“The prettiest pussy on the planet,” he says.
“Is there an award for that,” I joke, as I unhook my bra.
“The reward is me, but the true reward tonight is you. And you are all mine.”
He’s back on the bed and above me, kissing my lips. His mouth is out of control, nibbling its way up my neck, tugging on my ear, and then kissing my collarbone, which sends the good kind of chills down my spine.
I reach around and grab his back, but he’s so focused I don’t even know if he notices.
He kisses down to my breasts, squeezing my left with his right hand as he traces the outside of my areola with the tip of his tongue, bringing my nipples up and out right into his mouth. My breasts have never been so perky and my nipples never so hard as right now.
His other hand slides behind my back as he kisses his way down my middle, stopping just short of the top of my slit.
He looks up at me. “I’m going to eat you like a four course meal, and when we wake up tomorrow I’m going to have your pussy again for breakfast.”
I breathe out hard at his dirty talk and feel the pool forming in between my legs. I never expected to orgasm before I was even touched. I’m not there, but I’m close.
He dives in, licking straight up my folds keeping his eyes locked on mine the entire time.
It’s too much. A typhoon forms inside me just before it unleashes from me, preparing to flood the sheets. He notices and dives right back in taking my juices in his mouth.
My eyes roll back in my head at the sight of his hunger for me and my hands reach for the headboard behind me.
“I’m going to drink every last drop.”
I feel my hips pulsate, and as my butt slides along the bed I realize there are no wet spots. His mouth has taken everything I have to give.
My eyes open and I look down at him.
He’s up on his knees now, panting like he’s out of breath. I can see he’s well conditioned so I know it’s not that.
“You’re breathing hard.”
“Everything about me is hard. My heart is about to beat out of my chest. My cock is a steel pipe. And I can feel my muscles flexing and I’m not even trying. Every part of me wants to take you like an animal.”
“I want you to.”
“We’ve got all night. First, we’re going to do it this way.”
He leans forward kissing me again. He takes my hand and brings it to his cock. I grab it and feel its girth and hardness. It really is a steel pipe, and it’s mine.
I bring the tip of his dick to my entrance, before rub it up and down along my folds.
“Don’t put it in. Not yet,” he says raising his lips from mine.
“But, —”
“Shhh. Not yet,” he says, before kissing me again and again.
I want to feel him inside me so bad. I try and move my hips so he’ll slide inside, but each time I do I feel his hips move back keeping his cock out. The anticipation of him deflowering me is killing me.
He’s kissing me faster, and moving his hips slower. He’s lowered them and grinding against me, and I can’t take it anymore.
I line his tip right up to my opening and quickly reach around with both hands grabbing his butt and forcing my hips forward sending his cock deep inside me.
My mouth shoots open and my entire body spasms. I feel my eyeballs twitching as I stare up at him. His mouth is open and his head forward. He breathes out hard on me, causing my nipples to perk up again, and then grabs my hips, savagely sending himself all the way in before slowly guiding his dick out.
He looks up at the ceiling and moans deeply as he reenters me, and slowly pulls almost all the way out again, leaving the head of his cock inside me.
“Faster,” I say.
“I’ll hurt you.”
“I want to hurt. I want to feel.”
He speeds up the pace, and I try and move my hips in rhythm to keep up. It’s no use trying. He’s too big, too strong, and too fast.
I feel his balls slap against me, and feel his pubic bone slam into me. It’s aggressive, violent, and just what I want right now.
I feel the rush inside me again and for the second time I’m pushed over the edge.
I feel my toes curl and my legs and arms involuntarily kick.
“Oh, fuck!” he yells.
My climax doesn’t stop, until I feel him flip me over. Suddenly my stomach is dragging back across the sheets and I feel my feet in the air before coming down on the ground.
His hands are glued to my hips and he’s pounding into me from behind. I thought he was deep before, but he’s hitting another level inside me.
I’m being tossed around like a ship at sea, and the storm doesn’t stop.
“Fuck me harder!” I yell, wondering how I can even take what he’s giving me right now.
Faster and faster he unleashes on me until minutes later he yells, “I’m gonna cum!”
“Cum inside me!”
A deep moan fills the night air and I feel his warm load enter me, making me feel more alert than I’ve ever been in my life, just before I cum again all over his cock.
I feel his cock shake inside me, continuing to fill me with his seed as my pussy grips his dick, trying to pull him in even deeper, milking everything out of his cock.
