by Claire Adams
BILLIONAIRES ESCORT
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
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Chapter 1
Jake
She had silicone breasts and a lower lip that drooped from the weight of her collagen injections, but I wasn’t focused on either of those things. When she walked inside my home, all I cared about was that bubble butt. It swayed up and down as her heels clicked on the marble floor.
“This place is crazy.” She turned around to take it all in, the chandelier, marble staircase, and of course, the centerpiece of the foyer: a three-foot-high floral display. She bent down to smell the flowers.
“They’re fake,” I said.
“Oh.”
I came up behind her, wrapped my arms around her stomach, and bit her behind the ear. She turned around, jerked herself away, and started walking up the stairs. I kept my eyes on her hips as they swung back and forth. She looked back when she got to the top of the landing, winked at me, then yelped when I spanked her and dug my fingers in deep.
“You’re gonna get it,” I said. My cock ached with desire.
She sucked in air sharply through her teeth. “You promise?”
My instincts took over. I snatched her up, pulled her into my arms, and carried her into my room. The second she hit the bed, I straddled her and ripped her shirt off. She was vulnerable and sensitive, and she stared up at me with anticipation. I dug my teeth into her neck, behind her ear, and over her chest. I could feel shivers running down her stomach, so I met them with my lips while I reached around and unstrapped her bra.
I threw it to the floor, then pressed her nipples between my lips, first one, then the other. She was a slave to my whims. I could make her do anything I wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it.
I could make her shudder and cry out. I could make her tremble. All I had to do was reach down and circle my fingers around her opening while I began unbuttoning her tight, white shorts. I slipped them down her legs, threw them aside, then tore off her panties.
She clenched her legs together. She was already grasping at air, trying to pull me in. The light caught a drop of moisture flowing down her lips. I flicked her clit, and she jolted.
“You like that?” I pressed her sensitive bud between my fingers, gripped it tightly, and took in her expression. This wasn’t just about getting my rocks off. It was about getting into her head. I needed to see her lose control. She had to want it. It wouldn’t feel right if she was just going through the motions.
I slid down her body, placed my head firmly between her legs, and swept my tongue over her opening. She moaned at the feeling. I rested my tongue at the top of her clit, flitting it back and forth over the tip. She watched me with her lower lip quivering and her eyes ready to roll into the back of her head.
I drove my finger into her, and she sighed. “You like that?” I asked, twisting my finger inside her.
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you gonna take this cock?” I stood up and unbuttoned my pants.
“Uh-huh.”
“Tell me you want it.” I unzipped my pants.
“I want it,” she said.
“Yeah? How badly do you want it?” I reached forward and shoved my finger inside her.
“I want it.”
I could hear the strain in her voice. “Good,” I said. I whipped my cock out and watched as her eyes went wide. I slipped my palm over the shaft. “You think you can take it?”
“I don’t know, baby,” she said in a flirty voice, but she sounded genuinely skeptical.
“I think you can handle it.” I grabbed her by the hips and flipped her over.
“Hey,” she squealed. She tried to look back and see what I was doing, but that would’ve just taken away from the fun. So I grabbed her by her long blonde hair, pulled her head back, and slammed my dick in.
I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the burn that slipped past the head of my cock and encompassed my shaft. I dove in deep, hit her spot, and pulled back. I knew how to draw out the moment, tease the body, and let the pressure build up until I lost all control and my hips took over. My cock screamed with desire, driven by the sound of her moaning. It kept getting louder and louder until she screamed along with it.
I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t slow down. That glorious pressure built up behind my balls, spurring me on. At first, it was just a tickle, nothing special. Then it became a burst, sliding up my shaft where it rested just below my head. I slammed my cock inside her, let it rest on her spot, and reached around to caress her clit.
I erupted immediately in a flash of raw, powerful energy that burst out and flowed into her. She tensed up around me and cried out. A wet wave flowed down over my cock. I pulled out and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand.
“God,” she said and rolled over onto her back. “That was amazing.”
“It was.” I wiped myself off and walked into the bathroom to wash off. I loved the way my face turned bright red after a session. My blond hair stuck to my forehead, and sweat dripped down my neck. If anyone saw me, I’d tell them I’d just finished working out, which was kind of true. This was a sort of workout.
When I got out of the bathroom, the woman lay on the bed naked with her head propped up in a seductive pose.
“You know where the front door is?” I tried my best to not sound like a total asshole. “I have work to do.”
She shot up off the bed to recover her torn shirt and bra. “Yeah, I can show myself out.”
She left the bedroom and I heard her walk down the stairs. My front door closed shut, and she was gone.
