Rocked by a Billionaire – Vol. 1

by Lisa Swann

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  The Billionaire’s Desires

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  His, Body and Soul - Volume 1

  “His, Body and Soul is the most sensational sensual novel to have been released since Fifty Shades of Grey.”

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  Lisa Swann

  ROCKED BY A BILLIONAIRE

  Vol. 1

  1. An ordinary girl

  It was hot. Incredibly hot. Beads of sweat dripped down between my breasts, creating a thin stream of warm liquid that ran all the way to my crotch. My light dress floated around me, the fabric lifted by slight puffs of air as the the warm breeze caressed my skin. But the wind, far from refreshing me, made my entire body boil hotter than smoldering embers. A hand covered in a black leather glove climbed up my thigh and started exploring my crotch. I spread my legs open wide to let him in. The leather squeaked along my skin. His touch should have surprised me as the cold material wasn’t really appropriate for these circumstances. But, no. The sheathed finger probed a little further, spread my lips and entered me with a violent thrust that forced a hoarse cry out from deep down in my throat. Before I could understand how, the same hand was in my mouth, while his fleshy lips and teeth teased my hard nipples. Slowly, the fire burning deep inside of me spread up and I burned through every pore of my skin. Shivers travelled through my body despite the enveloping heat. I lowered my head and saw only the tousled hair of the man wearing the leather gloves. He stood up, turned around and I got a good look of his incredibly muscular physique…and the impressive erection poking out of his tight briefs – a funny outfit, I thought. A lewd smile spread across his face, half hidden behind a black mask. I slid, my tits in the air, along his smooth torso, nibbling, licking, sucking every square inch of skin while seeking his swollen hard-on, the object of all of my desires. I had no trouble pulling the beast out of his briefs, holding it in one hand, rubbing it up and down with the other while licking the foreskin. I dared to raise my head a moment to observe the effect, his lips were curled in a blissful smile, which gave me confidence. I took him full in my mouth, sliding my tongue along the gland, rising, falling. My lover moaned as I sucked, exciting me even more. I felt him stiffen and waited for the cum, like an offering, when a loud buzzer went off.

  The phone.

  I woke up with a start. Disoriented. Halfway between dread and the most intense pleasure I had ever felt, I blinked, soothed and disappointed at the same time as I recognised the old pink flowered wallpaper of my adopted room, my refuge for four years now. On the other side of the wall my aunt was telling someone to get a life. Who’s got the nerve to bother people so early in the morning?

  My alarm clock displayed 7am. Oh lord, I have class in one hour. No time to think about that dream (or nightmare?) What was going on with me? Leather? A masked man? Sex? I’d never experimented with anything but missionary position with the few boyfriends who’d shared my bed. And I didn’t have a problem with that either. It’s not that I hadn’t been in love before, but let’s just say that I’ve never quite vibrated with desire. Sex, sex. Everyone makes such a fuss about it. I really don’t see why. Besides, my mind was full of things that were more…intellectual, so to speak. And I had been in love with my boyfriends. It just goes to show. I didn’t really think there was much to love and physical pleasure. I shook my head vigorously. I must have drunk too much white wine the night before, that probably explained such a disturbing night. Nonetheless, getting up, I noticed that the dream had produced an effect that was rather, well, wet in my pyjama bottoms. I blushed, as if caught redhanded taking part in some forbidden pleasure. I rushed into the shower to stop thinking about that masked man again and shook my head again. Me, someone who’s never performed fellatio in my life, devouring such an enormous penis!

  At 8am sharp I sat down next to my friend Jess in the last row of the lecture hall.

  “Well that was a close call! Did you get back alright last night?” she asked, without looking up while copying her notes from the last class onto another sheet of paper.

  She finished the last sentence, satisfied, and lifted her head, smiling, perfectly made-up and manicured. She turned towards me, eyebrows raised and added: “You’re not going to win any fashion contests today.”

  My frayed jeans, faded t-shirt and cardigan – incidentally made from pure virgin wool – weren’t necessarily haute couture, but I liked wearing comfortable clothes. And besides, I commuted by bike! I wasn’t about to go around in a miniskirt and high heels!

