How to Seduce a Billionaire

by Portia Da Costa

  ‘I … I think that could be arranged,’ she answered, panting. He was touching her just the way she loved. How could he do that? If he kept on, she’d be agreeing to madness. Wanting to say more, she could only let out a moan and rock her body to entice him.

  ‘Good, very good.’ With some kind of magician-like twist of the wrist, he thrust a finger inside her, as if testing her condition. ‘I’ll pay extra, of course. I don’t like to mark women, but you never know. I’ll recompense you for any income lost, don’t worry.’

  What was he talking about? She could barely think. He was pumping her now. Not touching her clit, just thrusting his finger in and out of her in a smooth, relentless rhythm. And when her sensitive flesh seemed about to flutter into glorious orgasm, he pushed in a second finger too, beside the first. As she wriggled and rode them, she felt his cock brushing her thigh.

  ‘Are you ready for me?’ The redundant question was like a breeze sighing in her ear, so soft as he leant over her, clothing and rubber-clad erection pressed against her.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said on a hard gasp, almost coming, her entire body sizzling with sensation.

  ‘Ready, willing and able, it seems.’ He buried his face in her hair, and nuzzled her almost fondly. ‘You’re a remarkable woman, Bettie.’

  And then she was empty, trembling, waiting … but not for long. Blunt and hot, his penis found her entrance, nudging, pushing, entering as he clasped her hip hard for purchase and seemed to fling himself at her in a ruthless shove.

  ‘Oof!’ His momentum knocked the breath out of her, sending her pitching forward, the side of her face hitting the mattress, her heart thrilling to the sheer primitive power of him. She felt him brace himself with a hand set beside her, while the fingers of his other hand tightened on her body like a vice, securing his grip. His thrusts were so powerful she had to hold on herself, grabbing hunks of the bedding to stop herself sliding.

  ‘Hell. Yes!’ His voice was fierce, ferocious, not like him. Where were his playful amused tones now? He sounded like a wild beast, voracious and alpha. He fucked like one too, pounding away at her. ‘God, you’re so tight … so tight!’ There was surprise in the wildness too.

  Squirming against the mattress, riding it as John rode her, Lizzie realised something. Of course, he had no idea he was taking a road with her that not too many men had travelled. She’d had sex, yes, and boyfriends. And enjoyed them immensely. But not all that many of them, throughout her years as a woman. Fewer than many of her friends, and hundreds fewer than an experienced escort.

  But such thoughts dissolved. Who could think, being possessed like this? How could a man of nice but normal dimensions feel like a gigantic force of nature inside her, knocking against nerve-endings she couldn’t remember ever being knocked before, stroking against exquisitely sensitive spots and making her gasp and howl, yes, howl!

  Pleasure bloomed, red, white heat inside her, bathing her sex, her belly, making her clit sing. Her mouth was open against the duvet; good God, she was drooling too. Her hips jerked, as if trying to hammer back against John Smith as hard as he was hammering into her.

  ‘Yes … that’s good … oh …’ His voice degraded again, foul, mindless blasphemy pouring from those beautiful lips as he ploughed her. Blue, filthy words that soared like a holy litany. ‘Yes, oh God … now touch yourself, you gorgeous slut … rub your clit while I fuck you. I want you to be coming when I do. I want to feel it around me, your cunt, grabbing my dick.’

  She barely needed the stimulus; the words alone set up the reality. The ripple of her flesh against his became hard, deep, grabbing clenches, the waves of pleasure so high and keen she could see white splodges in front of her eyes, as if she were swooning under him, even as she rubbed her clit with her fingers.

  As she went limp, almost losing consciousness, a weird cry almost split the room. It was high, odd, broken, almost a sob as John’s hips jerked like some ancient pneumatic device of both flesh and iron, pumping his seed into the thin rubber membrane lodged inside her.

  He collapsed on her. She was collapsed already. It seemed as if the high wind that had swept the room had suddenly died. Her lover, both John and a John lay upon her, substantial, but not a heavy man really. His weight, though, seemed real, in a state of dreams.