I’m panting and I feel exhausted just as I feel him fall on top of me. We bounce of the end of the bed and land on the floor, his dick still inside me.
A second later we’re both giggling like little kids. I lean around to try and kiss him, but the angle is off, and we laugh even more.
“That’s exactly what I needed. Exxx-actly!”
“And I was trying to take it easy for your first time, make it as romantic as possible.”
“After twenty-eight years I didn’t need romance. I needed a good ole fashioned fucking,” I say.
His head pulls back at the shock of my statement, and there we go…laughing like kids all over again.
CHAPTER 12
Brian
What an amazing night.
There was plenty of sex, but more importantly there was conversation and connecting. As much as I absolutely love that body of hers, no relationship can last on the physical alone, and it’s those quiet moments together where we work perfectly.
She got into ballet because of her love for the arts, and her dedication to give it her all in an attempt at becoming great at something in life. Same for me.
I’ve been working with artists for a number of years, and being around them has improved my artistic eye, my palette, and my understanding of how colors and contrast work. I’ve learned from everything from the works of Jean-Michael Basquiat, to Bordeaux wines, to the various pantone shades of burgundy and how they work with the eye. Art never ceases to amaze.
And she never ceases to amaze me.
I admire naturally gifted performers, and am in awe of those who don’t have those gifts, but work on them day in and day out and one day rise to the top. Their journey being longer and more difficult, but often more fulfilling as well.
And fulfilling is exactly how I’d describe my relationship with her, even though I can’t get enough. My appetite for her will never be satiated, just as I never stopped thinking of her and looking for her over the course of the last ten years.
But no longer.
I pull up to the front of the theater five minutes early. The show’s finished for today, and I know she’ll be tired after everything we did last night. I want to take her back to my place tonight in style, in a chic, black, Lamborghini. No more taxis for her. Not ever again. Only the best for my woman, including that helicopter.
I play some music as I eye the front door. It’s a game of cat and mouse with the police, who don’t allow cars to stand, as they call it in New York. I might have to drive around the block until she pops out, but it’s nothing compared to the journey around the world I took to finally be with her. A journey I’d gladly do a million times over.
I’m fortunate en
ough to hold my position for ten minutes, but still no sight of her. I know she has obligations and such, but I’m surprised she’s not out yet.
Five more minutes pass and I send her an SMS.
I wait ten more minutes and nothing. I don’t like this. I don’t want to think she might not be safe.
I give her a call, and it goes straight to voice mail.
I pull the car around the block and luck out, finding a parking garage nearby. I leave my car in the garage, and hastily make my way back to the theater.
I enter and find it empty.
I go to the back and there’s just a man sweeping up.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, I’m looking for a Miss Brown. She performs with the ballet.”
“Sorry, sir. I don’t know anyone by name, but I do know they’ve all gone and left for the evening.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I pull out my phone and try her again. Same result…straight to voice mail.
I scroll through my contacts and dial Peter Hendrix. It’s late, but I don’t care.
“Ah, Brian. I was expecting your call.”
“Good evening, Peter. Expecting my call?”
“Yes, see the thing is we’ve spent a lot of time building up Barbara’s public image, marketing her in a certain way so that the crowd would respond to her. We couldn’t have all that work we did ruined. I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Marketing her? She’s a person, not a product. And no, I don’t know what you mean. Where is she?”
“See, that’s the thing about this business, Brian. She’s getting a first hand education on how it works as we speak. Here today gone tomorrow. It’s all about the show, and the show must go on. Next man up, or next woman up in this case.”
“What did you do with her? Tell me now, or I’ll come over to your house and give you my own lesson in here today gone tomorrow.”
“Ah, ah, ah. Threats will get you nowhere, Mister Bowen. But as much as I enjoyed getting Barbara out of my hair, and fetching a pretty penny for her in the process, I’ll be even more happy to get you out of my city.”
“Where is she!”
“Try Moscow. We transferred her contract. She’s done here, and so are you. Oh, and thanks for the donation. I’ll think of you when I’m sailing around the Greek Islands this summer on my new yacht. Maybe I’ll call it Bowen’s Boat, so everyone will know just who paid for it, and of course just who gets to enjoy it.”
“I’m not done with you, asshole,” I say hanging up the phone.
I dial my assistant back in Singapore. Luckily it’s business hours there.
“Good morning, Theresa. Can you please get me any information on last night’s performance at the David H. Koch Theater?”
