by Falls, K. C.
Taking his Risk
Year of the Billionaire Part 2
By
K.C. Falls
Copyright © 2012 by K.C. Falls
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
The material in this book is intended for adults only.
kcfalls.com
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One
Tristan offered me a drink from the well-stocked bar over the kitchen counter. He slid the rolling shelf out and motioned for me to choose. The last drink I had on an airplane was a little mini of cheap wine from a cart. I went over to the cabinet and eyed an array of full sized bottles that would rival most bars. There was a chrome grate across the bottom half of the lineup that I guessed was to prevent anything from flying off the shelf if we hit any turbulence.
"I know better than to let you choose for me. You nearly killed me with that kamikaze I had at your house that first night." I grimaced remembering how potent the drink had been. I pointed to some premium vanilla vodka. "A little of that and some orange juice, if you have some."
"One 'creamsicle' coming up." I watched his hands as he made my drink and poured some scotch over ice for himself.
His hands captivated me almost as much as his face and voice from the first day I met him. Could it have only been two months ago? Two months for those hands to know my body better than I ever dreamed possible? "Between the kamikaze and the way I left you that night, I'm surprised you ever wanted to be with me again," he let one cool finger trail over the sensitive underside of my wrist as he passed my drink to me.
"You have a way of redeeming yourself." I tasted my drink. "Mmm, mmm. This is more like it."
Tristan lowered himself with his usual grace onto the dove gray leather sofa. Never had a man so impressed me with the way he moved. Everything Tristan King did seemed subtly choreographed--a personal ballet designed just for him. He patted the seat beside him, but I didn't immediately join him.
I'd had to buckle my seat belt before I got the chance to really explore the interior of the huge private jet. We'd done a quick walk-through before the pilot had called for us to take our seats and now that we were on our way, I wanted to poke around a bit.
"Do you mind if I look around?"
"Help yourself. It's quite interesting, really, to see how things are adapted for an aircraft's interior. The same kind of things you'd do on a ship."
"Have you got a ship, too?"
"I wouldn't call it a ship. But I do have a nice yacht."
That didn't surprise me in the least. I wandered around the kitchen/dining area first. There was a convection oven, a microwave, a refrigerator, several cabinets with dishes but no actual stove. "I guess you don't really cook on a plane, right?"
"No, whatever I need is ordered from a caterer who specializes in provisioning for aircraft. There are quite a few choices, if you're hungry."
"No, maybe later." I ran my fingers over the surface of the highly polished wooden table top. "Table for eight? You could do a flying dinner party."
"Like the table? The wood is very distinctive. It's called ebony burl and it's found mainly in Laos."
I studied the dark and light swirling pattern on the shiny tabletop. "It's very pretty." I walked toward the living room and Tristan watched me from the couch. He was seated on one of two three-seaters and there were additional loveseats and big comfortable looking recliners. The entire interior was done in shades of gray and ivory with lots of different types of wood accents. The effect was warmly masculine; rich but not ostentatiously so.
"The furniture converts into sleepers. Counting the master, eight people can sleep on board."
Between the living area and the bedroom was an office space with four chairs and desks. Beyond that, the master suite. I stood in the arch of the bedroom door surveying the big bed with its creamy spread and the fur throw casually, but purposefully draped over one corner. I felt Tristan come up behind me and encircle my waist, holding my back against him.
"Are you prepared to get nice and cozy tonight?" He playfully rubbed himself against my ass and I pressed back and wiggled.
"Tristan, who does all this for you? I mean, your pilot doesn't come on board and lay the fur on the bed just so, fill the vases with exotic flowers and make sure you've got a fully stocked bar right down to the Stoli vanilla."
"There's a service. They don't require much notice, unless I have special requests. This trip I had lots of special requests, so I had them start days ago." He got an impish look on his face. "Aren't you going to ask what my special requests were?"
"Do I dare?"
There was a closet on the right side of the bedroom and Tristan slid one of the polished panels aside. I saw a woman's wardrobe hanging there. I didn't have to look to know that the clothes were all my size and the dozen pairs of shoes below them would all fit perfectly. That's why I had been instructed to bring nothing but my passport. Tristan wanted to dress me like his own personal doll. It was romantic and disconcerting at the same time. But, I'd agreed to the game so I had to make the best of it.
"How lovely! I've never in my life had everything brand new at once." I really did try to sound sincere, but there was an element of the whole scene that was pushing the buttons on my bizarre-o-meter.
"If you hate the clothes, there are plenty of places to shop where we're going." He looked so little-boy-sad it made me feel like an ungrateful bitch.
"I don't hate the clothes. I haven't even looked at them yet. It's all just a little overwhelming, that's all. Being whisked into the sky, not knowing where I'm going and not having a thing of my own with me."
"I meant for this to be fun for you . . ."
I took his hand. "I know you did and it is fun for me. It just takes some getting used to, Tristan. Remember, I'm the girl who wears clothes that don't have a pedigree and drives an old red 'Eep.'"
