Just One Weekend: A Billionaire Romance (The Ironwood Billionaire Series Book 5)

by Ellie Danes

  “A little quid pro quo,” she replied, licking her lips.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ashley

  My mind was still reeling from what Weston had managed to do to me, and I felt like curling up in a little ball and giggling myself silly. A sensation like warm honey, mingled with ticklish shivers, crackled through my body. I licked my lips again and gave Weston a speculative look. “Will you let me return the favor?”

  “I’d love nothing more.” He grinned and spread his hands in front of himself to gesture for me to do as I liked.

  I pushed him back against the headboard and straddled his thighs, leaning in to kiss him quickly on the lips. He still tasted like me, and I was surprised at how much I liked that taste--me mingled with him. I’d always managed to find a reason to not kiss a guy who’d gone down on me until after he’d had something to drink or brushed his teeth.

  I stripped off Weston’s shirt and then reached down to his pajama pants, and he helped me get them off of him, lifting his hips as I tugged. His cock sprung free fully erect, and I had to take a moment to just appreciate it, and him. It’s a shame I’m not into dating or sex, because if I was...and if I could charm him into being with me for real…

  Weston was obviously serious about his grooming, in spite of his slightly scruffy appearance the night before. His bare chest had a fine dusting of dark hair across it, and a dark treasure-trail shot down from his navel to the nest of neatly-trimmed pubic hair around the base of his cock. He had muscles, but he wasn’t hugely built, just firm and trim and lean, and even though I’d gone down on all five of the guys I’d been with, the sight of Weston’s erection was enough to give me a moment of wonder. It looked to be seven or eight inches long, flushed so dark it was almost purple, with just the slightest, most delicate curve to it. It was bigger than any of the guys I’d been with, and I was glad he hadn’t tried to actually have sex with me to get me off--I didn’t think I would have been able to completely stand either the length or girth of him.

  I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock firmly, falling back on the skills I’d taught myself to make the few adult relationships I’d had work.

  “This okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” His voice was strangled sounding, darker. He was just as turned on as I was.

  I started stroking him as I kissed him on the lips, and then the center of his chest, and then the spot just above his navel. Then I shifted down along his long, spread legs and made myself comfortable perched between his knees, bringing my mouth down to the tip of his erection.

  I barely touched my lips to it and then slid the head into my mouth, sucking lightly and swirling my tongue around him.

  “Shit,” he said. “You feel so good.”

  The sharp, salty-slick taste of his precum coated my tongue, and I swallowed, even as I slowly took more of him into my mouth.

  I slowly found my rhythm, pumping my hand up and down to meet my mouth. I knew I couldn’t take all of him, but I tried to take as much of him as I possibly could, until the tip of his cock brushed up against my gag reflex and made me almost choke. I backed off just enough to let the reaction subside and tried again, a little more slowly. I swallowed again and again, getting my throat used to the sensation of thick, hot flesh and the fluids leaking from it. Maybe it was just because Weston had only taken a shower about an hour before we started fooling around, but he smelled amazing.

  I found myself getting turned on again as I felt my efforts beginning to have an effect. Weston’s hand found the back of my head and for a second I thought he was going to try and force me down harder on his cock, but instead he just stroked my scalp, tangling his fingers in my hair as he moaned. I could feel the tension in his thighs, in his hips, as he started responding to my sucking, licking, and stroking--but he was being gentle with me, almost like he didn’t want to hurt me.

  “Mm, Ashley,” he said. “That feels so fucking good.”

  I tightened my lips around him and reached down with my free hand to cup his balls, giving them a careful half-squeeze, and Weston groaned out long and low. I smiled around his erection and kept it up. I was overwhelmed with the desire to give him back some of the pleasure he’d given me.

  I could feel him trying to hold back, even as his hips bucked against my arms, and I struggled to keep up with him, to keep my control over the pillar of flesh between my lips and in my hand. I worked him with everything I had, with all the skills I’d gained. It was only fair, I thought absently, even as I backed off for a few moments to focus the attentions of my tongue and lips on the tip of his cock before taking him until my lips barely met my fingers. I got my hand as slick as I could, wrapped it around his erection, and stroked him.

  All at once his entire body went tense. I backed off to keep from choking, and the first gush of his climax flooded my mouth. I swallowed instinctively, just in time for the next flood of sharp-salty, hot fluid over my tongue, and then again, slowing down gradually until I felt his cock starting to soften in my hand and against my lips. I pulled back and swallowed the last of him, licking my lips and looking at him. Weston was flushed, sagged against the headboard, his head tilted back as he panted for breath.

  “That was amazing, Ashley.”

  I grinned at him. “It only seemed fair.”

  He opened his eyes a crack and laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect that at all, you know.”

  I wiggled in place and Weston gently untangled his fingers from my hair, freeing me completely from his grip. He still smelled good, and some primal, animal part of my brain wanted to roll all over him, rub against him to mingle his scent with mine. I shook it off and sat up on my knees, combing my fingers through my messy hair and composing myself.

  “Do you still want access to the adoptive parents database?” I hated to bring things back to this, but it was better than letting it hang over me.