“Absolutely, sir. Searching now…. Yes, here it is. It seems they changed the lead dancer last night. Critics were harsh—“
“Theresa. Please run a search on Barbara Brown Moscow.”
“Searching now, sir. Says here she’s slated to perform tonight at the Russian National Ballet in Moscow.”
“Thank you. Just one more thing. Please put together a file on Peter Hendrix.”
“Yes, sir. Any particular tone the file should take?”
“Anything you can access, legally. Please forward it to me in PDF form.”
“Yes, sir. On it right away.”
“Thanks, Theresa.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
I hang up the phone. I’ve got work to do.
CHAPTER 13
Barbara
I’ve never been so embarrassed in my entire life.
I show up for work only to be told I don’t work there anymore. My dressing room has already been given to another dancer, and I’m asked to leave the premises. Everyone’s whispering, and turning their backs on me. They’re trying to avoid any contact with me, or even being near me.
They even had the off-duty police officer that works at the theater there to escort me away. Me, a dancer. Like I’m dangerous or something.
And Mister Hendrix didn’t even have the guts to show up and do it himself. His attorney was there to present me with some paperwork. I was told my contract was being transferred, but the language didn’t hide the fact that I was being fired.
And not only that. He mentioned they have intimate and revealing pictures of Brian and I at the St. Regis Hotel. Were they following us? Did they hire some paparazzi to stake us out?
And he said not to “mess things up” with my transfer. If I tried anything he’d leak the pictures to the press, and not only would I never work in Moscow again, but I’d never work anywhere again. That I was done in New York was already a foregone conclusion.
There was nothing I could say or do. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, and I certainly didn’t want to bring any shame down on Brian.
They even turned off my phone, and had a car waiting to take me to the airport immediately.
And now here I am, flying in the last row of coach to Moscow.
Moscow.
And to make matters worse there’s been a non-stop line of people using the toilet since we got to cruising altitude. It smells terrible, and I can hear the toilet flush every few minutes. And the door is slamming constantly. It’s not like I can sleep at a time like this, but to have to deal with this is too much. I am literally in a world of shit.
I read through the contract some more. It’s twenty-six pages long and written in lawyer speak. I manage to understand most of it, and it’s section 12a that worries me.
Upon completion of the contracted time in Moscow, Barbara Brown’s contract with the New York City Ballet, which has been transferred in full force to the Moscow Ballet, will terminate.
On one hand that’s exactly what I need right now…this contract to end. On the other hand that means I won’t have a job, and it will be unlikely I’ll find anything other than teaching at a ballet studio for kids in Siberia after I’m through. Who’s going to hire me when they know Peter Hendrix basically fired me? With his clout I’m sure no one will take the chance. No one wants to cross someone that high up and powerful in any field, especially the tight knit community in which I work.
The stewardess finally makes her way to our row. So much for starting at both ends and working to the middle.
“Chicken, please,” I say, remembering they’re offering chicken or fish.
“I’m sorry ma’am, we’re all out of chicken.”
“Okay, I guess the fish then.”
She reaches down and sticks her hand deep into the rolled trolley. There’s a concerned look on her face.
“One second please.”
I haven’t eaten all day. Please don’t tell me…
“I’m really sorry, ma’am,” she says, returning. “It seems we under budgeted the amount of meals we’d need tonight.”
“Do you have anything?”
“I may have something that was held back for the crew. Let me check real quick.”
Thank goodness.
Two minutes later she comes back with an opened bag of peanuts.
“I’m sorry, but this is all we have left,” she says.
“It’s already opened?”
“I’m sorry. Like I said, it’s all we’ve got.”
“Excuse me,” a man says moving through the aisle, as he rubs his stomach. “That chicken was delicious,” he says as he passes the stewardess. He’s positioned himself face to face with her and he seems to be leaning in a little too close. Great, this is the guy who ate my chicken.
The back of his leg catches on the armrest and he loses his balance, falling back onto…oh no!
He lands right on my tray table, breaking it from the hinges and sending “my” peanuts down to the carpet.
“Sorry,” he says, from my lap. “Guess we hit some turbulence,” he smiles at me. I can’t believe he finds this funny.
He reaches for my armrest with one hand and the back of the seat in front of him with the other, pulling t
hat passenger’s seat back so far I can look down at their face.
He stands up, releasing their seat, sending them flying forward.
The exertion of standing up is too much for him and he breaks wind right in my face.
Billionaires, Billionaires, Billionaires, and more Billionaires: Billionaire Bundle Page 6
