‘Do you like that?’ he whispered. Jess didn’t hear her own voice, as she mouthed the words, just his.
‘Yes … yes I do. Give me more!’
The stroking, the circling, the rocking and rubbing, it became more. She made it so, but it felt like him. Strong fingers, deft fingers, perfectly precise.
‘Yes, that’s good,’ she cried, squirming about. There was nobody else in the house, so she could be loud. Nobody else in the vast, soundproofed hotel room, so she could even scream if she wanted to. ‘But I want you. I want you to fuck me. Now!’
So demanding. But this was her show. She was in charge.
‘Your wish is my command,’ Dream Ellis said, with that low devilish laugh, from the real world. Twisting his hand in the dream, he tore away her G-string, ooh wild! Then he reached down, unfastening his pyjama bottoms and moving forward, ready to cover her body with his own.
‘No! Let me see it first!’
If wasn’t as if Jess had never seen a cock before, even if this crazy scenario had been actually happening. Despite her lack of sexual experience, she was no prude, and she’d enjoyed images of naked men online and in magazines. And at her life drawing class, she’d seen her share of ‘equipment’, though never been especially impressed.
Now, she could be impressed. She could extrapolate. Make Ellis huge!
Dropping out of the dream for just a second, she thought, Maybe his is huge!
What a whopper … towering, reddish, proud. Pointing at her.
I bet he really is big. He’s got that swagger. Primal. Potent.
She imagined how it might feel to her touch, and how warm and hard it would be. She squeezed, not sure whether he’d like that, but Dream Ellis groaned, pleasure not pain.
‘Okay then … I want it in me. Get to work, Mr McKenna.’
Not Dream Lover. No more kidding herself.
‘With pleasure.’ Dark-eyed, he resumed his approach, moving between her thighs, positioning himself. And this was fantasy again, no consequences, so no condom.
Again, she was in the realm of conjecture, with nothing but tampon use and unsatisfactory and abortive exploration with her vibrator as a guide. And the latter hadn’t worked out well, had it? Doubts threatened to pull her out of the dream, but she shook her head against the pillows, as if to banish them. The real first time would, no doubt, be uncomfortable; this fantasy was idealised, so all possible pain was banished.
Surrendering again, she soared, the pleasure from her own fingertip ministrations transmuted by the power of imagination. Becoming more and different sensations.
Her dream lover billionaire entered her, and she welcomed him, in both worlds drawing up her knees to cradle his body, his lean, powerful, pumping hips. The rhythmic impact of him knocking against her, again and again, juddering her clit in sweet, percussive jolts of pure sensation.
And the kisses. The wicked words. Rude, delicious things he said about her body, her heat, her tightness. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Jess knew she’d laugh her head off afterwards about the absurdity of her own inner dialogue, but right now, when it mattered, it excited her more.
Just as her inner voice had become his, the relentless massage of her fingers became his thrusting, and the combination, persistently applied, could have just one outcome. Her back arched, her legs waved, and her pussy flexed and clenched as she hit her climax.
It was deep and shattering, a harder coming than she’d ever reached before, and she wailed out, coherent yet incoherent, ‘Ellis! Ellis! Ellis!’
Afterwards, she wasn’t sure whether she’d passed out or not. She probably hadn’t, but it almost felt that way. It was as if the spirit of Ellis McKenna had not only fucked her senseless, but turned into a tornado that had swept her up and dashed her against the wall, again and again.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jess whispered as she sat up again, aware that she’d been shouting and yelling, perhaps even screaming, during her orgasm. Her whole body still seemed to be thrumming, especially her sex, the sensation far finer and more affecting than anything either of the cheap vibrators she’d tried could ever have produced.
‘Bloody hell …’ She righted her pyjamas, still panting for breath, still tornadoed-out.
Would the real thing be like that? Would it be like that with him?
But with a man there would be so many other variables. What he wanted. His staying power. His preferences. His physicality.
