every part of his body is perfectly defined, brimming with incredible strength and dangerous power. But while I’m looking at him, I can feel his hungry eyes all over me, his intense stare lighting a fire between my legs.

  Is this why he brought me here? We’re both half naked, and now we are about to get real close and personal. Was this his plan all along?

  The outfit he picked for me is perfect in that it was one size too small.

  It squeezes my boobs together, making them look huge. My butt bubbles out, perfectly round.

  Did he pick it out on purpose? Not that I mind. I like it when an outfit shows off my best attributes and he obviously knows what my best attributes are.

  I feel exposed in such a skimpy outfit, but when normally I would feel embarrassed, the way Bobby looks at me makes me feel proud.

  While we stretch, he has me bending and twisting every which way, his strong hands guiding my stiff body through the motions.

  I want him to touch me more, accidentally in very inappropriate places, but he keeps it professional.

  Great, now he’s turned me into a horny housewife. He took me out tonight because he felt sorry for me. What’s wrong with me? I was the one who said we couldn’t do things like that. And here I am wishing he would cop a feel like a cat in heat.

  “Alright, we’re all set. Now, normally I would teach you how to punch and kick. But against larger opponents, it’s not very effective. So I’ll teach you close combat training.”

  I like the sound of that. I can’t deny how sexy he looks shirtless and how much I want to feel his hard body against mine.

  “OK, grab my forearm. Pretend you’re the assailant and I’ll defend.” I grab his arm, feeling the thick cords of muscle rippling beneath the skin. Suddenly, I’m looking at the ceiling and falling to the floor.

  But before I hit the canvas, his powerful arms are under me, and he lowers me slowly. He kneels next to me, hovering over me, his face full of concern. “Sorry. Are you OK.?”

  “Looks like you swept me off my feet.” I smile to show him no harm was done.

  “Yup, and looks like I made you fall for me.” He smiles back, relieved. “Sorry about that. I used too much strength.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” I answer.

  But then, his eyes grow dark. “But I want to take this seriously. I want you to know how to defend yourself. Thinking about what might’ve happened back at the bar if I hadn’t been there … it scares me. I don’t know what I’d do.”

  He doesn’t look scared, though. If he does, he looks scared of what he’d do, what he’d turn into. Instead of looking scared, he just looks scary.

  And angry. Not at me. But at himself or maybe the drunk guy or the invisible attacker who would be unlucky to pick me as a target.

  For the second time tonight, I sense something dangerous in him boiling right below the surface. Just like the dangerous power I felt rippling through his magnificent body, I feel something darker concealed behind those piercing brown eyes of his.

  That hidden nature, the unknown, it stirs something strange within me.

  It makes my skin tingle and my heart race. But I can’t. I shouldn’t.

  “I care about you so much, it makes me go crazy. You’re special to me, don’t you know that?” He gathers me up and hugs me, enveloping me in his arms, snuggling me against his bare chest.

  All my memories of him flash through my head. Lazy summers by the pool when he would try to make me laugh by doing some ridiculous backflip of the diving board. Late nights when I was worried about Donald coming home late, he would distract me with the latest silly app game he made.

  Just hours earlier when he appeared out of nowhere and saved me from those drunks. He’s always been there for me, always by my side, always making me feel better, keeping me alive while Donald kept killing me.

  “Oh, Bobby. You’re so special to me, too. There will never be anyone who could replace you in my life.” It’s true. I never thought about it, how close we were, how much he still means to me.

  What would I do without him?

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt anymore.”

  Anymore? When did he see me getting hurt before? Is he talking about the bar earlier? Or something else?

  But then, he kisses me and all the unnecessary thoughts are thrown out the window, replaced by simple lust and desire. Instinctively, I part my lips, letting his probing tongue slip through. And all at once I’m tasting him.

  He taste sweet like honey, like chocolate caramel, and it floods my mouth. Like an addict getting their fix, my body starts to feel light and my head feels like it’s floating.

  I smell the remnants of his aftershave, a light spicy scent. I hear the sloppy wetness of our tongues crashing into each other, intertwining. His strong fingers pressing into my waist, my fingernails digging into his back.

  I have to stop this. This is exactly what I told myself not to do. But my body is too weak to push away, my mind too weak to control myself.

  All I can do is whimper a soft “No. Please stop.” and Bobby stops for me, surprisingly. For a second, I can’t think, I can’t form a cohesive sentence. “That was — I can’t — we shouldn’t ...”

  “You have to stop saying that. It’s getting less and less believable.”

  “Bobby. You know we shouldn’t do this. We can’t do this.”

  “I don’t see why not. You like it, I like it. We’re just two adults doing what we enjoy.”

  “Because Bobby, we can’t just do it and leave. We’re family. We can’t just go back to that after we cross that line.” Doesn’t he understand what that means?

