The Billionaire's Touch

by Harriet Lovelace

  The Billionaire’s Touch

  Book 1

  by

  Harriet Lovelace

  Copyright © 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2012

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

  Note: This series has been previously published in the “Filthy Smut” anthology series.

  She wasn't entirely sure how she'd gotten herself into this position. Palms flat against the top of his desk, the only sound in the office that of their breathing – his even and controlled, hers shallow and quick. The anticipation curled in her belly, heat spreading through her cells as she waited for what he'd do next. When her day began, she'd never imagined that she'd end it like this...

  ****

  Twenty-seven year-old Courtney Bell hated her job. She'd started at the Asgard Corporation shortly after she graduated from college, full of ideas about how she was going to change the world. Sure, she'd started in a low-paying entry level position, something more suited to someone with a basic accounting degree rather than someone with an MBA from Stanford – a summa cum laude graduate, no less. But she'd assumed she'd move up quickly, get into positions that would allow her more control over what projects the company invested in. She'd dreamed of some big project – just what she never entirely envisioned – that would lead to her meeting the man of her dreams. After a whirlwind romance, during which he'd shower her with lavish gifts and drive other women mad with jealousy, they'd have a huge wedding and then move into the perfect house – white picket fence optional. Instead, she found herself worn down by the nattering of interoffice politics, the currying for favor and basic ass-kissing. Now it was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do to get by and that was it. After all, what was the point of trying when it was more about tits and cock – if you had one or were willing to suck one – than about actual qualifications?

  Speaking of which, Courtney thought as she scowled at her reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator doors. She hated these annual reviews. They were always the same. Some big-wig, usually a man, sat across some obscenely expensive desk and judged everything she'd done in the past year. Or, at least that's what they said they were doing. The lecherous eyes that ran from her sensible pumps to her tastefully modest business suit conveyed a different story. It wasn't that she was ugly, she knew, just average looking. If she'd tried a little harder, maybe wore her ash blond waves down around her shoulders rather than back in a clip, used more makeup to accentuate her dark gray eyes and full lips, maybe she'd have more luck. Maybe if she wore a shorter skirt or a tighter, lower-cut shirt to show off her curves, maybe that would get some attention. Instead, she wanted her work to speak for itself and, unfortunately, it didn't shout louder than the buxom brunette with her tits hanging out. So Krissy and Shannon and Cindy and dozens like them got the promotions that didn't go to men.

  When the elevator dinged, she took a sip of her coffee and stepped through the doors before they finished opening. She didn't see him until they collided and hot liquid was spilling over her hand.

  “Shit,” Courtney jumped back enough to avoid getting coffee on her blouse, but one look at the man she'd run into revealed that he hadn't been quite so lucky. “I am so sorry,” she stammered, completely mortified by the brown stain marring the most-likely expensive dress shirt. Then her eyes flicked up to his face and her heart nearly stopped.

  Tousled blue-black hair over a classically handsome face. Arctic blue eyes that made things low in her belly instantly tighten. And the expression in them...she would have expected anger, annoyance, maybe even humor if the man was good-natured enough. This...there was no way to describe it other than she immediately thought that this man wanted to do bad things to her. And she was seriously considering letting him.

  She shook her head, realizing that he was talking to her. The heat in her cheeks deepened. “I am so sorry,” she repeated.

  “I believe you said that already,” his voice was low, cultured. “I asked what floor you were going to.”

  “Oh,” She swore in her head. Her brain scrambled to find the answer. “Twelve.”

  “Pity,” the man punched the button and then pulled off his jacket and tie. One side of his mouth twitched upwards in a partial smile. “I was rather hoping you were going down.”

  Her mouth dropped. Was he seriously flirting with her? Her eyes dropped to his fingers which were quickly unfastening the buttons of his dress shirt to reveal a fitted undershirt that clung to muscles his well-tailored jacket had hidden. Then he pulled that off as well and she had to bite back a noise halfway between a moan and a 'fuck.' His torso was lean and smooth, far firmer than one would originally think.

  “Fortunately, I always keep spares,” he was saying as he crouched next to his briefcase, muscles rippling beneath lightly tanned skin.

  “Um, what?” Her brain was still trying to make sense of what was happening but it just kept coming back to holy fuck, I want to run my tongue over those flat abs.

  “Never know when you might need an extra shirt,” he pulled an undershirt from his briefcase and pulled it on. When he stood, his gaze turned to her, eyes shining with amusement. He shrugged back into his jacket. “We're here.”

  “What?” She was having a problem keeping up.

  “Twelfth floor, right?” He motioned towards the opening doors.

  “Oh, yeah, right,” She shook her head. She stepped into the hallway, tossing her now-empty coffee cup into the trash.

  “Shall we?”

  She jumped. He had followed her off the elevator. “Excuse me?”

