Erotic Romance Box Sets: Midnight Lily: A Billionaire’s Romantic Love Story (Book 1-3)

by Marian Middleton

  Lubricated by my passion for an orgasm, I pushed my crotch harder into his cock and thought of the men I would rather be fucking. My slim pussy was prodded and penetrated by his jubilant meaty cock and I thought of Brad Pitt in the movie Fight Club where he wore nothing but his skin and the sexy musk of manliness. I smoldered over the thought of his chiseled-sexy body pressing against mine and his tender moist lips kissing mine and stimulating my hot and pulsating tender pussy, slipping his finger into me and biting my neck. I even had a flash-thought of Angelia crawling in with us and kissing my ears, head and eyelids with those magnificent sensual lips of hers. I imagined Brad Pitt running his big manly hands over my pert pouting breasts and tickling my slim supple belly with his fingers as he runs them down to caress my pussy. I imagine he kisses me with the ferocity of a lion and the passion of a real man burning with desire. So strong is my imagining that I let out a gaping sigh and my pussy tightens and shudders at the thought of being penetrated by Brad.

  What felt like seconds was over in minutes, which is surprising given the amount he had drunk. I was expecting at least a solid ten minutes. Only my emotions and raw desire for an orgasm was what got me to climax. He pulled it out and spurted warm cum all over my silky smooth leg before moving back and laying back on the bed. I’m glad he was drunk. I would hate for him to know I orgasmed. He would take the credit for the weather if he had a weather balloon, and I do not want him taking credit for my orgasm. I had to work for it, and I’m taking credit for it.

  CHAPTER 5: The Morning After

  I wake and look around the room. His dried cum has stuck part of my leg to the pink satin sheets. I have a sore throat because I slept on my back and probably snored. I wake in a daze. I remember having sex, but only when I look down my bed do I realize whom it was with.

  Paul is lying at the bottom of my bed like a horny Alsatian. He looks disheveled, as if he has just swam a marathon and dried up on the beach in the hot sun. He looks as pathetic as I always knew he was. All of his pomp and attitude is just another facet in his pointless charmless personality.

  I let out a sigh of exasperation, peel the satin sheet from my slender leg and arch my legs over the sheets to make my way to the edge of the bed. It is warm, and my naked body glistens with a sheen of moisture because I have laid sweating and writhing as I slept. My feet carefully caress the floor as they land like a surreptitious panther. I slip on a pair of frilly-white knickers and shuffle around to find a shirt I remember throwing on the floor. Stella, one of the hotter of the housemaids, must have taken it to be cleaned.

  I ferret out a thin white top and slip it on. Last night he had me--body but not soul. Yet…I am embarrassed for him to see me naked…again. I suppose I still see him as my horrible stepbrother and not as a man. I leave and hide around the grounds with my AK47 rifle.

  I shoot the apples off the apple trees and throw them to the wild rabbits that hop around the brush moor area within our garden. I want to hide, but I want to let him know I am not hiding, so I make sure I fire off a few rounds every few minutes to give away my location. Shooting apples helps me forget what I have just done, and helps get my mind of the fact I will have to talk to him at some point.

  I wish I were one of the rabbits on our grounds. They get to hump whomever they want and they don’t have to live with them and worry they will tell their dads. I wish I could take this gun and blow his brains out just to stop him talking. Luckily, I won’t need to. I am not tooting my own horn, but I am a beautiful, young and proud-breasted woman, and all Paul can pull are tarts. There is no way anybody will believe I could stoop as low as him. I may be a scumbag kid with a shithouse mother from out of the gutter, but as a woman, I am superior to a pointless little worm like Paul--and everyone knows it.

  The sun is starting to go down, so I return the gun back to the closest gun cabinet and sneak up to my room. I am thrilled to see that it has been cleaned by the maids and the covers have been changed. I am so happy that I almost skip back to my phone, when the door opens a crack and a figure enters my room.

  CHAPTER 6: An Unexpected Visitor In My Bedroom

  It is Stella, the kinda-hot maid that seems to specialize in my room. We have over 16 house staff on full-time and probably over 30 on part-time. I know I am supposed to be attracted to the male gardeners, but Spanish men have never been my thing…even husky grizzled ones with toned chests and sexy chest hair. I have seen my mum giving them the eye now and again. If it were not for the fact the gardeners talk, she would have been sliding down the poles of at least three of them. They could easily slip their pickaxe into a hoe like her and maybe even dig out her dirt tunnel if she has had a drink. Still, I am sure she hasn’t done anything with them because she is scared witless of losing Steve’s money.

  Stella is some sort of Latino. Most of the house staff are Latino women, but Stella must only be 18 if anything. I think the head maid must make her do my room because she is the closest to my age, or because they do not care about me and so send the youngest staff member in to collect and return my laundry.

  Stella arrives with a linen bag of my panties and socks. She excuses herself and makes her way to my drawers. “Hey,” I say inquisitively. “Was it you that took my bed sheets today?”

  She looks at me furtively and then looks down as she arranges my socks in the drawers. “Yes,” she mumbles. Stella is normally more chatty, but isn’t really making conversation.