She’d no doubt that in purely physical terms bedroom-Ellis was as gorgeous and as aesthetically pleasing as boardroom-Ellis. But realistically, he was only ever going to be her fantasy, wasn’t he? And other men would as surely have their foibles and quirks and imperfections, just as she had hers.
But why can’t he be more than fantasy, a sly, subversive voice whispered. The card was there on her bedside table. She could ring him.
Don’t be daft. He didn’t mean it. He was just amusing himself, and ringing him would only lead to total embarrassment. He certainly wouldn’t ring her, and that was for sure.
Yes, better this way. It’d just been a crazy thing that had happened, and she had to look on it with a laugh, rather than a what-might-have been.
But she would do something about it. Make it work for her. All this sitting around waiting for a man to desire was pointless and cowardly. She had to give men a chance. More of a chance. Billionaires that looked like beach-bum angels were a rare and special case. With everyday men, you probably had to give yourself more of a chance to know them before lightning struck and you realised you wanted them.
Finally, she’d got her breath back. And now she needed a drink, perhaps a midnight snack, and a wash, to clear the sweaty, sexy grunginess from her body.
Thank you, Ellis McKenna. You’re a beautiful fantasy object, and you’ve made me get my act together. We’ll never meet again, but our ‘moment’ was well worthwhile.
Rising from her bed, she headed for the bathroom door, full of resolution. And confidence.
And a little touch of wistfulness as the sight of the card caught her eye …
6
In his apartment overlooking the Thames, Ellis McKenna twirled the business card between his fingers and stared out across the river. He saw no lights from late night river-craft. He saw no familiar night-time skyline. He saw no 24/7 bustle of the busy sprawling metropolis.
‘Jess,’ he said to himself, enjoying the name on his lips, short and sweet.
Well, it hadn’t been the usual way he met women for brief, sexual friendships, had it? With hindsight, he realised he’d never actually seduced an employee of any of the many McKenna-owned companies. And he probably shouldn’t start doing it now. It was bad form. Exploitative …
And I’m not even sure you’re the sort of woman who’ll be satisfied with my ‘parameters’, Jess, and one of my three or four week only relationships? You deserve something real, not a shallow fling.
Even so, her image tormented him. He’d have to get her out of his system, because never again could he allow a woman to be in his system. That was the domain of Julie, whom he’d loved, and always would do.
Sex was okay. Sex was often glorious. Sex was a panacea. Sex purely for physical exhilaration and release wasn’t betraying what he and Julie had shared, because that had been more, so much more.
So it was probably best to purge himself now of any disquieting and obsessive thoughts about Jess Lockhart. They could enjoy one of his four-weekers together, and have a high old time of fucking and mutually satisfying sex play, and afterwards they’d move on, refreshed and sated and with stronger hearts, to face both their sets of demons.
Jess’s demon was that she was a virgin, and even though she’d not expressed it in words, she very patently and obviously didn’t want to be one. She wanted sex. He just knew she did.
But do I have the right to be the first?
Now there was a thing. Yes, Jess almost certainly did want to be rid of her virginity, but he sensed she was an old-fashioned girl, well,
woman, and didn’t just want to throw it away with just any old man.
You’ll be all right with me, Jessica Lockhart. I’ll make it good for you. Good, with no regrets.
He could imagine her now, in his bedroom here perhaps, her lovely body relaxed and spread before him on his wide, comfortable bed. Her creamy limbs glowing against the immaculate sheets. She had gorgeous legs, he’d seen them, and he’d wager a chunk of his very considerable fortune that the rest of her was just as delicious.
‘Jess,’ he groaned, slipping the card that bore her number into his pocket. His cock was aching furiously, and unfastening his robe, he revealed it as he leant his head against the tempered and one-way glass of his magnificent-viewed window. Clasping his length in his fist, he began to work himself slowly, picturing Jess moving uneasily in his bed, plagued by the same fires of lust that tormented him now.