  “Courtney Bell, here for her annual review?” Her mysterious stranger held out his hand. “I'm Vance Forster, your reviewer.”

  She swore as she shook his hand, trying to ignore the excited little tingle that ran through her at the contact. She couldn't believe her luck. Whatever small hope she'd been harboring regarding a good review vanished. The innuendo in the elevator made more sense now. He wasn't attracted to her. He just wanted to know what she was willing to do for a promotion. Usually it was only creepy Raymond Lee who hit on her, and based on office rumor, he wasn't anyone she wanted to know better. One intern said she'd accidentally walked in during a personal call. She'd only heard part of his conversation, but it had involved latex, butter and a few things she'd had to look up on the internet.

  “My office is this way,” Vance stretched out his arm.

  Courtney followed in silence, her prior bleak mood returning. She really didn't want to do this, especially after ogling him in the elevator. She'd never found any of her prior reviewers attractive and didn't want to start now.

  She stopped next to Vance and looked around, confused.

  “Figured we take my private elevator the rest of the way.”

  Understanding hit her hard enough to make her gasp. Vance Forster. Of course! She should've recognized the name, but she'd been so distracted by what had happened that she hadn't really registered it.

  Vance Forster, thirty-one year-old Princeton graduate and youngest ever CEO of the Asgard Corporation.

  Oh shit. This was not going to end well.

&
nbsp; “Come, Ms. Bell,” Vance's business-like tone startled her. “I'd prefer you go first. I don't have another shirt.”

  Courtney flushed, whether from the embarrassment of having spilled coffee on the CEO or the memory of him without a shirt, she wasn't sure. Hard muscles, flat dark nipples, pants that hung just right on his hips, showing those deep V grooves...yeah, it was the memory.

  “I hope this isn't indicative of how much attention you pay to your work,” Vance's voice cut through Courtney's reverie.

  To her chagrin, she realized that he was still waiting for her to move. Cheeks burning, she stepped inside. The private elevator was smaller than the one they'd been in before, but Vance stood closer than necessary, the scent of him surrounding her. She'd never smelled anything like it. Sharp and clean, like a mountain forest she'd visited as a teenager.

  Fuck. She was doing it again, letting this absolutely gorgeous man distract her. What was worse, a quick sideways glance revealed a grin that suggested he knew exactly what his proximity was doing to her. She tried not to squirm, but there was something about her boss's gaze that made her think squirming was precisely what he had in mind. Neither one of them spoke on the short ride up to the top floor, the air between them almost too thick to breath. When the doors finally opened, Courtney didn't wait for Vance to ask her to step out. She took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs as she willed her heart to stop pounding.

  “Shall we begin?” Vance's voice was even, revealing none of the tension that had permeated the ride.

  “Where do you want me?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back.

  “I can think of quite a few answers for that question,” Vance shrugged out of his jacket. He crossed to another door, opening it to reveal a closet. He pulled out a pristine dress shirt and hung it on the doorknob. “But for right now, why don't you have a seat.”

  Courtney wiped her palms on her skirt and took the proffered chair. She pressed her knees together, folded her hands on her lap and tried to focus on maintaining a business-like composure, waiting for the questions to begin. To her surprise, Vance didn't put on the clean shirt or sit in his posh-looking chair. Instead, he walked over to the front of the desk, stopping just inches away from where she sat. He leaned back against the edge and peered down at her, not saying anything.

  Seconds turned to minutes and still he didn't speak. Courtney had started out determined not to break first, sensing that this was some sort of test, but as the minutes ticked by and Vance didn't move, she began to wonder if she'd misread the signs. Maybe he was waiting for her to do something, say something. She squirmed ever so slightly and the spell was broken.

  “You have quite an impressive resumé, Ms. Bell,” Vance spoke with a quiet authority that instantly made it obvious why he'd risen to power so quickly, though Courtney was sure his looks hadn't hurt. He continued. “It's too bad your performance hasn't lived up to it. You'd think that someone with your education could manage far better.”

  Courtney's jaw dropped. He was the first reviewer who'd ever mentioned her background and he was using it to berate her? All right, she conceded, berate may have been too strong a word, but she'd already been feeling foolish enough that the words hurt more than they would have normally.

  “Are things too hard for you, Ms. Bell?”

  She snapped her mouth shut, sure she had imagined the stress he’d put on that one word. There was no way he was hitting on her. Was there?

  “You did well your first two years here,” Vance straightened and took a step towards Courtney. “Maybe all you need is some discipline.”

  This time, Courtney knew it wasn't in her head. Vance circled behind her and she nearly jumped out of her skin when his finger ghosted over the back of her neck.

  “Mr. Forster,” she squeaked, then blushed. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Mr. Forster, I...”

