Heat
A Stone Billionaire Series Novel
Kaya Woodward
Contents
Author Links
Part I
1. Evan
2. Victoire
3. Evan
4. Victoire
5. Evan
6. Victoire
7. Evan
8. Victoire
9. Evan
10. Victoire
11. Noah
Part II
12. Evan
13. Victoire
14. Evan
15. Victoire
16. Evan
17. Victoire
18. Evan
19. Victoire
20. Evan
21. Victoire
22. Evan
23. Victoire
24. Evan
25. Victoire
26. Evan
Part III
27. Victoire
28. Evan
29. Victoire
30. Evan
31. Victoire
32. Evan
33. Victoire
34. Evan
35. Victoire
36. Noah
37. Ava
38. Victoire
39. Evan
Secret
Thank you!
Copyright
Kindle/E-Book/Paperback Edition
This is an original work by Kaya Woodward.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is coincidental.
Cover art created by the author.
Find more at KW Cover Design
Created with Vellum
Dedication
To my faithful readers,
You keep me going.
Author Links
WWW.KAYAWOODWARD.COM
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THE STONE BILLIONAIRE SERIES
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Part I
1
Evan
December 23, 2017
Victoire comes with me because her need to be submissive overcame her business in London.
We are riding in a limo to the airport, and she’s looking out the window at nothing.
The sun is glinting from her Maui Jim’s and I can see my face reflected in them for a moment.
I look like shit, but that’s to be expected after a long night of hard fucking.
I mean, we didn’t even sleep.
Not really.
Unless you count having your lover fall pass out unconscious from exhaustion, your cock in her mouth, sucking it in her sleep like a baby with a pacifier.
I adjust my penis, because just thinking of that is getting me hard.
I woke at the crack of dawn, and at the crack of Vic.
After some tentative probing, licking and tonguing, she opened up for a final round of fucking that left both of us panting for breath.
We showered, and barely pulled ourselves together in time to meet the limo.
But, where I look like a drowned rat, Victoire is fabulous.
“You look as though you’re ready to run off at any moment. Am I that terrible of company?” I tease Vic, with a crooked smile on my face.
She sticks that perfect tongue out at me, peering over the rims of her sunglasses.
“You look like shit, Ev…I mean, Master,” she says.
I laugh, uneasily, not sure how to take that insubordinate tone.
“Well, at least you’re calling me Master, in proper sub fashion,” I say.
“So, that smartass remark of yours only earns you one demerit, instead of ten,” I add.
Vic looks suitably remorseful, and even reaches over to my zipper.
I push her hand away since we are almost to our destination.
As the limousine enters the queue, I rub my face with my hands, trying to scrub away my hangdog look.
A quick ruffle of hands through my hair, a fast check to make sure I don’t have any stray blonde pubes stuck in my teeth, and I am good to go.
The driver opens the door for us, and we step out into the hustle and bustle of the terminal.
Our concierge meets us and escorts us to the gate
I’ve had my pick of women, but Victoire blows every single woman away.
Blonde hair, perfect body, gorgeous blue eyes, and an intensely passionate personality.
And, as I already mentioned, the carpet matches the drapes.
She has wispy pubes, arranged neatly as a small, tight landing strip that is barely covered by her thong.
Most of the time she’ll go commando, if she’s in business attire.
But, since I’ve started keeping more time with her, and since our relationship is based on my complete domination of her in all ways sexual, I’ve commanded her to wear a thong any time I desire it.
And, today, I did.
She grumbled slightly as she was getting dressed, but my look and the fact that we were both so fucking wrung out gave her pause as to continue her protestations.
She finished dressing silently, and I think she put some extra effort in getting dolled up for me.
She came out of the bathroom, truly stunning me with her appearance.
Outside of the bedroom, it’s another story.
She challenges me; Vic keeps me on my toes and doesn’t let me get away with any of my usual crap.
Trust me, there’s a plethora of my bullshit for Vic to handle with, and she stands for none of it.
“You look ready to bolt, Victoire. Am I all that bad? Would you prefer boring old London, instead?” I ask.
“I’m here, am I not?” Vic retorts.
“Okay, Vicky,” I retort back, with her much-hated nickname.
“Don’t call me that!” she snaps.
Vic smacks me over the back of my head with her magazine.
God forbid she throw her phone at me again.
When I chuckle, her indignation only intensifies.