  “You alright?” I ask, but she brushes off my statement, so I gently enquire, “Did you see my sheets?”

  Stella stops what she is doing for a second and quietly says, “It none of my business.” I feel a little affronted, so I reply, “What is up with you today? Are you not my friend anymore?”

  The sound of the word “Friend” seems to reignite the Stella I used to know, i.e. the woman I hoped was actually becoming my friend. “Oh…yeah…” she smiles and says, “I was just in a funny mood.” Her face is flush with a cute smile. Her dark and seductive eyes are filled with happiness again and her face is awash with embarrassed pink tinting.

  I slide in close and stand next to her to whisper, “I had sex with Paul.”

  Still smiling, Stella looks at me and says, “Oh, is that a good thing?” but the tone of her voice said, “Eeeeeiwwww!!!!”

  I laugh a little and say, “No, not really…he kisses like a wet baboon.” Stella giggles girlishly and continues arranging my socks. “Have you ever kissed him?” I enquire.

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t, he keeps trying it on with the maids, even the old ones, but my boss would kill me and I need this job.”

  I lean over and whisper, “To be honest, he was such a bad fuck, that I would have rather have been kissing you.”

  Stella brushes off my comment as if it were a joke, because it was a joke, I think. But, I do like how plump her cute teenage lips are, and I love the fact that she is slim but still has two perky little boobies to play with. She is such a nice friend, but I must admit, I do sometimes wish we could hug a little. Maybe not have sex, but I just want to feel close to her. She is so nice and so sweet, I just want to wrap her in cotton wool and protect her from all the scumbags I know are going to use her.

  After a short silence, I ask, “Could you do me a favor?” She looks at me as if she had heard that line a thousand times from a thousand different sex-starved men. I lean in and say, “Listen, to be honest, I am a little upset by what happens, and you are the only person I can tell. I was hoping, maybe not now, but maybe that because I feel bad…that you may give me a little hug.”

  “Ooh”, she says, relieved, “Okay” she smiles and nips in for a friendly girly hug. I wrap my arms around her tiny skinny frame and we embrace. She tries to pull away a little after a second or two, but I hold on and she doesn’t resist. I hold her with my head besides her and I take a deep intoxicating whiff of her neck and hair and I exhale with a gentle hum. I hold onto her firmly and she tries to move away ever so slightly but I do not let go.

  I turn a
nd twist my head and neck a little and I look her straight in the eye. She looks back and begins to appear nervous. I lean in and kiss her soft velvety lips and taste her sweet mouth. For two or three seconds she lets me kiss her innocent softhearted and gentle lips before pulling her head back. She is so close that I cannot see her as my eyes cannot focus, but I can feel her mild and light breath on my face.

  She whimpers, “Can we stop now?” She timidly looks at me with a mixture of sadness and fear. She carefully goes on and says, “Please…I don’t want to lose my job, I will have nowhere to live if I don’t get paid.”

  I pull away and release her, “I didn’t mean…” I am a little surprised, “I didn’t mean to force you.”

  She looks at me, still upset but a little reassured and says, “But I am not a lesbian” she cautiously replies.

  I jump back with an exaggerated vigor, and gently say, “No, no…no, I am not a lesbian. I just thought…well I just.” I stop and think. I really didn’t think of it in sexual terms. I just really like her, but I don’t know why.

  I continue, “I am not lesbian, but I like you as a friend and part of me wanted to…I dunno, just see what kissing you felt like.”

  Stella says nothing, so I continue. “Listen, you big silly, I don’t want you to lose your job or anything. You don’t have to do anything for me like that…Let me prove it…give me your bank card.”

  Stella looks as if she is about to question me, but submits in a scarily subservient way. It is almost as if she believes she will be in big trouble if she does not. I take her card details and enter them into my phone-banking app. I transfer over $20,000 from the $323,000 that my mother wired to me. I show her the phone and the amount I have just wired and say, “There…there is your proof. If you want, you can simply not turn up for work tomorrow and you can live on that money for a year before needing to find another job. If you do turn up tomorrow, you will have turned up because you want to and not because you have to. Take this money, and if you come back tomorrow I will know you are my friend, and I hope it will mean you know you NEVER have to do ANYTHING like that for me. With money in your bank, nobody can force you to do anything.”

  Stella smiles and almost runs into my arms to hug me. “That is so nice, that is so nice,” she keeps repeating excitedly as she hugs me with a big smile on her face. “I was just being silly” she says as she hugs, “I was just being silly because my last boss tried to make me have sex with him when I was 16.”

  I carry on hugging her and pretend to be shocked, but I have had guys trying to grope my chest since I was 14yrs old, including Pakistani taxi drivers that tried to get me to sleep with them by telling me they loved me when I was 15yrs old. I hug her back and finally everything is okay, until my double doors burst open and there is an angry Paul.

  CHAPTER 7: What Is Paul’s Problem?

  He sternly commands Stella, “Leave us alone…Now!” She quickly shuffles out of the room and Paul almost slams the doors behind her.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” He asks with a vicious growl.

  “What?” I say surprised, “Since when have you given a shit where I was?”