  “Stand up,” he cut her off. The words weren't harsh or loud, but full of that same quiet authority.

  “Why?” The word popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. And suddenly, he was there, body just centimeters away. She looked up and the expression in those arctic eyes made her mouth go dry and her stomach clench.

  “Why?” He repeated. “Because you need someone to keep you in line, to provide discipline.” His voice caressed the word. “Don't you?”

  Courtney didn't know what to say. How was she supposed to respond to this? He wasn't asking for a blow job or a fuck in exchange for a promotion. This was something completely different.

  “Now, stand up,” he repeated the order, a dangerous set to his full lips.

  She thought about arguing. Thought about not doing it. But she couldn't deny the thrill that went through her, straight to her groin, at the thought of this man telling her what to do. So, as much to see what would happen next as anything else, she stood. Vance's eyes ran over her body and she fought to not shiver. Something flickered across his face but was gone before she could put a name to it.

  “Very nice,” he murmured. “Take off your jacket.” Responding to her startled look, he added, voice slightly softened, “Just the jacket.”

  She did as she was told and let the garment drop into her chair. He moved out of her eyeline and she could feel him standing behind her.

  “Hands on the desk,” his voice had taken on something low and husky, something that made her uncomfortably aware that her panties were damp. The polished wood was smooth under her palms. Every muscle in her body was tense, waiting for what would happen next. How far was she going to let this go? For some reason, this man had chosen her for this and she had no doubt if she refused, he'd have no problem finding another woman to take her place. She couldn't deny that there was something about the way he spoke that called to her, touched a place deep inside that she'd never known before. It wasn't about the job, of that much she was sure. Vance Forster didn't strike her as the type to do annual reviews for someone just a few steps above an intern. So how had he chosen her? Why?

  Then his hands were on her waist, burning through the thin cotton of her blouse. He leaned over her, his hard length pressing against her ass. As his hands slid up, over her ribs, to cup her breasts, his breath was hot against her ear.

  “You need someone to take a firmer hand with you, Ms. Bell. Punish you when you're out of line. Make sure you're living up to your potential.”

  She closed her eyes, letting his words flow over her, the images dancing behind her eyelids making her pussy throb. She shifted, desperate for more friction, and he chuckled. He took a step back and Courtney made a sound of pure frustration.

  “I think you need to learn the value of patience, Ms. Bell,” Vance circled around so the desk was between them. “I'm recommending you be required to give weekly reports of your progress.” He sat in his chair, ignoring her incredulous stare. “And I believe I'll have you report directly to me. Your first assignment is to write me an outline of your plan of action, what you intend to do to please me in the future. Have it in my inbox before the end of business tomorrow.” He opened his laptop and waved a hand dismissively. “You may go now.”

  Courtney blinked, shocked at the sudden change the conversation had taken. When he didn't look up after a few minutes, she straightened. Vance made no indication that he'd seen her move. Keeping one eye on him, she grabbed her jacket and left, mind racing, one incoherent thought chasing the next, the only underlying theme being: 'what just happened?'

  ***

  “You need someone to discipline you.”

  His words had echoed in her mind throughout the day, sometimes accompanied by various images.

  She was bent over his desk again, and his hand was coming down on her bare ass.

  She stood in front of him, wanting to say something that would make him use the ruler he had in his hands.

  She knelt in front of him, behind that big desk, hands bound behind her, shirt open, breasts exposed. He had a hand tangled in her hair, pushing her he
ad towards his massive erection. She licked her lips, wanting to taste it, to feel its weight on her tongue.

  By the time she got home, her panties were soaked, and she felt like she was going to explode. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this horny. She'd had half a dozen or so partners, but the kinkiest she'd ever gotten was letting one boyfriend handcuff her to the bed. She had a feeling that fuzzy pink ones weren't exactly her boss's style. She heard it in his voice, saw it in those eyes. He promised pleasure in a manner she'd never before realistically considered. She wasn't naïve; she knew what type of lifestyle this was. She'd even had her curious moments leading to several interesting hours on the internet. But even then, she'd never experienced the level of desire she'd felt in that office.

  She picked at her dinner, a reheated chicken breast leftover from yesterday's meal, unable to think of anything other than the ache between her legs. It seemed like ages since she'd last had a decent orgasm. About six months ago, she'd dumped the cheating bastard she'd been dating. During their three month relationship, he'd made her come once. She hadn't dated since, having no time or patience for the inane ways people met. She could've looked for a one-night stand. She was pretty enough for that, she supposed. But it seemed she had just as many orgasms on her own as she did with her partner. Not that either number was impressive. She tried masturbating at least twice a week since then, if only to relieve stress. Fingers and toys both. She'd watched videos, read books, fantasized about men from her past, about celebrities she'd never have a chance with. Even the few orgasms she'd managed were weak and unsatisfying.