  “I do. Give me two minutes to get my brain back.”

  I chuckled and clambered off of the bed to get my laptop for him. If I wanted to give him access to just the adoptive parents database, I could do that, but I needed to set it up first. I wondered yet again just what Weston had in mind to do with the information he needed from me, and whether I might not end up regretting striking this particular deal.

  I logged into the secure area of my company’s website and started navigating to the database that Weston wanted. I decided that once I gave him access, I’d give him privacy too--I had no reason to peek over his shoulder with just the database there for him. Besides which, after all the events of the day and the alcohol I’d consumed, I was feeling more than a little sleepy, not to mention that I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until Weston had given me the massage that had led to my orgasm.

  I handed him the laptop and went into the bathroom to straighten myself up a bit and get ready for bed, trying not to let my curiosity get the better of me again. Whatever Weston wanted with the information he sought, I couldn’t think of any real harm that could come of it, and I was pretty sure that he wasn’t a truly bad guy, anyway. Certainly, if he was the kind of person I couldn’t trust to use the information he got wisely, I wouldn’t--shouldn’t--feel comfortable sharing a hotel room with him. I finished up and went back into the main part of the room.

  “I’m going to turn in,” I said. “When you’re done with whatever it is you’re looking for, just shut the computer down and close it up, will you?”

  Weston got up from the bed and took the chairs he’d arranged into a semi-comfortable sleeping spot, nodding to my question absently.

  “Will do,” he said. “Thanks.”

  I turned down the duvet on the bed, shutting off the TV and most of the lights. Weston kept on the reading lamp in his corner of the room, but it wasn’t bright enough to keep me awake. I was asleep in a matter of minutes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Weston

  It was almost eleven by the time Ashley and I made it downstairs to the breakfast area
, but it still felt too early to me when some of her former classmates called out to us to sit with them.

  Looking through the database last night, I’d had to go through dozens of files. I’d searched until I felt like my eyes were going to bleed, but I hadn’t found what I was looking for. I would need to go in and search some more.

  “We’re on again,” I muttered to Ashley, and she gave me a quick, meaningful look before she slipped her hand in mine, leading me over to the breakfast buffet.

  “As long as you remember that you’re passionately in love with me and you’re a chef, I think we’ll be okay--I don’t think anyone is going to be asking any really probing questions this morning,” Ashley murmured back.

  I snorted and looked over the buffet. For a hotel offering, it was actually pretty decent: the eggs in the chafing dish looked like they were actually made of egg instead of powdered egg substitute, and the bacon looked crisp. Ashley and I helped ourselves to food and then gave into the demands to sit with her former “friends.”

  “Anyone heard any updates on the events for today?” Ashley asked.

  I dug into my eggs--and they were real eggs--and waited for the response to Ashley’s question.

  “Since the weather’s taken a turn, they’re changing it up a little, is the last I heard,” one of the women said.

  “Some of the stuff they’d had in mind was outdoors, so that makes sense,” Ashley agreed.

  After some speculation about what the committee was going to come up with instead, people started chatting about general things again, and I made myself pay more attention, since that was my cue to be “on.” We chatted about vacations, and I lied about taking Ashley on a couple of trips to Paris.

  “You said more than one trip?” Charlotte asked me.

  I shrugged. “I had a big-ticket client who wanted me to come with him to Martinique, to help supervise the catering for an event.”

  “Martinique? Where’s that?” someone asked.

  “It’s in the Lesser Antilles, in the Caribbean,” I explained. “Not a bad plane ride, all things considered, and of course once you’re there, it’s beaches and tropical food day and night.”

  “Oh man, you are so lucky,” one of the other women told Ashley.

  “I really am,” she agreed.

  I grinned. “Remember when you first saw the beach home in Martinique?”

  She gaped at me. “Stone, you shouldn’t talk about that here.”

  “What?” I said. “These are all successful people, it’s not going to make anyone feel bad.” To the others, I said, “The beach home isn’t much, really, but it puts my penthouse in the city to shame.”

  Everyone looked suitably impressed. No, I didn’t want to come off as an egotistical billionaire, but I was damned if Ashley wouldn’t come away from this reunion looking as successful as possible.

  Ashley just shook her head and gave me a shy smile. I grinned back and held her hand.

  “Any other vacations on the horizon?” Charlotte asked.

  I shrugged off the question. “I mean--if I can get her away from work for longer than a weekend, I’d love for us to go to Italy,” I said. “One of my friends from culinary school went to do an apprenticeship in Sicily, and of course there’s the glorious food in Rome and Venice…” I let my sentence dangle, since I didn’t have as good an idea about what there really was of interest in Italy, beyond the most obvious tourist things.

  “This is my only vacation for the next couple of months,” Ashley said, sounding regretful.

  We were saved from further questions by the arrival of one of the class officers--I didn’t pay attention enough to find out which office he occupied--to let us all know what the revised agenda was going to be.

  “We’re changing the nature walk into two activities—people can choose between a pool tournament at the pub down the street, or a wine and painting class here in the hotel. There’s still a dinner planned for tonight, that at least hasn’t been canceled.”

  I turned to Ashley. “What do you want to do, sweetie?”

