BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4)

by Juliette Jones

  Her smoky green eyes were rounded and shiny. She lay back, her tension easing, and her hands were in my hair, grabbing fistfuls. “Alexander,” she said. But this time there was no doubt in her voice. She said my name like I was a savior and a saint, not a debauched, hedonistic addict.

  I didn’t know what I was.

  But the metallic, liquid tang of her was new to me. The flavor and the experience blew over my soul like a breeze from wonderland. I feasted like a hunter consuming its prey. I wasn’t a scoundrel and I wasn’t a beast, but I was completely alive. She came several times and I barely noticed. I was entranced in mists of tenderness and need. And when it occurred to me to climb up her body and immerse myself in all that lovely, gory beauty, I lasted only minutes. Like some kind of Dracula-turned-Neanderthal, all I could think about was releasing my seed into that exquisite, ravenous mess. Nothing had ever felt so pure, or so real. I loved it I loved it I loved it.

  Even worse, I loved her. And I was going to keep her to myself and show her the best time of her life in Paris and London and New York and everywhere else. I was going to give her everything I had.

  I loved her.

  Fuck.

  She was curled up by the window, looking out at the moonlit clouds and the darkness of the night.

  “I can’t believe we’re flying over the middle of the ocean,” she said in her angel’s voice.

  She was nervous about flying. She’d never flown before and her vulnerabilities were more amplified tonight. She was naked, wrapped in a quilted down comforter. I was feeding her bites of filet mignon I’d asked the chef to prepare. Iron and protein, that’s what she needed at times like these, so I’d read somewhere. But she hadn’t eaten much. She sipped from a champagne flute.

  “I think we’ve just about reached the coast,” I told her. “Do you want to sleep a little?”

  “No. I can’t sleep.” She looked small and lost despite the plushness of her surroundings. I knew she’d never been off American soil before and that her excitement was laced with a tinge of unease. Something about her position, almost fetal with her arms hugging her bent knees like that, flicked up a haunting déjà vu. Of Jake, sitting just like that, at a window in our beach shack, watching – although I hadn’t known it at the time – for the predator that sometimes came in the night. I forced the image into the dark recesses of my mind, but the protective melancholy lingered. It wasn’t the first time the vulnerabilities in Lila reminded me of my brother, who I’d spent my entire life doggedly, fiercely safeguarding. And it made me wonder about her. About what her insecurities stemmed from.

  I’d already admitted to myself that I loved her.

  And I knew almost nothing about her.

  This was not terribly unusual. I’d been accused, more than once, of being disinterested and disengaged from my love interests of the past. Cold workaholic. Commitment phobic. Uncaring asshole. Self-absorbed prick. I’d been charged with every crime in the relationship book. And I’d accepted the accusations willingly. They were true, after all. I knew this about myself. Until now, I hadn’t really cared to change what I’d assumed was just a glitch in the mechanics of my soul.

  With Lila, though, I found I wanted to learn. Everything. All of it. I wanted to gently, carefully dig into the painful memories in her past, whatever they might be, and fix them. With sex and diamonds and lust and clothes and travel and excess, I wanted to ease whatever burdens she carried.

  For her, I wanted to learn how to love.

  What bothered me was that I didn’t have the first goddamn clue about how to go about doing this. Love was unchartered territory for me and I’ll admit the whole idea of it was fucking freaking me out. But at the same time, I was willing to step off the nearest cliff for this coiled up little nymphet with the mussed-up hair and the shadowed green eyes.

  Where to start? Something that might frame the bigger picture, maybe. A detail that would provide the beginnings of context. “Where were you born, Lila?” It sounded strange. Overly random. Out of place. But I was now committed to eking some of this story from her in an attempt to begin to get closer.

  She stared at me - glared, actually – and her mouth tightened into a puffy little pout. I could see that she had no intention of answering me.

  “I want some chocolate cake,” she said, and the youthful petulance had returned.

  All right. So she needed more time before she would let me past even barrier number one.

  I had time. I had all the time in the world.

  Several slices of cake had been served with the meals. As I went to retrieve them, I noticed the paper bag we’d brought, given to Lila after her appointment at the doctor earlier in the day. I opened the bag and took out one of the birth control pills she’d been prescribed.