“You’re insufferable,” Vic announces.
“That’s why you love me, dear,” I advise.
“Evan!” Vic hisses at me.
I allow her this familiarity, for the moment since we’re in public now.
I know that is enough to start her motor running.
She loves public displays of affection.
“You’re treading thin ice, dearest, regarding your insolence,” I warn.
But, she has no follow-up.
She probably loves me, she won’t admit to anything other than she relishes the games we play.
Again, the question bubbles up.
Do I want more than just our constant fuck-fest?
I have my serious doubts about how a real relationship with Vic will turn out.
Other than the incredible sex and my expertise at fulfilling her insatiable and deviant appetite, I can’t see her caring much beyond that.
That’s the toughest part for me.
The women I’ve dated prior all wore their emotions on their sleeves.
Vic reveals nothing from those pouty red lips.
Her lipstick matches the red bandage dress painted across the curves of her torso.
We travel to the gate on a pram, Vic’s legs crossed at the ankle.
She appears demure to everyone else, but nothing about this woman
is shy.
It causes me to laugh a little.
One second, she’s a respectable lady; the next I’ve got her bent over my desk, fucking her savagely, screaming “Master!” as she begs for more.
Our fighting is the best aphrodisiac I know.
She loves the punishment and denial as much as I enjoy handing it out to her.
My musing takes a back seat, for now, as we reach the counter.
The plane is ready to board.
Since we’re traveling Executive First Class, the stewardess escorts us onto the plane first.
After all, I tell myself, I’m Evan Stone!
My father is a Manhattan legend, and I intend to follow in those large footsteps of his.
I’m not intimidated in the slightest.
I flew choppers for the military, in combat.
After that, nothing terrifies me.
Not my father.
Not even Victoire.
“Mr. Stone,” the flight-attendant greets us.
She’s a bottle-blonde, and obviously knows of me through the social papers.
She sends a sneaky little smirk in my direction.
Vic pretends not to notice, but I know she’s seething with jealousy on the inside.
We approach some lavish chairs, complete with flat screen displays.
The attendant points and steps aside to let us pass.
“These are your seats,” she says, with a wide smile.
“They are our finest first-class accommodations. Both seats recline flat, with complimentary pillows and blankets. The TV is at your disposal. I’m Alice, and I’ll be at your service for this flight,” she continues.
Alice recites her little dialogue with embellishment.
“Thank you, Alice,” I say.
I return her seductive smile, and slip her a tip, with a wink.
She smoothly hides it and winks back.
“Christ, you’re like your father,” Vic mutters.
She pushes me out of the way, sliding into the window seat.
"That's my seat," I point out, checking our tickets against the labels.
"Really?" she says, peering at me from beneath her sunglasses.
She yawns and pushes the button to recline the seat.
It whirs as she lays back, and I notice her skirt riding up her thigh.
I notice that her thong is barely covering her at all.
Wisps of blonde hair peek out at me, fine, downy and tempting.
"Am I sensing some - insubordination, perhaps, dearest Vicky?" I say.
She hates being called Vicky.
She starts to stick her tongue out at me, and when she sees the look in my eyes, thinks better of it.
"I'm sorry, Ev- Master," she whispers, contritely.
That's better.
"Your insolence has consequences, my dearest Vicky, and you have earned a demerit," I tell her.
Her breathing quickens, and I see her lick the ruby-red lipstick with her moist tongue.
I try to ignore her comment about my father and I being are so much alike.
It’s a bit bothersome, but probably true.
I decide to allow her to remain in the window seat, since I might be able to use that to my advantage later.
Truthfully, I prefer the aisle, but igniting her ire is worth it.
“You know, Vicky, you should let me have that window seat,” I say.
“Well too damn bad, why don’t you go fuck the flight attendant and leave me alone? Hm?” Vic’s vicious voice says.
She glares at me, her intense eyes flashing dark anger at me through her shades.
Ah, there it is!
She is jealous!
I knew it would come out if I pressed the right buttons.
“Maybe, I will,” I reply with equal intensity.
I glare back at her, with a wolfish grin.
“Maybe I will command you to join us. You can just sit and watch, while a real woman shows you how it’s done,” I add harshly.
As I drop into the aisle seat beside her, I’m sure everyone within the entire airplane can probably overhear our conversation.
Who gives a flying fuck?
I know that I don’t.
