Taking his Risk (Year of the Billionaire Part 2)

by Falls, K. C.

  I followed his instructions. I was naked and exposed. He began to remove his shirt excruciatingly slowly. "Touch yourself." He finally reached the last button. "I love it when you show me how you want me."

  "Oh, God, I do want you," I replied.

  "Don't tell me . . . show me." He kept his eyes trained between my legs as I brought a tentative hand down to my mound. I was more prepared this time to give him what he wanted. I'd never even touched myself during sex until Tristan had told me to when he took me at Brian's. Now I knew the thrill of it and a mixture of excitement and self-consciousness gurgled inside me. I watched the movement of his muscles as he wriggled the shirt off his back and it slipped to the floor. He was so sleek, such a purely male animal. I groaned as my mind and my pussy registered the thought at the same moment. I didn't have to touch my folds to know that I was already dripping wet. "Give yourself permission, Raina. Silence the voices."

  He could crawl right inside my head, that's for sure. I can't explain what held me back, but it was exactly as if there were little voices saying "no, no, no" inside my head. It was too intimate, and the intimacy compelled and frightened me at the same time.

  He unbuckled his belt. My fingers found my clit and began a familiar dance of pleasure. I knew just the right pressure, just the right speed and having his eyes following every move I made heated me up in a way I could never have imagined.

  His trousers fell to his feet and he kicked them off along with his loafers. He leaned down to take off his socks but his eyes never left my body. Finally, he shoved his boxers down and stood at my feet watching me. His cock was standing straight out from his body and the sight of him so hard--so hard for me--propelled my hand to a higher speed. I closed my eyes and let the sensations break over me.

  "You're such a greedy one, such a hot pussy, greedy for cock."

  The way he said things did something to me. His very tone made me want to satisfy his every desire. From another man, it might have been different. I might even have found it demeaning. But not with him.

  I opened my eyes and watched him devouring the sight of me. He had a hand on his cock and was stroking it softly. It awoke another level of lust in me and I wondered if he was going to make himself come with me.

  "Let yourself go. Come for me. Excite me."

  I wasn't far from orgasm. Seeing him naked and ready in front of me, so fine, so fucking sexy pushed me over. I put more pressure than ever on my clit and began to moan as the contractions started deep within me and became a concentration of pleasure at my clit. The spasms were hard and sharp, as they always are when I masturbate. I kept his gaze for as long as I could, but squeezed my eyes shut when the sensation overtook me. I lapsed into the brief ecstasy of being completely alone with my climax.

  I opened my eyes and he was at the side of the bed. "That was gorgeous. Absolutely perfect."

  I glowed with his praise. I wanted to give him anything he wanted. Anything.

  "Now, suck me off." He took my wrists in his hands and pulled me up to sit on the edge of the bed. Standing in front of me, his erection was inches from my face. He took it in his hand and bounced it against my cheek, sort of slapping me with it in a way that I found beyond erotic. I licked my lips, anticipating having him in my mouth.

  He took my wrists again and placed my hands behind my head, holding them against my neck with one of his much larger ones. He put his other hand on my throat and guided my head toward his cock. I tasted the salty drop of cream that had appeared at the tip before he pressed himself into my mouth.

  I was his vessel in every sense of the word. My hands were pinned and he was in control of every movement. He moved my head forward and matched that with small thrusts through my lips. He kept his eyes fixed on the sight of his swollen cock disappearing into my face.

  There had never been a moment in my sexual experience that felt quite this way. He was using my body and yet I felt anything but used. His lust, his desire and his excitement transferred into me through some sort of intimate conduit and fueled a frenzy of passion deep inside me. I began to moan against him and he worked himself in and out.

  He answered my sounds with groans and called my name repeatedly in the raspy voice of heat. There's something about hearing your own name like that, called out in a moment so primal, which fuels the fire. I sucked at him harder and urged him with my mouth to release into me.

  I didn't have to wait long. I knew his climax was upon him when he stopped and held my head still, his cock as deep as I could take him. He released my hands and I immediately grasped the cheeks of his ass as he started to heave great sighs toward the ceiling. His hips jerked and his come hit the back of my throat in hot jets that I swallowed with great satisfaction, knowing I had pleased him.

  He looked down at me and smiled. "There's no more beautiful sight than your mouth wrapped around my cock. God, you almost make me dizzy . . ." He took my face in both of his hands and kissed me, first softly, then deeply.

  "Can you taste yourself in my mouth?" I asked him.

  "Just a little . . ." He sat down beside me on the bed. "Funny, I don't think I've ever done that."

  "Kiss a mouth you've just come in?"

  He looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah, that."

  "Tristan, you don't have to be shy about it. I've got no illusions about your experience." I put 'air quotes' around experience.

  "Well, that was a new one, at any rate."

  Somehow when he told me that we had done something he'd never done before I got a little thrill. I knew I could never be the first and nor could he be. But knowing I could be the first at something was gratifying nevertheless. It was a lot like finding out from Kwan that Elsa wasn't with him at Cap d'Agde.