  She looked at me in surprise, as the rest of our table went to start signing up for pool or painting. “I figured I’d watch the pool tournament.”

  “I want to see you paint, girl,” I told her, grinning. “Or play pool.”

  “I don’t know how to do either of those things,” she told me tartly.

  “I think you’ve been working too hard and not letting yourself have enough fun.”

  She blushed, and I knew she was thinking about what had happened the night before.

  I couldn’t quite get my mind off of that turn of events, either. With effort, I pushed it out of my mind and gave Ashley a nudge to stand up and head toward the sign-up sheets. “How about wine and painting?”

  “I’m not good at art,” Ashley protested.

  “The point isn’t to be good at it, first of all,” I explained. “The goal is to have fun. Were you ever a kid?”

  Ashley’s glance showed I’d pushed a little too hard and I grabbed her by the waist, using the excuse of my role to pull her close to me so I could kiss her.

  “If you have a terrible time, we can leave early and just go get drunk again,” I suggested.

  She gave me a long look but then nodded, and I led the way to the sign-up sheets. While we were standing in line, a deep voice said, “Ashley?”

  I turned with her and saw a man with thick blond hair slicked back on his head. He wore nice pants and a shirt from an upscale brand that I recognized. He stood alone.

  Ashley just gaped at him, so I filled the awkward silence. I held my hand out to the guy. “Hi, I’m Stone.”

  “Stone,” he said, shaking my hand. “You look familiar.”

  “No, I’m here as Ashley’s plus-one,” I said, nudging her.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, turning pink. “Where are my manners? Stone, this is Derek Bates. Derek, this is my…my boyfriend, Stone.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said.

  “Likewise,” he said. “So, Ashley, how have you been? Good to see you’re getting by. The end of senior year seemed kind of rough on you.”

  He chuckled, like this was amusing. I most definitely did not agree with him, especially when I saw the way Ashley was pulling into herself, looking unsure and self-conscious again. What the hell kind of number did this guy pull on her, anyway?

  “Interesting,” I said, staring hard at the guy while Ashley seemed to shrink. I planted a kiss on her temple. “This is the most capable woman I’ve ever met,” I added. “Let’s paint the shit out of the wine and painting thing, okay babe?”

  She nodded mutely and thankfully it was our turn to sign up.

  We went back to the table without a second look at Derek. A few of the other classmates were still working on coffee and pastries, and I finished my breakfast while Ashley picked at hers. Some of the others shot Ashley curious looks, and I wondered if they had noticed us talking to Derek.

  I had to save this for her. I reached over and felt her forehead. “You okay, babe?”

  She gave me a wan smile. “Fine, little headache.”

  “Now, don’t try to get out of the wine and painting,” I teased.

  “I told you, I don’t know how to paint,” she said with a smile. “You might thank me if I have to beg off because of a headache.”

  I grinned as people encouraged her to go through with painting anyway, and when Jess arrived, she added her voice to the chorus until Ashley agreed to it. I thought to myself that I knew exactly how the two of them had been when they were in high school together. In fact, I could almost see them in my mind--Jess pushing Ashley to try things, and Ashley moping that she wasn’t already naturally good at them so why should she embarrass herself? Jess seemed to be the one at the table that Ashley was closest with--and I thought she might know what the deal was between me and Ashley.

  Either way, though, I’d done my job just now. Ashley had come out of her Derek-induced bad mood, and we went back up to th
e room to get changed for painting. I told myself that my major job today would be to make sure that my fake girlfriend had some real fun.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ashley

  “What do you want to paint first? The still life on display over there? Or the paint-by-numbers thing on the other side of the room? We could probably do both.” Weston leaned in closer to my ear and added in a whisper, “Or is your neck too tired from last night for that much painting?”

  I gave him a mock punch to the shoulder and rolled my eyes at his little reminder of our tryst.

  I didn’t need to be reminded of it. From the moment I’d opened my eyes a few hours before, right up until we got in line to sign up for painting, I’d been thinking about it.

  I could almost still feel the way my body had tingled with hot and cold flashes of sensation as something--I didn’t really know what--rippled through me, making my muscles tense and clench in a way I hadn’t felt before in my life. Every time I looked at Weston, I thought about the sight of him tucked between my legs, licking and sucking me, fingering me while some deep-down kind of tension ratcheted tighter and tighter, like a rubber band stretching.

  And then, of course, we’d run into Derek. It had been like a splash of cold, septic water all over my pleasurable thoughts.

  I’d been against participating in the “art party” because in spite of how smart I know I am, and the fact that I am realistic enough to know I do have some talents, I also know I have never been an art person. I was terrified that I’d make something hideous and get laughed at.

  “Half the people there are going to make something hideous, and they’ll laugh at their own atrocities too,” Weston pointed out when I raised that issue to him.

  “Please just don’t tell me that you’re some master artist on top of knowing enough to be able to pretend to be a chef, and whatever else it is you do in your normal life,” I said.

  Weston laughed. “No, I’m pretty much only good at line maps and stick figures,” he said as we headed downstairs. “But it’ll be fun. Drink some wine, make a mess, and don’t take it seriously.”