I collapsed on the bed and sighed. I could already feel the urge rising back up. Nothing could stop it. That’s why I used Tony’s delivery service. I could order them up and kick them out without having to go through the motions. The girls knew why they were here, and they consented to it, of course.
Cindy wasn’t innocent by any means. I’d looked at her file before I ordered her. She’d been working in this industry for nearly 10 years and had been with the escort service for the majority of that time. It wasn’t a side job or a quick gig for her, either. She was so dedicated to her job that she was willing to go under the knife so she could get paid better. She should’ve known the rules by now. If she didn’t, it wasn’t my job to teach her.
Chapter 2
Mercedes
My cousin Loren and I were packed into my tiny living room. I stood in the five-foot space between my TV and my couch, wearing a pair of black slacks and a blue blouse I bought at the thrift store.
“Well,” I said, turning around slowly to show off my outfit. “What do you think?”
“Where’s your habit?” she asked.
“My what?”
“Your nun’s habit,” she said.
“Is it really that bad?”
“It’s fine if you were interviewing for an office job. But this job is not that. Are you sure you understand what you’ll be doing?”
“It’s a package de
livery service,” I said.
“You’re not that dumb. I know you’re not.” She got up to get a soda from the fridge.
I followed her into the kitchen. “What do you mean, ‘I’m not that dumb?’”
“Come on, Mercedes. It’s not just a package delivery service. It’s a sexy package delivery service. Dress for the job you want.”
“You want me to walk in there wearing nothing but a bikini bottom?” I grabbed a soda too.
“Be realistic. They won’t be looking at your job experience. All they care about is whether you have a driver’s license and a nice pair of tits. You’re not going to get the job looking like a secretary from the ‘70s.” She flicked the pussy bow sewn to the front of my blouse. “You might as well buy a pair of oversized glasses and get a roller set.” She looked down at my shoes and sighed.
I shook my head. “The interview’s downtown. I have to walk four blocks to get there. I am not going to wear stilettos.”
Loren frowned. “Those are nun shoes, and don’t you dare say they’re not. We used to sell them at Shoe Warehouse. They loved those things.”
“Do nuns really wear these?”
“Yes, come on.” Loren led me through the hall into my bedroom.
“What are you doing?”
She threw my closet open and started digging through the clothes pile on the floor. “I’m finding you something decent to wear.”
“I’m not even going to get the job.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not hot enough for this.” I stood up to look in the mirror across from my bed. My hair was a stringy, dull blonde that hung over my curvy frame. “You think my butt is too small?” I turned to the side to inspect my ass. It did not look great in these baggy pants.
“Your butt is fine. It’s the outfit that sucks. But don’t worry. You look good.”
“Sexy delivery service good?”
“Yeah,” Loren said. She fished a pair of white heels out of my closet, looked them over, and threw them behind her.
“I’m not buying it.” I sat on the bed.
“These,” Loren said, holding up a pair of black heels that looked like they’d been designed to stab somebody.
“I’ll break my ankle the second I walk out the door.”
“Prove it.” She handed them to me.
“Really? You want me to wear these?”
“Yes, Mercedes. You need this job. It’s good money.”
I pulled off my sneakers and snatched the heels from her. “Fine,” I said, forcing my feet into the stilettos. When I stood up, my feet wobbled, and I almost fell on my face. “No,” I said, sitting back down. “Just no.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Loren said. “Don’t you have flats?”
I pulled a pair out from under a pile of shirts. They were simple and straightforward. “What do you think?”
Loren nodded. “Those will work.” She turned back to my closet and pulled a pair of denim short shorts off the top shelf. “And these.”
I frowned. “For a job interview?”
“Absolutely,” Loren said. “You’re highlighting your qualifying assets.” She handed me a tight white T-shirt with a daisy on the front.
“Should I splash water on it?” I asked.
Loren handed me a skin-colored bra. “It might help.”
“I don’t know about this,” I said.
“You need this job, Mercedes. That’s why you begged me to get you an interview.”
“I know, but why do I have to dress up like this? You wear sweatpants to work.”
“I change when I get there.”
“Into what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I choose. Sometimes the guys choose.”
“They choose?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve worn everything from schoolgirl outfits to sexy lederhosen.”
I laughed nervously. “Lederhosen?”
“Don’t ask.”
“This won’t work,” I said. “I’m not good at this kind of thing. I should just start applying at fast food restaurants. Maybe I could be a waitress.”
“We’ve been over this,” Loren said. “This pays twice what you’d make waiting tables. And the tips—Mercedes, don’t be stupid.”