  “I’m not one to dwell in the past. I only look forward.” What is he saying? Isn’t all this just an accident? Some uncontrollable urge? A horny boy and a horny mom getting too close? Is he saying he wants more than just sex?

  This is more dangerous than I thought. I have to put a stop to this before he gets too serious.

  “Please. Bobby. Listen to me. If you really do love me, don’t do this.” I try to act like I won’t yield, but my voice gives me away, unsure just like my body which wants him more than anything else.

  “Whatever you want to do. I’ve waited this long already, I can wait a few days more.” He shrugs, that twinkle in his eye back, a spark that I couldn’t extinguish no matter how much I protested.

  I ignore the fact that he said he’s been waiting for so long because I know if I think about it, my willpower would crumble and I would let him take me right here in the arena.

  “I think that technique might be a little too advanced for me. How about something simple? Something I could learn tonight and use right away.” I try to distract myself but something has awakened within us.

  We both know we want each other and now we’re just doing our best to hold in these taboo urges. But I
know it won’t last.

  We have to have each other. We crave each other’s touch. We’re addicted.

  CHAPTER 17

  LISA

  “OK. You’re right. Let’s keep it simple.”

  He acts as though he’s obeying my wishes, but I know he didn’t listen to a word I said, his roguish grin making him look so devilishly handsome.

  “There’s two weak points on any man, no matter how big he is. The first one is his nose. If he leans in close like this,” he puts his face inches away from mine, holding it there longer than he needs to.

  I could feel his breath on me, making me think about the kiss we just shared before, my knees growing weak with every passing second. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

  “You use your forehead, right here,” he pokes the top of my head, “and smash it against his nose, right here.” He taps the bridge of his nose. “Try doing it slowly.”

  I move my head forward and bump it against his nose. “That won’t hurt him much. Like baseball, you gotta wind up and then pitch.” He shows me by example, pulling his head far back and then like a rubber band, his head shoots forward and for a split second, I think he’s going to smash straight into my nose.

  But he doesn’t. He stops a millimeter away, his neck muscles straining to hold back his astounding strength. “Now, you try.” I pitch my head back before lurching forward, building up the momentum, my forehead racing towards his nose, only to realize in the middle, I can’t stop myself like he did.

  But right before I smack him on the nose, his hand flashes between us and catches my head. “Good job. That was perfect.”

  He kisses me on the forehead. “Even if you don’t break his nose, you should be able to stun him, which sets you up for the next part.”

  “Which is?”

  “The nut smash.” I giggle. “It might seem funny, but it’s the one advantage you ladies hold over us men. One good blow to the balls could send a man to the ground, crippled with pain. You can use your knee, your foot, or your leg. You can even use your fists, but it’ll be less effective. The main ingredient is swing whatever you can as hard as you can, straight between his legs.”

  He pulls out a practice punch mitt from his bag and slips it onto his hand. “We don’t want to have an unfortunate accident so let’s practice on these.”

  He holds it out and I swing my leg upwards, but the impact is so soft, it barely makes a sound. “Here, what you want to do is bend your knee and snap that leg forward. It gives you the speed and the strength you need to make it hurt.”

  This time when I hit the pad, it makes a crack as my foot connects.

  “Jesus. Those legs of yours aren’t just for show, are they?”

  “You can’t take the soccer out of a soccer player and you sure as hell can’t take the kickass out of one.”

  “With enough training, you could probably kick my ass, especially with those legs.”

  “Did you forget how I used to win every wrestling match when you were young? All I had to do was get these things around you,” I smack my thighs, “and you’d surrender every time.”

  “That’s not how I remember it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I let you win so that I could get you to sit on top of me. The view was great from down there.” He winks at me.

  “Care for a rematch?” I don’t wait for an answer before tackling him to the ground. I doubt I would’ve been able to take him down if he hadn’t let me. If he had resisted, it probably would’ve felt like running into a brick wall.

  With him on his back, I lay on top of him, my tits squished between our bodies. As I wriggle my way up his body, my hard nipples drag over each protruding ridge of his perfectly defined eight pack.

  I sit up, straddling him around the waist. Something hot and hard pokes me in my butt. Is that what I think it is? The blood rushes to my head and my pussy burns with heat.

  Can he feel it? How hot he makes me? I glance at him, and his eyes aren’t looking at me, they’re looking at my tits.

  I look down, finally noticing one of them has popped out of the tank top, the white globe hanging freely, my nipples hard, plain for him to see.

  I can feel his cock grow harder, pressing against my ass. Before I can cover myself up, he grabs my waist and in one smooth motion flips me over onto my back and pins my arms down so I can’t move.

  It only makes me wetter as he looks down at me, eyeing my tits like candy.

  “You used to try to suffocate me into giving up and I would pretend I was struggling so that you would keep doing it, like this.” He leans down and buries his face in my breasts, squeezing my shoulders together and trapping his face between the mountains of flesh.

