The Billionaire Boss Collection

by Penny Ward

Our eyes lock together in a contest of wills, neither one wanting to submit to the other.

  I stand my ground and keep my eyes locked on him.

  Even though I know he’s probably just toying with me, but I’m determined to beat him, overpower him, and get the facts no other journalist has succeeded in obtaining.

  And if that means a scandalous tumble in the sheets…so be it.

  The story would be worth it.

  “Why did you close your mines?” I inquire gently, crossing over my leg towards him.

  He seems like the kind of guy who knows the fine art of body language.

  Fall for the bait, Jackson. Go on.

  He takes another mouthful of wine and breaks his gaze, a small victory for me as a tick of nervousness appears on his face.

  “Come with me,” he then orders, disregarding my question as he gets back up and walks down the corridor.

  A large slice of me doesn’t want to obey him.

  I have a loose idea of what awaits me at the other end, as an image of a bed and Jackson stark naked loops in my mind.

  “It’s just for the story,” I tell myself when I rise, tracing his footsteps up the dark passage.

  Jackson leads me to the end of the house, stopping at a glass panorama of windows that display the violent ocean and jutted rocks below.

  Okay, Claire, it’s not where you had thought he was taking you. That’s interesting...

  “It’s bittersweet,” Jackson says after a few moments of silence, staring out into the violent half-lit night. “How something so raw and beautiful could also be so dark and sinister.”

  Much like some of your paintings, I want to say but once again lose all courage to spit it out.

  As I match his gaze out the window I feel like I’m suspended in air, perched in a glass box in the middle of a wild hurricane.

  Happy flipping Friday indeed, I think to myself, shuddering at the thought of the box suddenly smashing and sending the both of us down to a grisly death.

  “It’s rather like you, actually,” Jackson resumes, head turned in my direction. “So beautiful, yet so full of…unhappiness.”

  I hardly believe the words when they fall out of his mouth.

  Unhappiness?

  I am not full of unhappiness!

  How dare he say that! I’m happy…at least 90 percent of the time.

  I love my lifestyle in New York: my apartment, my friends and more specifically my job, except for the Hank side of it.

  “I beg your pardon?” I throw at him, anger surging in me.

  If I were any drunker I’d consider slapping him in the face.

  Although thinking that back over, if I’m really being honest with myself, I most likely wouldn’t do something like that.

  As much as my fiery temper at times otherwise suggests, I wouldn’t even hurt a spider if it were crawling over my pillow; I’m one of those people who trap them in a jar and release them back outside instead.

  “You don’t know me,” I jeer at him, whose arrogant smirk is enough to make anyone lose their cool. “How dare you insinuate otherwise.”

  “You claim to know who I am in your articles,” he snaps wittily like he’s enjoying riling me up.

  “Prove me wrong then,” I say, nostrils flaring whilst I straighten out my chest. “Tell me what happened in the mines.”

  “You’re also a foolish little journalist, you know that?” he quips again, the smirk still there like a proud narcissist.

  Then before I even have a chance to blink he clasps an arm around my slim waist, pulling me against him.

  His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling on it so hard that I’m forced to look up at him.

  He appears to be studying my face: eyes, nose and pinched lips, each distinct feature, like they hold an answer to something he’s been trying to figure out.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shout, struggling under his grip.

  Never in my life has anyone touched me so forwardly.

  Has this been his plan all along?

  Asking me over here from the guesthouse…serving up oysters, a well-known aphrodisiac, and then plowing me with his fine, aged wine to get me tipsy enough to sleep with him whilst the backdrop of a hurricane rages on around us?

  It’s a perfect seduction, really.

  I should’ve heeded Sophia’s warning after all…

  “Don’t play coy with me, Claire. You’ve been batting those long, glossy eyelashes at me. I thought this was what you wanted,” he says in a superior tone.

  “It most certainly is not what I want,” I wince, still trying to pull away from him, yet also finding it equally hard to fight the effect his hands on me is having on my libido. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  But Jackson hasn’t seemed to hear me, lowering his face closer, and his breaths warm and infused with wine.

  It shouldn’t come as a great shock when he kisses me, but my body doesn’t know it. His lips move easily, teasing my mouth before his tongue finally enters and collides with mine.

  I stiffen instinctively, at first repelled by him and trying again to burn in my mind what a tyrant he is…the workers he’s forced into labor…the torture camp he may have endorsed…but then more pleasurable sensations take over, spreading out over my body.

  I haven’t been laid in over six months, and the synthesis of his body against mine is bringing out a dormant desire begging to be fulfilled.

  When he ends the earth-shattering kiss I am left speechless and compliant in his arms.

  “So that’s what malicious journalism tastes like,” he whispers, his lips trailing down to my neck. “Funny, I wasn’t counting on it being so satisfyingly sweet.”

  “You’re an animal,” I murmur, yet can’t help but revel from the touch of his lips.

  Soon they return to mine again, and willingly I open my mouth back up to him, a dizzying cloud of hunger enveloping my mind from the loss of contact with his lips only seconds earlier.