  ***

  We rummaged around in the kitchen for something snack on. It was lunchtime but neither one of us felt like going anywhere. For one thing, we didn't want to put any clothes on. I loved the idea of padding around Tristan's amazing apartment buck naked. He had introduced me to the joy of nudity. No matter what happened to 'us', I'd probably spend the rest of my life seeking new ways to shed my clothes.

  I kept looking anxiously at the collection of cell phones that we carried from room to room. Tristan peered from behind the door of the refrigerator and caught me.

  "We have done everything we can. I know you heard everyone agree that if the kidnappers said they'd call in 24 hours, that's when they'll call. My bank is gathering the money and I'll have it before they close today."

  "It just seems so wrong to be . . . well, enjoying myself so much when Mom is being held hostage."

  "I understand. But, you know something? I can't think of anything we could have done that would have made more sense." He walked toward me across the kitchen and held me against him. "Is there anything more comforting?"

  I pressed my cheek against his warm, bare chest and listened to his heart beat as he stroked my hair. "I'm scared, Tristan. Very scared."

  "Of course you are. But your mother is going to be fine. Archie was absolutely right about this being an amateur job. Now that I'm sure it's not the union behind the abduction the more confident I am that we're going to come out on top."

  "It isn't just about Mom. I believe you. I think she's going to be okay."

  "What else is it about then?"

  "I'm afraid to tell you."

  "Look, I know I can be intimidating, but if something is frightening you, I want to know about it."

  "Tristan, I'm not sure I can do this."

  "Do what?"

  "Us. I'm not sure I can deal with a lot of things about us."

  "Is this really the right time, Raina?" He tilted my chin up to his face and crushed his mouth against mine. I wondered if it was possible to quell the reaction my body instantly had to his touch."I need to feel you near me today. I want your closeness. I want to fold you in my arms and never let you go."

  It did make sense. I had a very bad habit, according to people who knew me best, of picking the worst possible
moment to bring something important up.

  "Will there ever be a 'right' time, Tristan?"

  "Yes, there will be. I promise you that."

  A promise. Well, I liked the sound of that. "Then," I decided to be bold and go for it. If he wanted to get all pissed off and ridiculous, now was as good a time as any to find out. "I expect you to keep that promise."

  "You can count on it. But now…"

  I could feel his cock beginning to stir against me. He wanted me again. And I wanted him. I wanted to obliterate the clouds of anxiety and the agony of uncertainty. I wanted to lose myself in the pure delight of fucking him because when he was inside me I felt whole. All my doubts shrank back in the force of our desire for each other. When he was inside me I felt invincible.

  Thirteen

  We were back in my parent's house by sunset. We both felt that Dad should have company for dinner and we could all be there in the morning when the phone finally, mercifully rang.

  Dad didn't have much of an appetite for the delicious Italian meal we ordered in from Delmonico's. "C'mon, Daddy, it's your favorite," I urged him to eat. He had always been hugely complimentary any time we had their food.

  "I have a confession to make," he said as he pushed the food around on his plate. "I've never really liked this stuff that much."

  "But you've always said it was the best!"

  "That was for your mother's sake. She loves a good Italian meal and I know how much work goes into one. All these years I've been telling her how much I love Delmonico's just to give her a break. To tell you the honest truth, your mother's lasagna beats the balls off of this stuff."

  Tristan snorted with understanding laughter. "True love," he said.

  My father sighed. "The greatest gift a man can ever have. My biggest wish for all three of my girls has always been that they find a man who adores them and treasures them as I have their mother."

  "That's a wonderful thing to say, Daddy. You and Mom are very lucky."

  "There's more to it than luck, Angelcakes. There's a lot more to it."

  I thought of the sacrifices, the compromises, the highs and lows, the pregnancies and the children, the hours of work it took to raise and support us, the endless nights my parents climbed the stairs to bed hand in hand. I thought about how they had built family traditions for us and taught us how to be good people. I marveled at their patience with us when we tested them. I remembered their pride in us as each little success built our confidence and their sympathy as the inevitable defeats built our strength.

  Then I thought of Tristan, cut off from all of that so early. Left to his own devices for so long. As I cleared away the plates and leftovers, I wondered if that kind permanent scars that depravation left. He knew virtually nothing of family after his mother died. How would that affect him if he ever decided to have children? Or was he completely serious when he said he wanted nothing to do with parenthood?

  It was another hurdle, another possibly insurmountable obstacle to 'us'. I hadn't really given much thought to having a family of my own. I suppose I just assumed that it would happen naturally someday. But now, focusing on my childhood, on the wonderful parents I had been blessed with, I realized that it was terribly important to me and I didn't think I could be happy with a life that denied me that fulfillment.

  Oh, Mom, hurry home. We need to talk.

  ***

  Mom's cell rang at precisely six-thirty the next morning. By that time there were eight people sitting around the table staring at it. Of course it was on speaker and a recorder was standing by.

  "Obviously, you come alone and unarmed. Get on the East River Ferry at Pier 11, Wall Street Station. Take the noon ferry. Put the money in a basic backpack and stow it under the last bench at the back of the ferry, furthest from the exit. Leave the ferry at the Brooklyn Bridge Park stop."