“I’ll show you how a real woman handles a man,” Vic retorts.
“Oh, a touch jealous, are we?” I jab back at her.
Vic’s blue eyes flare at me again with such intensity that I’m ready to fold, and she knows it.
A slow, determined smile appears on her luscious lips.
I don’t give up that easily, though, and I stare directly into her eyes, boring into her soul and willing her to cave.
When she doesn’t immediately, I know I must try one last move.
Slowly, I reach across her waist, brushing my fingers just above her pelvic bone, and grab the lap belt on the other side of her.
With my eyes still on hers, I click it in place before I pull it nice and tight across her lap.
I brush her thigh one last time, and my fingers deliberately drift along the inside of Vic’s leg to caress the soft skin there.
My fingertips set her on fire with one simple touch.
“Wouldn’t want you to get hurt,” I growl in a low tone, my lips against her ear.
When Vic turns her head to face me, her eyes have softened.
Her lips, enticing as ever press against my cheek, against my ear.
“I will not fuck you, on a plane,” her words are slow and deliberate, right in my ear.
Is she challenging me, right here?
Is this some kind of mission impossible thing, or her idea of fun?
I can’t decide.
“But, dearest Vicky, you let me fuck you in the washroom of a Taco Bell,” I mention.
“I was tripping balls, and high as shit,” Vic retorts, but I pick up a slight laugh in that smooth voice of hers.
She can be soft and feminine one minute, and the next second she’s my dirty little minx.
“Yeah, tripping balls from the intensity of the orgasm I gave you,” I reply loudly.
I’ve got no propriety with Vic, we're loud and uncouth, and that's how I like it.
She knows she’s mine, for now, I like to remind her.
Vic sucks in a breath at the mention.
“Admit, you’re thinking about fucking me on this plane. God knows you can’t wait eleven hours for an orgasm,” I tease her.
“We haven’t even taken off yet,” Vic protests.
A blush rises in her cheeks, anyway.
Right on cue, the captain announces that we’re ready for take-off.
“Guess you won’t have to wait too much longer,” I quip.
Vic smirks as I do my lap belt up, and when she pulls it tight for me, she really gives it a good tug.
But, then her hand brushes against my cock.
She makes a little sound, and her eyes peep up over her sunglasses again.
“Oh! Excuse me!” she says with a girlish voice.
Her hand covers her mouth, all innocence and faux-awkwardness.
I’m instantly rock-hard.
“Oh, my!” she whispers.
“Whatever is wrong, good Sir? Are you in distress, Master?” she whispers, her voice coy.
She peers around, but I know it’s just for show.
Vic couldn’t give a fuck at this point – this is how she likes it.
She lightly massages my balls beneath my pants.
Dear Lord, where has this woman been hiding all my life!
She rubs the outline of my dick with her fingertips, all the while gazing at me with that come-hither look.
I am about to explode.
Then, Vic sits back in her seat and licks her lips.
She yawns and I see her eyes swivel slightly towards me.
Her fetish for public sex gets us both off, and I’m not surprised by her next words.
“You wouldn’t dare touch me,” she challenges.
“You’re the chicken of the air, Master,” she chides.
Who cares if everyone notices us?
The flight attendant is in her seat.
The plane smoothly taxis down the runway.
I raise the armrest between us and drape an arm over her shoulders, to shield her body with mine.
“Open your damn legs,” I command.
Vic tries to keep her composure, but as my hand slips between her legs, her breath catches.
“You’re wearing your thong, like I commanded. Good for you. No demerits. Like I asked,” I point out in a harsh whisper.
Before she can respond, I touch the nub of her clit, and she braces herself against the seat.
I move the finger in slow, gentle motions that grow more intense, matching her every breath.
The plane is getting oriented for takeoff.
Vic struggles to maintain her composure.
I should make her wait, not allowing her to come until the seatbelt light is off, or maybe just wait until we’re at altitude and fuck her in the washroom instead.
Or do both.
“Did you want something?” I hint in her ear.
“Master,” she squeaks, “I can’t cum in front of all these people,” her voice strains.
If she opens her mouth now, my torture would be obvious.
That’s only made more evident by how wet she is.
The plane edges forward, faster on the runway, and I sink my finger in her pussy to use the hum of the aircraft in my favor.
Vic’s face contorts, and she forces herself harder against the seat, her legs spread wider for me.
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