  He looks at me as if I had just kicked him in the balls, “You know what you did. You fucked off this morning and left me to be discovered by a gang of sniveling maids.”

  “Haha” I reply, “Caught you with your pecker out did they?”

  He raises his voice, “I don’t find this fucking amusing!!! You fucked off and didn’t come back. You treat me like a dollar-penny whore!”

  I saunter over to the sideboard to put my phone on charge and chirp back, “You should be used to dealing with skanky whores that dump you in a morning, they are all you can pull.” I slowly realize that I have just tarred myself with the same brush, so I press on, “Think of all those times you have called me a slut and a whore and thought it was funny. It’s no wonder you wanted to fuck me.”

  Paul’s face is awash with hurt emotions. He has to be kidding. Surly he didn’t think I did it because I actually like him. He is starting to piss me off so I bark, “Why don’t you just fuck off back to daddy you pathetic cunt!!!”

  He pulls a face as if he is going to break down in tears before he growls again and marches over to me. He kicks my chair away, grips me by the shoulders and throws me against my cabinet doors with a bone-crunching thud.

  “You fucking whore,” he screams as he moves his fingers to my throat. “You are going to get what you fucking deserve!!!” His fingers start to tense around my neck, and he powerfully squeezes his hands around my neck and chokes me.

  Book Two

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  CHAPTER 1: His Hand Chokes Her Delicate Slender Neck

  CHAPTER 2:Clarissa The Evil Aunt

  CHAPTER 3:Clarissa Tells Leah How The World Works

  CHAPTER 4:Sex With Six Japanese Men

  CHAPTER 5:The Next Morning

  CHAPTER 6:Just As I Was Leaving Clarissa’s House

  CHAPTER 7:Two Days Later

  Blurb

  After Leah’s encounter with Paul, she seeks refuge with a vicious socialite. This woman teaches Leah that there is more to the inner circle than she ever imagined. After a short but memorable stay, she finds herself back on the grounds scantily clad with the cute teen maid, all until Paul turns up with a surprising consolation. Will Leah ever fit in with the upper circles of society? How will she handle Paul? And, just what is Leah willing to do to get to the top?

  CHAPTER 1: His Hand Chokes Her Delicate Slender Neck

  With his hands clamped like a hydraulic press around her throat, he pushes her against the cabinet doors and squeezes. Her arms flail and as she tries to remove his hands whilst hitting him to get off. She lets out a struggled urk sound and gurgles as he squeezes.

  He whips his hand from her neck, grabs her shoulders, and pounds her back into the cabinet doors before slinging her to the ground. She falls like a bag of wet bones, her face streaming with tears and struggling to breathe. He walks up to her and stands over her withered frame. As she breathes heavily and looks at the floor, he turns and leaves.

  CHAPTER 2: Clarissa The Evil Aunt

  Upon a large wooden door, connected to a stately mansion that could be confused with a castle, Leah bangs the doorknocker. Within moments, the door creaks open and a tall distinguished man in a suit looks at her. He sees a half-drowned blonde rat standing in the rain with a suitcase, summer clothes and a scarf. Off speeds a taxi as he speaks in a dark and booming voice, “My lady, please escort me to the reception room.”

  Dripping wet and struggling to lift her suitcase, she steps over the threshold. A small man with a red jacket relieves her of her suitcase as he nods submissively. The stern and brutal voice of the suited man says, “Place her items in the Ash The Great suite,” and he scurries away like an eager rodent chasing cheese.

  Leah takes a seat whilst trying to pat off the water dripping from her clothes. The man speaks, “The lady of the house will be with you shortly.” Within moments a fat Mexican woman appears. She is carrying towels, begs forgiveness for her intrusion and hands Leah two crisp and fresh towels with which to dry herself. The Mexican woman asks if there is anything else she can do before she leaves. Leah says no and the woman leaves.

  After around fifteen minutes, a tall, skeletal thin, debonair and snotty woman appears. She is in her late fifties, without makeup, in a casual evening gown, pinching a cigarette holder and lit cigarette between her fingers and followed by an entourage of six Japanese men. She stands for a moment and gazes coldly at Leah. Her hair is up in a bun in a style that suggests a team of three people must have done it to ensure every strand was in place. Her face is thin, smooth, soft, but a little wrinkly.

  Without looking at the Japanese men in perfectly tailored suits she says, “Gentlemen, this is the stepdaughter of my brother Steve. He is going through a charitable phase at the moment.” She pauses, “But I am sure it will pass.” The Japanese businessm
en chuckle and politely murmur.

  Upon their entry, Leah jumped up like a rabbit being startled by a cat, and politely stood to hear the lady’s harsh comment. “Hello Clarissa,” she replies as politely as she can. “I was hoping to see you a little while.”

  Clarissa tilts her head in a feigned gesture that suggests people spend their days wanting her attention for the sole reason of picking apart the estate and business her husband left her. She had spent the last 30 years making money on the back of the business and estate her young husband left her when he mysteriously disappeared. On a weekly basis, she was haunted by beggars, charity workers, people wanting references, jobs, and people wanting to con her.