“I do need it. I had to disconnect my landline last week because the collection company kept calling. It was literally nonstop from 8 in the morning till 5 at night. As soon as one call ended, they called right back.”
“Is that even legal?”
“I think they could get away with it no matter what. They weren’t from here.”
“That’s just sick.”
“In the end, I got so mad I literally tore the phone out of the wall.”
“What happens if you don’t pay?”
“They’ll take me to court, I guess. Which means I’ll have to pay them back and shell out legal expenses. Like I can afford that.” I sighed. “I couldn’t care less about them. I’m more worried about my mother. You know she’s taking two shifts a day now? She barely has time to sleep, and my parents still aren’t making it, Loren. The insurance company is threatening to cut them off. They’re saying it could cost millions to pay for my father’s hospital bills.”
“I’m so sorry.” Loren rested a hand on my shoulder.
I pulled away. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“You can work.”
“Yeah.” I nodded my head and pushed my thoughts aside. I kept telling myself that what would happen, would happen, but that didn’t make it any easier. “You really think I’ll get the job? I’d hate to go down there dressed like this to get turned down.”
“Did you see the way that guy looked at you when you turned in your application?”
“That was disgusting,” I said.
“What did you expect? Church ladies?”
We both laughed. “Do me a favor,” I said.
“What?”’
“Keep me distracted.”
“Of course.” Loren sat down next to me. “I want a Bloody Mary.”
“With extra olives.”
“And tons of hot sauce.”
“But not too much vodka,” I said. “It’s about the flavor.”
“What do you say?” Loren asked. “Should we go?”
“Absolutely.” I kicked her out of my room so I could get dressed.
Chapter 3
Jake
When I was a kid, our teachers showed us these antiquated propaganda videos about body image. Some of them featured testimonials about anorexia and bulimia and how society’s views on looks were unfair to women. In an ideal world, looks wouldn’t matter. People would be judged on the content of their minds and not their appearance, but that wasn’t the way the world worked.
If I didn’t care about my appearance, people wouldn’t pay any attention to me. People have been attaching warm, fuzzy feelings to good-looking faces long before we could call ourselves human. It is an instinct so powerful that it acted not only on a conscious level, but on an unconscious one, as well.
I’d read plenty of studies showing that good-looking people tended to get better tips, better jobs, and when people were asked to free write about good-looking people, they tended to give them more positive character attributes than they gave to ugly people.
Who was I to deny a natural law like that? I owed my success to pragmatism and a firm understanding of the way the world worked. Idealism was nothing more than gilded ignorance. That’s why I never left the house unless I found some way of emphasizing my assets.
Work was no different. I made a point to wear tight jackets, even tighter shirts, and slacks that hung in all the right places. If I wanted to maintain my position as the CEO of a billion-dollar company, I had to look the part.
Corbin Enterprises owned more than a dozen restaurant and bar chains in both the Eastern and Western Hemisphere. Restaurants are about flair and presentation. Bars are the same way, so I had a little fun. I showed up to work in a differe
nt car every day. I wore colors like bright blue and lavender button-ups that would stand out. Little things like that made all the difference.
I headed home from work that evening driving a sleek, white Lamborghini when I hit a block of traffic downtown. A sign at the end of the street said, “Oxygen Grand Opening,” in bright blue letters.
Of course, I sighed. I had to sit in traffic for more than an hour because some idiot decided to renovate a hole in the wall and call it a nightclub. I knew exactly what building they rented. It was a small, rectangular room, not much bigger than a studio with black, spray-painted walls and a wooden bar that was barely big enough for the bartender to serve drinks.
Like with any club, the allure was in the gimmick and the image. Blue backlights lit the chrome sign above the door. Matching blue lights hung above the front windows, and a strobe light flashed on the sidewalk. It was just a way to get people to pay $15 for a watered-down drink. The customers would spend five or six minutes there and forget the place existed when they left.
Places like that only lasted a few months. The majority of their money came from their grand opening. It was obvious why. The line to get in stretched for two blocks. Most of the people in line were two-bit thugs and nickel and dime dealers. I saw a lot of stained jerseys and baggy pants, but clusters of women stood in line, too, wearing tight, slinky dresses and mini-skirts.
A pair of blondes stared at me from the back of the line. One waved at me. The other grabbed her by the arm to pull her away, but her friend wasn’t having it. She wanted a piece, and she wasn’t the only one. Most of the girls that passed by took more than a passing glance. Plenty of them were openly interested.
I kept my eyes on the road. I could have whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Half the girls at the office fought to get my attention, and I hadn’t even given them a reason to think I liked them. People constantly threw themselves at me. The men wanted to be my friends, and the women were ready to lift their skirts the second they saw me.