  He shakes his head, pretending he can’t breathe, his stubble prickling the sensitive skin of my exposed tit. He lets up a little before dragging his lips across my hard nipple.

  And I let out a whimper, wishing he would take it in his mouth and bite on it like he did the first night. But of course, he doesn’t.

  “Bobby, please. No more. I thought I told you—“

  Wait, is that a cough I heard?

  I crane my neck this way and that, peering into the darkness. As my eyes adjust, I finally notice the silhouettes of people sitting in the stands.

  People! And they’re watching us. How long were they watching for? How much did they see?

  Enough. They saw enough.

  “Bobby, there’s people here!” I should be mad at him for letting other people see me like this. But for some reason, I’m not. For some reason, it makes me feel hot and my pussy drips even more.

  I thought I didn’t look sexy enough for Bobby, much less a crowd of people. But the fact that they had been watching turns me on to no end.

  “So what? They’ve been there for awhile,” he remarks nonchalantly.

  His huge hands clamp down on my tits, squeezing them, my hard nipples jutting into his palm. His touch is possessive, his greedy fingers digging deep into the tender flesh, his strong grip hurts a little but it also makes me squirm.

  “What’re you doing?” I manage to hiss.

  “Well, you don’t want them to see your tits, right?” They already saw, though. They had all been staring at my naked breast. Even now, the faceless strangers were watching my breasts be groped by his persistent hands.

  Could they see my erect nipples imploring to be pinched?

  “And that’s how you want to cover them up?”

  “In my mind, there seems to be no better way.”

  “How about the shirt that belongs over it, not under it?”

  “I couldn’t get it to work. Pretty complicated piece of equipment.”

  “You don’t know how to use a shirt?”

  “You could give it a try. That is, if you want to surrender?”

  “OK. OK. I surrender. I give.” He rolls off of me and I immediately stand to look around. They were watching me, some 40-year-old woman wrestling half naked.

  Did they like what they saw? Am I really attractive enough to hold the attention of an arena that’s filling up by the minute?

  Catcalls and whistles echo from the stands. I don’t believe it. They were watching me, cheering me. Even though it was for my boobs, it still felt good.

  I thought I’d feel dirty as a stripper, but I feel proud. Especially with Bobby standing next to me. He makes me feel like I’m sexy no matter what, even half-naked.

  And I realize I’m still half-naked. I quickly slip my boob back in my shirt and readjust my shorts. I didn’t even try to cover myself up right away.

  I feel different, now. I am different, now. Before I might’ve even cried from the embarrassment. But now, I’m standing proudly in front of a crowd, showing off my body to strangers.

  Is this because of Bobby? Did his attention, his desire, infuse me with this newfound self-confidence?

  “And the winner by sexy submission is The Hottest MILF on the Planet, Lisa Howard!” Bobby shouts as he raises my arm to the roar of the crowd, accented by ev
en more catcalls and whistling.

  They liked it. They liked what they saw! My whole body’s tingling and I can see my nipples poking through the tank top.

  Was I always that kind of girl? Am I a pervert? Is this my fetish? Who the hell cares whether there were people watching or not?

  When I’m with Bobby, it feels good no matter what we do or where we do it. He hands me my dress and whispers in my ear “I wish we could’ve finished what we started.”

  I rush off to the changing room, the applause still echoing behind me.

  CHAPTER 18

  LISA

  After I fix my hair and makeup, I put my dress back on. When I leave the room, the crowd is even bigger and louder. The place is packed.

  But where’s Bobby?

  “Excuse me, Ms. Howard?” A boy in a black polo with the arena logo sewn onto the chest, stands next to the room as if he was waiting for me.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m to escort you to your seat.”

  “Where’s Bobby?”

  “He says it’s a surprise.” A surprise?

  I follow the boy to the front row, floor seats, 10 feet away from the ring. The seat next to me is occupied by an aging man in a fedora. All he needs is pipe and a monocle to complete the set.

  As soon as I sit down, he turns to me.

  “Hey, I’m Fred. Do you feel it? The excitement in the air? This is gonna be one of the greatest fights yet.” His eyes are sparkling like a boy at the candy store, except his candy was blood and violence.

  And I’m not sure if I like that.

  “Hi, Fred. I’m Lisa. I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

  “You mean you’re not here for the Barbarian? Everyone’s here for him. Even though we’ve got an amazing card tonight. It’s ridiculously stacked with three, and I mean THREE, championship bouts.”

  “Wow.” It’s about all I can muster. The Barbarian? What a stupid name.

  “I mean, all professional Mixed Martial Arts athletes dedicate their lives to the sport, and they put their neck on the line every time they step into the cage. But the fighters tonight are on a totally different level, they are at the top of the sport and are no doubt the fastest, the strongest, the greatest fighters IN THE WORLD.” He should do commercials for the promotion company. He’s almost getting me hyped up.