  He kisses me fervently, lust now the only true north as he scoops me up into his arms and carries me upstairs to the master bedroom.

  I feel vulnerable but comfortable in his strong arms.

  He makes me feel like a woman that needs his care…

  On his dark antique four-poster bed, draped with white Egyptian silk sheets, we embrace again, tearing our clothes off feverishly so that we’re both naked under each other’s ravenous gaze.

  As Jackson’s mouth traverses down my body I purr in his ear, “A friend warned me about you. She said you get whoever you want.”

  “You should have listened to her,” he purrs back. “She knows what she’s talking about.”

  He stares at me for a while before moving in to kiss me again.

  Oh…

  He is intoxicating.

  I uncontrollably moan against his demanding lips. His hands explore my figure without constraint; he isn’t timid while touching me, and it sets my body on fire.

  No one has never touched me like this.

  I need more.

  His tongue traces my mouth before it intertwines with my own.

  Yes…

  He kisses me with a hunger that I’ve never experienced.

  It’s something that I’ve read about and have seen in the movies, but no one has ever kissed me like this. He doesn’t even know me, but he’s treating me like I’m the only person in his world.

  For tonight, I want to pretend.

  The hard bulge between us presses against my leg.

  Oh… that’s big.

  My hand moves down his body until it reaches his cock.

  Yes…

  He gives a slight groan as I gently massage his hardness. I can feel the blood surging to his cock and he’s getting harder with each passing second.

  A deep moan escapes my lips and I feel….powerful!

  Me!

  I’m the one getting all of these amazing reactions from one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen.

  His kisses move to
my ear and he whispers, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  I shudder against him as he kisses across my shoulder. I feel exposed and vulnerable, but it is difficult to feel insecure when he is looking at me like he’s ready to consume me. I feel like a real woman. One that is desired and wanted. One that is in control.

  It’s downright sexy.

  “Amazing…” he groans as he kisses my perky breasts.

  My responding giggle quickly turns into a moan as he licks my nipple.

  His hands mimic my actions from earlier, he cups my center in his large hand and massages it with his palm. I push against his hand because I love the friction it provides.

  “You’re so responsive,” he mutters.

  His mouth finds my nipple again and he begins a slow and sensual assault.

  Oh…

  His tongue flicks quickly over it as he holds it in place with his teeth.

  Each flick of his warm velvet tongue goes directly to my pleasure center.

  I’m his.

  There is no mistaking it – I am his.

  His fingers gently brush me before he dips his middle finger inside of my wet and waiting pussy.

  Just one finger has me writhing in pleasure.

  He gives it a slight wiggle and laughs lightly as I moan uncontrollably.

  “You like that?” he asks in a commanding voice.

  I give him a shy nod – I do like it.

  A lot.

  His smile is filled with lust and he dips his head between my legs.

  Oh!

  He sucks my aching clit into his mouth, causing me to wriggle against his face, and flex my walls around his finger.

  Yes…

  He presses another digit inside of me and I am lost. My body becomes alight with the flood of sexual sensation – my skin tingling with passion.

  His fingers press against my g-spot as his mouth makes love to me.

  From somewhere deep inside, a loud moan escapes. I have never been one to be loud in bed, but right now, I can’t stop it. I can’t stop anything.

  This man is doing the most amazing things with his mouth and the world should know.

  His mouth is mind-blowing. It’s soft, warm, and firm.

  I don’t know what he’s going to do next, he’s keeping me on the edge with my next orgasm is threatening to erupt.

  “Jackson,” I whisper as I place my hand on the back of his head.

  He speeds up his momentum and sucks hard, demanding my orgasm. His other hand travels up my body and pinches my nipple.

  I am lost…

  “Oooooh, I’m coming. Faster...more...please...yes...there,” I plead as I press my pussy against his wanting mouth.

  Suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m experiencing multiple orgasms or one long one. My body is out of control, seizing, and then releasing my pent-up frustration.

  My mind is somewhere else…

  As I come down from my orgasm induced high, he moves back up to me.

  I grab his face between my hands and kiss him.

  I can taste my sex on his lips and I don’t care.

  He’s an excellent man, I would vote for him if he ran for president.

  Anybody that can do that with their mouth deserves the very best that life has to offer.

  He leans back from me and I catch a full view of his body. He is a work of art and I unashamedly stare at him.

  I want to get a full view of him so that it can be ingrained in my head forever.

  His chiseled chest and abs are the things that statues are made of, but his cock is the main attraction.

  It’s thick, powerful, and bulging.

  It’s bobbing up and down in twitching motions and I have to reach out and touch it.

  I lay back on the bed, he joins me and nudges my knees apart with his.

  He crawls between my things and begins to tease me.

  Jackson moves his cock head up and down my lips. I press forward trying to take him inside of me.

  He laughs at my attempts and I give a frustrated growl.

  “So the journalist wants this story?” he asks.