Had she fancied him? Yes, he was sure she had. He could tell the signs. Bright eyes, flushed face, the pert, spiky way she’d responded to him. She might be a virgin, but she was a sensualist too. He’d no way of knowing why she was still virgin well into her twenties, but a gut instinct told him it wasn’t because she was cold. Quite the reverse. When she did have sex, when she was relaxed, she would enjoy it. She’d love it! And God, did he want to be the first one to light the blue touch paper on an inferno of passion and response.
Working his hand and his hips, he thrust his cock to and fro in the glove of his curled fingers. His pre-come flowed from his tip, the silkiness of it lubricating the slide of his flesh, mimicking the silk that would flow from Jess’s sweet puss when he prepared her long and slowly with pleasure and orgasms.
I’ll introduce you to sex with every power at my command, beautiful girl. That’ll be my project, and my pledge to you. I won’t let some clod who doesn’t appreciate you be the first.
Clamping his fingers tighter around himself, he imagined the sweet, tight grip of her sex, rippling and pulsating around him as she came, for the first time, around a man.
‘Oh dear God,’ he chanted as the white heat of pleasure barrelled down his spine, and through his loins, jetting out as semen that spattered in sticky bursts against the window.
Oh Jess, he thought again, smiling as he slumped against the strong glass, anticipating the delicious times that lay ahead with a bright, delicious woman.
But first, he had a cleaning up job to do. Laughing softly to himself, he fastened his robe, and headed for the utility room, his heart feeling lighter than it had done in a long time.
7
I’ll be in touch, Jess. I mean it.
Four days had passed. Four crazy days. Four days of people at work asking stupid questions about whether she was going to see ‘the big boss’ again, and her saying ‘No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous.’ Pam and Emma were particularly disappointed.
But Jess had considered calling or texting Ellis McKenna, because it had been four days of thinking about him, non-stop. She’d put his number in her phone’s address book and once or twice, she’d been right on the point of calling it, and some dumb thing or other had happened, and the opportune moment had been gone. After about the fourth time, she’d decided it was fate and a message from the gods that it wasn’t supposed to be.
So when her phone made its text noise while she was on the bus home, and there was the name, ‘Ellis’, she cried ‘Fucking hell!’ and dropped the thing on the floor.
‘I beg your pardon?’ remarked a cheeky lad in the seat opposite, retrieving the phone for her.
‘Thanks! Phone spam! I hate it!’ replied Jess, almost shaking too much to tap the icon to read the message.
Hi Jess, how are you? Would love to take you to dinner. How does La Girandole at eight tonight sound? Let me know. I promise not to behave like an oaf this time. E
In her mind’s eye, she saw that devilish smile. His confident swagger.
Yeah, right, and you’d be heartbroken if I turned you down. Some girl you picked up on the off chance. Not.
That was harsh, she knew, but still, she started to compose as polite and friendly a refusal as she could manage in a text. Then deleted it. Then took another shot at it. Then deleted that and typed:
I’d love to. Shall I meet you there? J
Within moments his reply came.
Wonderful! I’ll pick you up about seven thirty. Address?
He probably knew her address, from her personnel file, but she suspected he was trying not to seem too controlling, too stalker-like. She tapped in her address and added Looking forward to it!
She imagined him sitting there reading it, somewhere, in car, at his home perhaps? Maybe in a lull in a high powered meeting?
Me too! See you soon. E
What the hell had she done? This was crazy. Anything might happen. But she wanted it to happen.
I might end up having sex with you, Ellis.
The final frontier.
I want sex.
True.
But not meaningless sex.
He knew she was a virgin. Could he possibly understand what a huge great big enormous deal it would be to her, not to be one any more? Some women, younger women, slipped off their virgin status with barely a second thought, but for her it’d be tantamount to metamorphosis.
Ellis McKenna was a beautiful man, and the odds were that he was an experienced and skilful lover. But he’d probably lost his virginity in his teens. Twenty years ago? And it wasn’t the watershed for boys that it was for girls, surely?