He laughed at the reference to my Jeep with its missing first letter. "I did offer to replace the Eep, you know."
I just shook my head. The man was incorrigible.
"You could at least let me get you a new 'J'."
"You know what I'd really like?"
"Say the word and it's yours."
"I'd really like to take a bath in that big tub I spied in there. I feel a little grungy after the play and all."
"Absolutely . . . of course. Everything you need should be stowed under the sink." He pulled me close for a long deep kiss. His lips parted against mine and I felt his hot tongue snake into my mouth. He smelled almost edible. The slight peaty scent of his scotch-tinged breath and the lingering faint scent of masculine cologne was a powerful combination. Everything about him smelled like it should be bottled and sold as "MAN".
His hands pulled on the cheeks of my ass and pressed my groin into his. "I'll have a shower in the front bathroom and we'll rendezvous when we're all pink and shiny. Take your time, but hurry. My cock is already remembering all things you said you planned to do with me . . ." I was almost tempted to tell him to skip the shower.
I felt him start to swell against me. I remembered, too. The nights we passed in sultry conversation when while pretending publicly we weren't toget
her burned in my mind. Laying in the dark, miles away from him, sparked my imagination and freed me from inhibition. The phone sex had been almost as good as the real deal.
When I started to explore the bathroom I saw that, as usual, Tristan had every detail covered. Watching him develop his character for the play we'd just closed I'd witnessed his attention to detail in action. There wasn't a nuance he missed for the run of seven performances. In live theater the audience always has the entire scene in view. Unlike a movie, there aren't close-ups that cut the other actors out of the picture. If an actor steps out of character, the audience can see it immediately. Tristan never faltered.
The bathroom was stocked with every imaginable soap, shampoo, body wash, lotion, potion and device. All came from the same English company I'd never heard of but knew instantly had to be the very best of the best. He hadn't missed a single thing a woman might want down to a very good razor and hair dryer.
I ran the tub and luxuriated in the swirling scented water. I had always rationalized that my three dollar shampoo was just the same as the salon brands, only in a different package. Was I ever wrong. Even before I dried it, I could feel how silky smooth the pearly products had left it. After I finished drying my hair I looked at the selection of perfumes he had chosen for me. Needless to say, I didn't recognize the name of any of them. What I did note was that each was packaged in extravagant crystal bottles embellished with gems and gold--all undoubtedly very real. I picked one in a pyramid shaped flask and dabbed a drop at my temples, wrists, throat and the backs of my knees. The fragrance was subtle yet completely unique. I could get used to this.
Waiting for me on the bed was a robe made of crimson velvet with satin cuffs and lapels that matched the lining. I slipped into it and felt myself slowly but surely adjusting to another world; another life. The satin felt cool against my skin. I felt new.
Tristan was waiting for me in the salon. He had showered and was also wearing a robe, his a silk paisley with a black velvet lapel. It made him look very "English country gentleman". He wore the look well, as he did anything. I was certain that the man could wear overalls and a battered straw hat and pull it off.
I snuggled beside him on the couch and he handed me a snifter of brandy.
"Armanac," he told me. "It's a lesser known brandy produced in France. I like it because I find it smoother. It's unique."
"Well, you certainly have a fondness for the unique."
"Perhaps that's why I'm drawn to you."
"I'd hardly call myself unique. I'm about as typical a girl as you'll ever meet."
"That's where you're so wrong, Raina. There's nothing typical about you. Not in today's world."
"Are you saying I'm old fashioned?" I admit I was fishing. One of the things I really wanted to know, and from Tristan's own mouth, was 'why me?' I've never considered myself anything but average in the looks department and maybe a B+ intellectually. Nothing in my background suggested anything but ordinary. And yet here I was, on a private jet, flying to who-knows-where with one of the most secretive and successful investment gurus in the world. I think that gave me a perfect right to want to know why.
"I wouldn't use the world 'old-fashioned'. You're just very different from ninety-nine percent of the women I've ever known. You're innocent, without being naïve. Your passion for your family and your friends is genuine and admirable. In a world of whores, you aren't for sale."
I arched my eyebrow at him. I very much felt that I was, at least in part, being bought at that very moment. The trip, the clothes, even his help for my parents all seemed to obligate me to him.
"I know what you're thinking and that's just not the way I see it at all. When I say whores, I don't just mean the women--they're just the more obvious. Men whore all the time. In my business, someone offers to sell me his soul for a few pieces of silver every day." He took my hand and held my gaze. "You have accepted my gifts as what they are. Gifts. I told you in the beginning that there were things I'm simply not going to be able to fulfill for you."
"Expectations." It had become a sad word.
"Exactly. Can I be blamed if I try to compensate for what I lack with that which I have in abundance?"
"I don't blame you . . . I just wish . . ."
"I know what you wish. And perhaps a part of me wishes it too. But what I'm asking you to give me is time. I can see that you wear your heart on your sleeve."
I turned my face from him and he turned it back. "And that's one of the most wonderful parts of you. There isn't an ounce of deception in you. And that," he kissed me softly, "is what makes you a lover beyond compare."