  “Stop talking. Take me,” I state firmly.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want an angry journalist.”

  Then…

  Oh!

  Fuck!

  His hard cock pushes deep into me in one swift motion.

  Wow.

  I yelp loudly as my body tries to accommodate him.

  “You’re so big,” I purr hungrily.

  “And all yours…”

  Then…

  No!

  He pulls all the way out of me.

  “Come back…” I moan.

  I need him back.

  I need him deep inside me again.

  “Please…”

  Then…

  Yes!

  He plunges deep inside of me again.

  I’m ready for him this time and it feels so much better.

  I have never had anyone so big. He is touching me in spots that have never been touched before. He’s opening me completely and with each stroke, he brings me closer to another orgasm.

  “I want to feel your pussy cream all over me,” he states.

  I nod my head in agreement.

  “No, tell me you can give it to me,” he demands.

  I blush because I’m not accustomed to talking dirty.

  Usually, I don’t say a word in bed.

  He stops his movements and stares at me.

  I move my hips against him, taking more of him inside of me, but he grabs my hips and holds them in place.

  “Tell me,” he demands again.

  “I can try,” I say meekly.

  “No. Don’t try. Do it,” he says as he withdraws and thrusts into me again.

  It’s hard for me to stay focused on what he is saying.

  I am lost in the way he is taking me.

  What does he even want me to say?

  “Say it,” he demands.

  He gives me no choice but to reply.

  “Yes.”

  “Say it.”

  “I can cum all over your dick.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  His pace begins to quicken and he is taking me harder than I have ever been taken.

  His thrusts become deeper, the bed slams heavily against the wall but I can’t give it any thought. This man is completely dominating me.

  He owns me.

  My pussy convulses, contracts, and I give him exactly what he wants.

  I pull him close to me as my orgasm overtakes my entire body.

  It floods into every part of my body and my head throws back on the bed.

  Fuck.

  Yes.

  As another orgasm begins to calm down, he withdraws from me, “Turn over.”

  His deep, tough voice controls me.

  My body rolls over onto my hands and knees.

  He slowly trails kisses down my spine before he kisses both cheeks of my ass.

  “You’re so perfect,” he says in a low voice.

  His large hands grab my hips and he plunges deep inside of me again.

  “Ooooh yes…,” he moans.

  “Faster,” I demand as I push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

  The sound of his thighs slapping against my ass can be heard throughout the room.

  He is pounding me with his hardness… and I love it.

  He groans and grabs a hand-full of my hair, pulling it forcefully as he fucks me like I can’t believe.

  Then…

  One last time…

  He thrusts deep into my wetness.

  And I am blinded by another orgasm.

  Oh…

  He collapses on me, and I welcome his body weight.

  Eventually he rolls over and pulls me with him so that we can cuddle with each other. The warmth touch of his body feels wonderful.

  I never want this moment to end.

  I want this moment to last forever.

  “That was incr
edible,” I gasp, still reeling from the experience.

  “You were incredible,” he kisses my forehead.

  In the warm embrace, I feel safe.

  I feel at ease.

  His warm touch feels like home.

  Before long, I fall asleep while enjoying the luxury of a stranger’s embrace.

  I open my eyes and blink into the light, the curtains partly pulled open to allow a sliver of sunlight to spill into the room.

  Jackson stands barefoot over by the window with only grey track pants on, the contours of his bare back daring me to be seduced all over again.

  My eyes wander over the gentle V-shape that comes to a taper where his waist meets his pant line, the curve of his perfectly shaped and supple ass sitting idly in the cotton.

  He seems to be staring out at the sea whose white-tipped waves I can now barely hear.

  The hurricane has passed.

  Thank God.

  “Hey,” I utter softly, slowly getting up from the bed to go and stand beside him.

  I run both hands along the lithe muscles of his right arm, the skin smooth yet taut under my palms, only to find him flinch and turn sharply away from the window.

  “Sorry, did I startle you?” I ask, gazing up into his eyes that look as fragile as spun glass.

  “No,” he replies vaguely, the whisper of a lie.

  He leans down and gives me a peck on the cheek, a succession of butterflies rapidly swarming in my stomach.

  Seriously, Claire? Butterflies? Remember why you’re here! The story.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks with a warm smile, his temperament changing completely.

  “Like a log,” I bray with a yawn and a stretch, pretending I haven’t noticed the odd change in him.

  He chuckles at my answer. “Good to hear it.”

  Reaching up on tiptoes I kiss his shoulder enticingly, the journalist in me reawakening.

  “I think after last night’s efforts I deserve a reward, don’t you?” I muse at him.

  “Is that so?” he queries, eyeing me suspiciously. “And pray tell what does this reward have to be?”

  I hesitate before asking it.

  The reporter in me is battling with a conscience, a moral tug of war ensuing that I’m not sure my conscience can win.

  The story means more to me than a mere one nightstand with a billionaire, a billionaire who despite displaying some fragility still owes me for my time.

  After all, he’s the one who invited me here to do the interview in the first place.