  Jess must have been able to read my mind, since she retorted: “And don’t try using your bike as an excuse! You can take the subway like everyone else. It’s too bad. You’d be so gorgeous if you just put a little effort into it. Look at that hot guy with the brown hair over there, you could have him in the blink of an eye, if you didn’t look so frumpy and actually combed your hair once in a while!”

  It’s true, completely absorbed in thinking about my dream, I did sort of neglect my hair that morning. My red mane must have been a little more disheveled than usual.

  Physically speaking, Jess was the exact opposite of me. Always put together, even when she played sports, she had a natural sense of style and she knew how to play up her features: makeup, hair, clothes, all carefully studied and matched. She had breasts, a round butt and firm thighs that she loved to wrap up in tight, ad-hoc outfits. Her perfectly smooth, blonde hair gave her an angelic charm, but her sparkling, mischievous eyes showed the world she was no saint! No, really, there was nothing I could hold against Jess. And the way every guy looked at her as she walked down the hallways of the university confirmed what I already knew. She had palpable sex-appeal. A pretty perfect body, and a pretty good head as well. After a brilliant high school career in the United States, where she was born, she decided to come study law in France. She left her entire family and all her friends on the other side of the Atlantic. “I couldn’t resist the temptation of Paris, I adore this city. And Parisians are just gorgeous!” she would say, in her flawless French to whomever was surprised by her choice.

  I wanted to go get a coffee with Jess after class. I had no intention of going into detail about my dream, I probably wouldn’t even have told her that the dream was mine. But I wanted to pick her brain to find out if she had already done that sort of thing. Jess was sexually experienced, but mostly in erotic sorts of things, which were far beyond my repertoire. Despite sitting in a class on corporate law, I couldn’t get that strangely sensual dream out of my head. What did it mean? Was I suffering from a “lack” of sex? Did I have hidden fantasies that I wasn’t aware of? Maybe I just wanted to snuggle up in a strong pair of arms? No! Jess wouldn’t have seen anything romantic in that dream. Maybe she would have run out to buy me a dildo - “an indispensable accessory for any woman who cares about her pleasure” - if she knew that my mind was capable of creating a lover with a turgescent penis.

  For the moment, I stayed alone with my doubts and my questions. I needed to run, I had to get to the office. I worked as an intern in one of the biggest law firms in Paris, three days a week. A position I had managed to snag thanks to the people my auntie knew. She was really a fairy godmother to me. She had never had any children and had poured all of her maternal affection into me. My father, a notary who lived in a small town, a very old-fashioned French man, was a thousand miles away from imagining that his sister offered me a lot more than room and board. I quickly gathered up my papers, slid them into a folder and gave Jess a quick kiss on the cheek (she had adopted our tradition of kissing cheeks hello and goodbye).

  “I’ve got to run!” I said softly, once class was over. “I’m goin
g to be late again!”

  “For the love of god, comb your hair!” Jess responded, loud enough for everyone in the last row to turn around and look at us.

  I was red as a beet when I left the lecture hall. I hated drawing attention to myself! I ran out to get my bike. The firm was two neighbourhoods away from the university, and I really didn’t have any time to spare. I put my bag over my shoulder and mounted the frame. I loved riding through the streets of Paris on my two-wheeler. It made me feel so free, something Jess and her high heels didn’t really understand. I sped up, aware that no matter what, I was still going to be late. As I always was, honestly. I jumped down, out of breath, put my bike on the bike rack, quickly checked the time and rushed into the impressive Haussmann building, typical of those gorgeous neighbourhoods. The same as always every day I came to work, I ran into Madame Lepic and her nasty little chihuahua, while walking through the hall. The dog was swaddled in a leatherette silver and pink coat. (It was female!) I excused myself, heading towards the staircase – no time to wait for the slow-motion lift – and ran up the flight of stairs to the second floor, with the impressive gold plaque bearing the name of “Foch Investments”. As soon as I tumbled through the heavy door, Mr. Henri Dufresne, master (literally and figuratively) of the house, pounced upon me:

  “Ah, Elisabeth, sweetheart, your report on the potential of Asian markets is well-documented and pretty much complete. Of course it could be polished a little more, but well done. You’ve got a future ahead of you, sweetheart. However, I have to ask you, put some more effort into your wardrobe! You won’t get anywhere in these kinds of outfits. Don’t forget that Sacha Goodman is going to be here tomorrow. I want to see you in a skirt and heels. I wouldn’t want him to think my staff is sloppy. Oh, and Arnaud wants to see you too!”

  Staff, staff…I was flattered, but didn’t forget that Mr. Dufresne still hadn’t made me a concrete offer, and the end of the school year was right around the corner. It was April and I’d already been splitting my time between here and the university for a year and a half. And I was still on an intern’s stipend! I really hoped that my efforts would pay off and that I could get a real position at Foch Investments. Once I had my Master’s degree in my pocket, of course.

  Absorbed in my thoughts, I slowly walked over to the office of Arnaud Dufresne, the glorified rich kid. What did he want from me? He had been trying to put the moves on me since I started with the firm. I could have given in! Maybe then I would have received an offer for a permanent position? The casting couch! But no. Really. Arnaud Dufresne represented everything I hated in men. He was conceited. He thought he was hilarious, though he usually bordered on rudeness (“but it’s just office humour,” he would say with a smile full of innuendo.) An empty shell. A social climber who would never have got his degree if Daddy hadn’t sent a big cheque – a “donation”, of course – to the director of the private school “for children who come from good families” that he attended in one of the poshest neighbourhoods of the capital. Aside from this, Mr. Son from a Good Family made a big show out of flaunting his female conquests, recounting the episodes and giving all sorts of salacious details. Ew. Even though I came from a relatively wealthy family (nothing compared to the Dufresne family, though), my parents never, ever would have wanted their money or social position to be the only thing that could open doors for me. They’d be even less approving if I wallowed about in debauchery. They had raised me to live according to their values. Be proud of yourself, work towards what you want, respect yourself, respect others. Sure, it probably seems a little old-fashioned today. Anyway, in the end, Arnaud was just another young guy who came out of a nice neighbourhood, there were hundreds more just like him! Not necessarily a bad guy. But as much as I liked the elder Dufresne, who was a very cultured self-made man, the younger Dufresne just made me nauseous. Luckily there were no innuendos or games today, he just wanted details on a file. I wasn’t at all surprised that he was trying to look good in front of the big shot from the US! I finished a whole bunch of files that afternoon, and even forgot about my erotic dream. The office was really hopping: everyone was excited about the potential association with the huge American firm Goodman & Brown and Monsieur Goodman’s personal visit. Though Foch Investments had attained a level of prestige here in Paris, this association would give an international dimension to the Dufresne father-and-son business! Tomorrow I’d be able to get a better idea of what this Goodman character had in mind. Maybe I could have an international career, too! Why not? For now, though, I had to get home, there was plenty of studying to get done before the end of the week.

  I heard the sound of Tchaikovsky through the door as I reached the landing. No need to look for my keys, Maddie was home! My Aunt Maddie (short for Madeline) used to be a star ballerina. She still has a collection of slippers and a pronounced taste for the Nutcracker, which she listens to regularly. But it wasn’t nostalgia. Maddie lived every moment of her life as if it was going to be her last. A promising dancer, she gave everything up to marry a rich (and slightly eccentric) industrialist twenty years her senior. A marriage of convenience? Not at all. She was madly in love with my uncle, she followed him around the world, even to remote countries where there wasn’t much of a social life (she always shone the brightest during social gatherings). She had put away her desires to be a mother (but was that really what she had wanted?) and cried for forty-five days and forty-five nights when Hector died from a loose bullet during an ordinary hunting trip. But she bounced back. She resurfaced more beautiful than ever and enjoyed the fortune she had inherited, using it to pursue her own pleasures. Married young and always faithful, she then found a certain kind of comfort in sex. Yet she was always, always very classy. She chose her lovers carefully – young, of course, but also cultured and dignified. She herself had a timeless beauty that men of every age enjoyed. I secretly hoped that I’d have her body when I got to be her age, without getting my hopes up too high. We were both redheads – that was a start, at least!