But I could wait for Mr Right another ten years or so, and then I might have a horrible time of it, even if I love the man. Why not take a gamble on a gorgeous billionaire? You’ve fantasised enough about it, you silly mare.
Yes, she saw his face every time she touched herself now. And his body. Stifling her cries in her pillow, she’d pleasured herself every night since she’d met him, picturing him naked again and again, or maybe partially dressed, his flowery shirt unfastened. His lightweight linen trousers open … Clothed or stripped it was so easy to imagine a sleek and lean, magnificent physique.
Take a chance, Jess. Stop dithering. Stop debating. Stop just dreaming and start doing! You’ve got a date with a real life sex god, so just go for it!
Even if she did meet her one true love one of these days, he’d expect her to have some experience at her age, surely? Nobody seemed to care about virginity any more, except her, so the man she eventually married or lived with would probably actually be pleased that she knew how to ‘do sex’.
When she reached home though, she ran upstairs and flung open her wardrobe. Where was Cathy when she needed her? But her friend was out again, with her own bloke, off to a concert straight from work, and probably not experiencing the slightest qualm whatsoever about the possibility of sleeping with him. In fact, eagerly looking forward to it!
Primping and preening probably more than she’d ever done for any date before in her entire life, Jess tried to keep her mind in neutral, focusing on the tasks in hand.
The trouble was, now the decision was made, the fantasies flooded in, distracting her.
It always came back to Ellis McKenna’s body again. Muscular or sleek? Smooth or hairy? Big or average? Not small … no, not small.
Images from life drawing class jostled in her head, phasing into her own imaginings of what lay beneath the linen suit and the flowered shirt. She saw Ellis reposing on the sheet-covered couch, or standing on the plinth, unashamed, a man she actually desired rather than a convenient human shape that happened to be male.
Stop it, Jess. Get on with what you’re supposed to be doing. You don’t even know if you’re going to see anything tonight! It might be just a nice dinner and chat!
Easier said than done. In case of ‘the eventuality’ she had to look good from the skin out, and none of her lingerie was really of the seductive category, just pretty and not especially provocative. All her clothes were like that, she realised. Smart and well chosen, elegant and flattering, but nothing to knock a
man dead. No wonder she’d had no enthusiasm for getting out and meeting someone; she hadn’t even provided herself with the right tools for the hunt.
Finally, it came down to a dark rose pink silk top and matching skirt. A wedding outfit that had drawn some compliments. It had even led to a date, but just one of those very occasional and awkward encounters that she specialised in. He’d been nice enough, but there’d been no second outing.
And there probably won’t be one after tonight, either. Even if we do sleep together.
While she was grappling with her slippery, freshly washed hair, and trying to get it to stay up when it when it wanted to stay down, her mobile beeped.
A text. Swinging between relief and despair, she hardly dare look.
If he’d changed his mind, she’d be free of all this stress and internal debate, what a relief!
If he’d changed his mind and she’d never see him again, oh no!
Change of plan, Jess. I’m running late. Sending car to collect you. See you at restaurant. Hope to be there to meet you, but if not, table booked in my name. I’ve ordered champagne for you while you wait. E
Now! Now was the chance to back out. Say thanks, but perhaps not a good idea after all.
You birdbrained wimp, Jess! Don’t be stupid.
Shoving her phone right to the bottom of her bag, out of reach, she returned her attention to her hair. Best to leave it down really. Wasn’t that how virgins always wore it?
La Girandole was a glorious place: glamorous, but quietly discreet, and surprisingly welcoming to those of a nervous disposition. Jess had never dined there – it was well out of her normal price range – and on arrival, she was treated like a princess. Ellis’s instructions, no doubt, as just the same thing had happened with the luxury hire car that had collected her, and then glided through the night like her very own personal fairy-tale carriage.
How to Seduce a Billionaire Page 6