  I sat down next to her, holding the pill up to her mouth. “Open,” I said. “You can wash it down with the champagne.”

  She obeyed and I placed the tiny pink pill on her tongue. She took a sip of champagne, swallowing it.

  “Now you can have your cake.” I fed her the chocolate cake, and she ate most of it. I wanted to make sure she was getting enough to eat. She seemed thinner than she had even a few days ago, possibly because we’d been having sex non-stop without taking regular breaks for meals. Something I would make sure to remedy once we got to France. I didn’t plan on compromising the frequency of our lovemaking, not at all. I had grand plans, in fact, that were gaining momentum in my mind. I had plans that were transforming the perpetual semi hard-on I sported in her company to a full-blown Goliath that was now straining uncomfortably against my belt buckle. I wore no shirt and I unfastened my pants. Her eyes were on me, only worsening the effect of my rampaging arousal.

  But I would make sure she was well fed. She could stand to put on a few pounds. And if there was anywhere in the world that was ideal for that particular goal, we were headed straight for it. All that butter and cheese and chocolate and bread. Sauces and fondue and wine and pastries. And I planned to feed it all to her myself, bite by gooey bite, as I gorged myself on her beauty and her pleasure.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked her, topping up her champagne. “What can I get you next?”

  She smiled, watching my face, taking another sip of her drink. “You’re so kind to me, Alexander. How did you get so kind?”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Was I kind? In my own mind, I felt ravenously selfish, fixated, desperate to do anything that would get me closer to her flawlessness. To partake in all the sensations of her was worth any amount of self-sacrifice. If that’s what kindness was, then I could do kindness.

  “I thought CEOs were supposed to be ruthless and insensitive,” she said, and the duvet slipped off her shoulder as she turned to me, exposing her milky-white skin, which cast its aura over my existence, bathing me in lusty devotion.

  The line of the quilted blanket slid lower, revealing the impossibly pert swell of her breast. Her nipple was the color of flesh and fantasy, perfectly shaped.

  “Oh, I’m very ruthless,” I said, unable to bear this separation any longer.

  She smiled, showing her white chicklet teeth. Her taunts were breathy and soft. “You’re not ruthless.”

  “I am,” I insisted, unwrapping the duvet, almost losing it completely at the sight of her opalescent nakedness.

  “Show me,” she said. “Show me how ruthless you are.”

  “Show you how ruthless I am,” I repeated, reclining her seat, separating her knees. I tugged gently on the fine white string and slid the small cotton plug from inside her body, wrapping it in a napkin and disposing of it. I let my pants fall to the floor and I kicked them away. I lifted her, sitting her onto my lap. “I’ll show you ruthless but I want you to see the lights.”

  She crawled onto me so her back was resting against my chest. I lifted her, opening her with my fingers, fitting my cock to the paradise of her hot hollow, sliding into her as she squirmed and gasped from the insistent depth of my invasion. She wanted rut
hless. I sunk myself to the hilt. I held her hips firmly against me as I rose deeper into her, without retreat. The tightness of her was indescribable, gripping me into her brutally snug, slippery embrace. She lay against me, her head lolling on my shoulder, allowing total possession, meeting my drives with acquiescent presses of her hips as she rocked back against me, arching her back in a submissive, rolling response.

  My fingers found her swollen little clit within the silken folds of her pussy, which I teased and played as my other hand fondled those magic nipples. I bit gently against the fuzzed, dewy skin at the back of her neck, thrusting again and again into heaven until her pussy tightened around me with almost excruciating beauty, forcing the spooling pleasure from my cock in violent, rhythmic throbs. My ecstasy was complete.

  “Look,” I gasped, holding her head.

  Lila gave a delicate huff of delight.

  It only seemed appropriate that the first time she saw the lights of Paris, she was coming.

  eBooks now available on Amazon:

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 1) by Juliette Jones

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 2) by Juliette Jones

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) by Juliette Jones

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 5) by Juliette Jones

  Coming soon to Amazon:

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 6 & Part 7) by Juliette Jones

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 8 & Part 9) by Juliette Jones

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 3)

  Lila

  Alexander

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 4)

  Lila

  Alexander

  Other books