He held me close and possessed me with his mouth, melting me into him. "When your body is mine, it is mine so completely it astounds me. You hold nothing back. You give yourself over to pleasure and passion in a way that makes me feel powerful."
"But, Tristan, you are powerful. Why would you need me to affirm that?"
"There are different kinds of power. Money is only one kind. Emotion is another entirely different kind."
"So what you're saying is that you're long on money and I'm long on emotion?" I said it with a smile, but I was only partially joking.
He chuckled in return. "That's a rather harsh way of putting it. Did I mention bluntness as part of your charm?" He pulled me across his lap and held my head against his chest. I think he didn't want me to see his eyes. "Take what I have to give you. Give me your truth."
Risk and return. That was his life, after all. He hadn't asked me to love him. We'd never used the word. But that's what he wanted from me all the same. He wanted my love and he wanted to buy his way out of reciprocating. And yet there were so many ways I could read his . . . care for me. He had protected my parents. He had spent a great deal of thought putting this trip of ours together. Quite simply put: here I was.
He smelled pure and the comfort of his chest moving up and down against my head was a lullaby. I didn't want to continue to analyze. I was willing to put aside expectations for the here and now. If the moment was all I had, I was going to seize it.
Pulling him to his feet, I led him back to the bedroom. We had this time and I would cherish it. I turned back the covers on the bed and stood in front of him inviting him to possess me in any way he desired. Tristan stepped toward me and put his hands at the collar of my robe and pushed it away from my shoulders. A pool of red velvet slid down my legs in a soft wave to my feet.
He spread his fingers apart and grazed his hands down around my breasts, along the curve of my waist, over my hips and behind me to the globes of my ass. My flesh bloomed under his touch, my nerves stretching under my skin to meet his caress. We had stayed apart for long days and long nights to keep me and my parents from harm's way. It was an agonizing eternity being in one another's company and staying apart. Now, we were completely alone, 30,000 feet above the earth and no one could see us. No one knew where we were.
He pulled me against him, pressing my hips into his. As his robe parted I felt the hard flesh of his cock against my belly. I accepted his desire for me, remembering his words. Through my yielding response he drew power. I would give myself over to him, believing that his body spoke in ways his words could not.
Tristan lowered me onto my back on the bed and dropped his wrap to the floor. The light in the room cast glowing highlights on his smooth skin and accentuated the definition of his subtly athletic build. I loved to watch his muscles move under his golden skin. Having his utter maleness towering over me was enough to spark the chain reaction of my body's lust. First I felt the warmth seep into my chest, then my nipples tightened and reached for him. The fire spread down my belly and fanned the flames inside my core, calling my clit into high alert. A fountain of warm wetness made ready to receive him.
"I don't think I tell you enough how beautiful you are." His eyes traveled over my body as if it was his whole world. "You remind me of . . . I don't know, maybe a fawn, or a colt. So natural and pure."
Take one average girl like
me and put her on a mile-high bed with a textbook specimen of a gorgeous man, add lots of pampering and top it all with a compliment like that and you have a recipe for 'wow'. I was speechless. Please, oh please, don't ever come up for air. Whatever spell I've accidentally cast on you, please don't let it wear off.
Tristan took his place beside me on the big bed and stroked my side as I faced him. He started to kiss me, softly at first. Just glancing his lips over mine so that I could feel his soft lips and taste his minty tongue. His face was shaved baby-bottom smooth and his cologne was fresh and spicy in my nose. I murmured my appreciation into his mouth. Tongue to tongue we fueled our hunger with restrained urgency, neither of us wanting to hurry the moment.
Our hands strayed down each others' sides. Tristan's skin was smooth--perfect. I traced the muscles in his chest and twirled the soft curls of hair on his chest before I followed the golden line down his flat torso. He groaned when I twined my fingers in the silky bush of hair around the base of his shaft and lightly traced the side of his penis up toward the head. I ran my finger around the edge of his glans and over the tiny slit at the end. I found a warm drop waiting for me there and caught it on my fingertip. Bringing it to my mouth, I glossed my lips with it and kissed him. I felt him pull a deep breath as he tasted himself, as if the intimacy of it took his breath away.
He reached over the side of the bed to the floor and pulled the satin sash from my robe. There was a silk tassel on the end of the sash that he began to trail over my skin. It was a tickling sensation that raised goose bumps on my skin. "Have you ever been fucked blindfolded?" he asked me.
Before I could answer 'no' he continued. "Have you ever wondered what it was like to have the sense of sight deprived while a cock is smashing into your sweet, dripping pussy?"
Dear God, the words he could use so casually! I wasn't just hearing his hot questions, I was feeling each one deep inside the most primal part of my brain.
He dragged the tassel down my legs and pulled it over my clean shaven mons. I felt the threads cross my erect clit and one or two caught in the moisture of my cleft before he tugged it free. He raised himself over me, knees on either side of my hips and rocked the sash over my chest, the tassel swaying like a pendulum from one nipple to the other.