  "When we have checked the bag and the contents thoroughly we will release your mother. Tell your team that we are watching. It is not difficult for us to find tracers, bugs, marks on bills or any other device your high tech team is considering using to find us. Don't risk bringing harm to your mother for the sake of a few dollars. You won't hear from me again."

  After the phone went dead, Archie spoke. "As plans go, this isn't a terrible one. Crowded lunchtime ferry, knapsack, lot of water around. Not terrible at all."

  The FBI guys started discussing the best way to wire the pack so they could track it. Tristan immediately broke in. "Apparently you didn't hear what the man on the phone said. I refuse to break any of his rules for the sake of a bag of cash. We're talking about someone who's a lot more important than money to a lot of good people."

  "Mr. King, a serious felony has been committed."

  "And I sincerely hope you apprehend the perpetrators. However, you are going to do that after Marjorie Harding is safe and back in the arms of her loving family. I hope that's clear."

  Archie added his two cents. "My guess is that they'll ride the ferry and somehow transfer the money to another bag anyway. The backpack will go over the side. Given what we've learned about the number of people who know Marjorie's nickname, I'd say we have a darn good chance of tagging the perps by keeping an eye on the people on Don's list. Sooner or later, someone is going to want to spend that money more than a hundred bucks at a time."

  "Even though I asked for used bills that are not in sequence, my bank had dozens of staffers record each serial number of every bill. It may be a tedious process, but there's a good chance that patience and persistence will eventually pay off," Tristan told the group. "At any rate it's our only option."

  One of the NYPD detectives spoke next. "Mr. King, we haven't got the kind of manpower to conduct that kind of surveillance of a dozen people for weeks trying to pick up on a single serial number. That's going to take an outrageous outlay."

  The FBI guys nodded in agreement.

  "That's not going to be an issue. I'll handle the investigation through Archie's office. It will make him happy and give his people something to do." Tristan smiled and so did Archie. I figured that not only would Archie have to hire a small army of helpers, but also that this would be the biggest and most lucrative case of his humble career. "I promise you if they turn anything up, you'll be informed right away."

  ***

  A million dollars in hundred dollar bills doesn't really look like much. There were twenty fat packets of hundred dollar bills in a canvas bag on our kitchen table. Archie did the honors of pulling them out and stacking them up in a neat pile so that we could all take a long look at them. Except for Tristan, of course. He had zero interest in the money.

  What he was interested in was the clock on the microwave. The watch on his wrist. The old ship's clock on the mantle. The time display on his cell phone. If a man could move time by force of will, he would surely have done it. But the minutes dragged on and on.

  Impatience and worry was etched all over his handsome face. "I hate that you have to be the one to do this, but we don't dare pull any stunts. Chances are, the kidnappers won't even board the ferry until after you've gotten off. They're counting on having the backpack go unnoticed until they come looking for it."

  "Well, not too many New Yorkers are going to be poking under a seat trying to snag a strange backpack. I think we've all been trained not to touch things like that." I took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be okay, Tristan. I just want to get Mom back home."

  ***

  I was concentrating on everything and on nothing as Kwan drove me across the Brooklyn Bridge and down FDR Drive toward Pier 11. The backpack sat beside me, mocking me.

  Money. Funny how no one ever talks about the downside to a fortune. There are very few stories about what it costs to be in that elite group of people to whom the everyday worries of mortgages, kid's shoes or the electric bill simply don't exist. There's a downside to all that money. And the downside can be deadly.

  My brain hurt from all the thinking. My heart ached because I knew what I had to do.<
br />
  Tristan wasn't going to put the brakes on. It had to be me. Oh, I could probably annoy him enough with questions and neediness to drive him away, but I didn't want to whine my out of the relationship. And, chances were very good that he could seduce his way out of any serious discussions anyway.

  Tristan King was not what I wanted out of life. I wanted a lifetime of expectations, the traditional kind with children and grandchildren. I wanted a home that wasn't a fortress. Safety and security, love and affection and a simple life was best for a girl like me. He was anything but simple and every day with him was living on an edge that I was certain to fall off of sooner or later.

  It seemed like an eternity before we came to the pier. Kwan wished me luck as I got out of the car. I wasn't feeling lucky. I was scared and not just because of Mom. I was scared that I was planning to walk away from the only man who'd ever made me feel really alive. A man who could captivate my very soul and literally put the world at my feet.

  I looked around, suspicious of every person on the boat. Who was the bad guy? Suddenly everyone looked dangerous even though all the agents and the cops told me that the kidnappers probably wouldn't even get on until I disembarked at the Brooklyn Bridge.

  It wasn't even a five minute ride. I pushed the backpack under the last seat as far as it would go. I didn't look back as I got off the ferry.

  Come and get it, assholes. Just let my mother go.

  I took a taxi back to the house. A plain yellow cab just like millions of New Yorkers take every day. The windows weren't tinted, the carpet was dirty and the driver smelled like curry and cigarettes. It was comforting and bittersweet. The kind of ride that suited Raina Harding--Brooklyn native, recent recipient of useless degree, going home to the home I grew up in and the bedroom I'd be sleeping alone in, probably for a long, long time.