  “Come sit by me,” she said from her armchair, her eyes half-closed. “Listen, Lisa. Isn’t it fabulous? So how was your day?”

  “Oh, nothing all that special, school, the office. Tomorrow the boss from the New York firm is coming, the one I told you about, and Mr. De Villiers wants me to wear a skirt and heels!”

  “That sounds like Henri,” Maddie said, laughing.

  They had met in back in high school and stayed close ever since, which is how I got my internship in such a prestigious firm.

  “But he’s right,” she added. “I’m going out with Antonio tonight, take whatever you want from my closet. We’re the same size, you should be able to find something.”

  Antonio. I couldn’t help from blushing. In my mind’s eye, I again saw the scene in the kitchen a few days ago, in the middle of the night, when I found myself face-to-face with his tight and perfectly sculpted butt cheeks. He was pouring two glasses of Champagne in his birthday suit and instead of tiptoeing away, I blurted out a hasty “sorry”, which caused him to turn around immediately. The state of his erection said a lot about what he was planning on doing after drinking the champagne. I was actually thirsty, but I went straight back to my room without drinking anything.

  “Lisa?”

  “Um, yes, yes! Thanks Maddie. Have a good evening!”

  Black skirt? Purple skirt? Above the knee? Below? Straight cut? Full? Oh, dammit! I took what seemed like the most basic thing to me, a grey flannel piece that fit perfectly around my hips and flared out slightly towards the bottom. A simple, white and efficient blouse completed the ensemble. So there we go. Satisfied, I looked at myself in the mirror, turned round and around on my tiptoes. Was there anything I was missing besides shoes? I had a pair of black pumps, worn no more than two times. I felt like I was walking on eggshells when I wore them, but somehow I doubted Mr. Dufresne would like to see me match a flannel skirt with Converse sneakers. Thankfully I’d be going directly to the office tomorrow, people would look at
me weirdly if I showed up to school wearing this kind of outfit. I went to bed with my notes from a class on law for private companies…and I fell asleep after the second paragraph. My dreams were all of being surrounded by erect penises dancing around me. Really!

  The problem with my special “American in Paris” outfit is that it didn’t really work well on a bike! To top it all off, the wind was blowing pretty hard that morning. One hand on my handlebars, the other holding down my skirt, and those bloody pumps that kept slipping on the pedals made the commute particularly horrible. I finally spotted the building the office was in, the torture was almost over. I loosened up a little, stretched out my thighs, which were tight from the beginning, and got ready to break when my right foot slipped again. I lost my balance, crashed into something and fell down face-first, my flannel skirt sliding high up over my butt. Did I lose consciousness for a second? Two? I was a little shook up.

  “Are you okay, miss?”

  I heard a voice that was both gentle and strong pierce through the fog that enveloped me. I felt a hand push my skirt back down and, holding onto my arm, help me back up. I blinked. Was I dreaming? Was I waking up now? The powerful hand pulled me over to the pavement as I tried to gather up what was left of my dignity.

  “It’s these bloody heels,” I grumbled while smoothing down my skirt and blouse. “I slid, I didn’t see you.”

  “You crashed into my car,” the stranger said, visibly shook up. “I’m taking you to the hospital!”

  “No, it’s not worth the trouble, I’m okay,” I turned to look at him, now that I felt like a human once again. And…wow. Where did this guy come from? Tall, a tight swimmer’s body, jade eyes that pierced right through me (could he even see through my clothes?) He was just oozing testosterone. If Apollo appeared on Earth today, I think he’d have a body like this guy’s. I was at a loss for words.

  “I can’t just leave you here like this, at least let me take you where you need to go – where are you going?” His warm voice wrapped around me. I felt like I was floating. It was altogether very odd.