  After a minute, or perhaps two or three, he levered himself off her, standing. She felt the brush of his fingers sliding down her flank in a soft caress, then came his voice.

  ‘Sorry about calling you a “slut” … and the other stuff. I expect you’ve heard a lot worse in this line of work, but still … You know us men, we talk a lot of bloody filthy nonsense when we’re getting our ends away. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No … not at all. I rather like it, actually.’ Rolling onto her side, then her back, she discovered him knotting the condom, then tossing it into the nearby waste bin. His cock was deflating, naturally, but still had a certain majesty about it, even as he tucked it away and sorted out his shirt-tails and his zip.

  ‘God, you look gorgeous like that.’ His blue eyes blazed, as if his spirit might be willing again even if his flesh was currently shagged out. ‘I’d love to have you again, but I think I’ve been a bit of pig and I’ll be hors de combat for a little while now.’

  You do say some quaint things, John Smith … But I like it.

  I like you.

  ‘Perhaps we could go again? When you’ve had a rest?’ She glanced across at the second pile of notes on the dresser. It looked quite a lot. ‘I’m not sure you’ve had full value for your money.’

  John’s eyes narrowed, amused, and he gave her an odd, boyish little grin.

  ‘Oh, I think I’ve had plenty. You … you’ve been very good, beautiful Bettie. Just what I needed.’ He sat down beside her, having swooped to pick up her panties, then pressed the little cotton bundle into her hands. ‘I haven’t been sleeping too well lately, love. But I think I’ll sleep tonight now. Thank you.’

  A lump came to Lizzie’s throat. This wasn’t sexual game playing, just honest words, honest thanks. He seemed younger suddenly, perhaps a little vulnerable. She wanted to stay, not for sex, but to just hug him, and hold him.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he said, touching her cheek. ‘But it’s time for you to go. I’ve had what I’ve paid for, and more, sweet girl. I’d think I’d like to sleep now, and you should be home to your bed too. You don’t have any more appointments tonight, do you?’

  ‘No … nothing else.’ Something very strange twisted in her mid-section. Yes, she should go now. Before she did or said something very silly. ‘I’m done for the night.’ She got up, wriggled into her knickers as gracefully as she could, then accepted her other things from John’s hands. He’d picked them up for her. ‘I’ll just need a moment in your bathroom, then I’ll leave you to your sleep.’

  She skittered away, sensing him reaching for her. Not sure she could cope with his touch again, at least not in gentleness.

  John stared at the door to the bathroom, smiling to himself, but perplexed.

  You haven’t been working very long, have you, beautiful Bettie?

  How new was she to the game, he wondered. She didn’t have that gloss, that slightly authoritative edge that he could always detect in an experienced escort. She was a sensual, lovely woman, and she seemed unafraid, but her responses were raw, unfiltered, as if she’d not yet learned to wear a mask and keep a bit of herself back. The working girls he’d been with had always been flatteringly responsive, accomplished, a massage to his ego. But there’d always been a tiny trickle of an edge that told him he was really just a job to them, even if they did genuinely seem to enjoy themselves.

  But Bettie seemed completely unfettered by all that. She was full throttle. There was no way she could have fabricated her enjoyment of the sex; there was no way she could have faked the unprocessed excitement she’d exhibited, the response when he’d spanked her luscious bottom.

  She loved it,
and maybe that was the explanation. Most whores encountered clients who wanted to take the punishment, not dish it out. Maybe she wasn’t all that experienced in being on the receiving end of BDSM? But she was a natural, and he needed a natural right now. Someone fresh, and vigorous, and enthusiastic. Unschooled, but with a deep, innate understanding of the mysteries.

  He had to see her again. And see her soon.

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  Black Lace, an imprint of Ebury Publishing

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  Black Lace is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © Portia Da Costa, 2015

  Portia Da Costa has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  First published in 2015 by Black Lace

  www.eburypublishing.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9780352347909