HONEY GIRL: BILLIONAIRE (Book 2)

by Jones, Juliette

  The driver seemed taken aback and said nothing, like he’d never been thanked before. I wondered if Alexander had ever thanked him. I doubted it.

  I slid across the expansive leather seat of the limo, all the way to the far door. Alexander sat in his seat, making no move to bridge the divide. The driver shut the door and Alexander raised the opaque glass partition between the driver’s compartment and ours.

  We sat in stony silence for a few seconds.

  I felt his hot gaze on me; its icy removal inflamed me even more. We were alone, encased in roomy opulence as we oozed through traffic, removed from it all. We could watch the rush of the city out the tinted windows as people grappled with their lives, desperately clawing their way through the day in mostly-futile attempts to arrive at the place where we already were. Where he was, I corrected myself. Rich beyond belief. Successful. In control.

  In total, suffocating, tyrannical control.

  “You had no right to storm in on me like that!” I began, feeling a strange sense of relief at the thought of throwing it all away. Of leaving him behind and being free of this, and of him. “If I want to have a cup of coffee with Mark Faber, I will. Whenever I fucking feel like it!”

  He stared at me and I met his almost-surprised anger head on. I never swore like that. It might have sounded as strange to him as it did to me. He didn’t reply but I could feel it: the response he wanted to give: No you fucking won’t.

  His rage was practically a physical presence. I could feel the heat of it, flushing my skin. He glared at me coolly. “You’re having private meetings with my poker buddies now, Lila? Is this your idea of a fucking joke? Holding hands? Staring meaningfully into each other’s eyes? What the fuck?”

  My own fury was just as potent. Asshole! “There’s no joke, Alexander. You don’t control me. You’re not in charge of who I get to have a coffee with or lunch with or dinner with – or anything else! I don’t care if he is your poker buddy! I don’t care if he saw me lying naked in your living room. I don’t even care that he watched me get off! It’s my choice! So can keep your goddamn dictatorial regimes to yourself!”

  He leaned toward me. He was so big and so angry I instinctively flinched back from him. “Oh, so you’re afraid of me now, are you?” he seethed. “What about him? He’s safe and I’m the monster?” He was practically hissing the words. “Come here.”

  “No! Stay away from me.”

  “Are making some kind of choice here, then, Lila? Is that it? You prefer Mark fucking Faber to me? What would you have done if I hadn’t walked in on you? Gone back to his place? Fucked him on the table to recreate the scene?”

  “No! I was having a cup of coffee, goddamn you! That’s all!”

  He seemed to not have heard me. When he spoke again, his rage had been tempered by a pained vulnerability. “Fine. You prefer him? You like the way his mouth felt on your breasts, is that it? You loved how good he fucking sucked on you? Is that why you met with him? So he’d do it again?”

  God! I was so angry I felt like lashing out at him. I leaned towards him and held my hand up as though to slap him but he grabbed my wrist. “I’m not a whore, Alexander, so don’t treat me like one.”

  “You said it, not me.” His grip on my wrist was tight. Too tight. He was pulling me closer.

  I struggled against him but he was too strong. He pulled me onto his lap, his arms like steel bars as I squirmed and punched at his chest. I could feel that he was hard as he forced me to sit down onto him and my body, traitorously, molded perfectly against his, inviting him. This only inflamed me more. “Let me go!”

  “No. I’m not fucking letting you go until you tell me what the fuck’s going on.”

  “I told you! I can’t help it if you don’t trust me! I told you! Now get your hands off me!” I fought him like a wild thing, trying to claw my way out of his grasp, but his grip only grew tighter.

  “Lila, stop it. Fuck.”

  Goddamn him and his goddamn strength! I was completely powerless to break free of him. He held me against his body, waiting for me to calm down. But I was miles away from anything resembling calm. “Leave me alone. I hate you!”

  His glare was like ice tinted with fire. “You hate me. That’s great. You want me to fuck off and leave you alone. But I won’t. No fucking way. Not until you tell me exactly what happened. And exactly what will happen. You want to leave me? You want to run off with him so he can suck you off any time you want?” A note of ragged despair touched the tail-end of his husked, enraged questions.

  “If you’d just listen to me for once, you might actually hear what I’m saying! I never said I liked anything about Mark Faber. I ran into him and we were both on our way to the same coffee shop. That’s all that happened! I don’t even remember what he did to me or what it felt like that night, Alexander. All I remember is you.” I felt the sting of tears but I pushed them back. Alexander, I noticed, was fighting the same urge; his eyes were shiny, bloodshot.

  It wasn’t the only urge I was fighting. Damn him. The hot, hard jut of him against my sensitive flesh was infuriating me. Even more, the depth of his emotion was softening my fury, against my will. I didn’t want him to look so sad, so utterly heart-broken.

  “What do you remember?” he said.

  I remembered it all. That crazy-hot state I’d been in, riding the high of my own frenzied arousal. My body remembered it too. As livid as I was, the echoing shadow of lust began to resurface, spurred by the colossal rigidity of him nesting hotly between the curves of my ass. My dress had ridden up in my struggle. Only the sheerest film of my moistened panties prohibited his entry as I wriggled in an effort to distance myself and at the same time draw closer. He was an over-controlling tyrant. A beast. And one that melted not only my heart but my softening, pulsing core.

  He was challenging me. To fight him and to resist him.

  My anger had taken a turn. I wanted to use it. To torture him as much as he was torturing me.

  “I remember pulling my top down. For you. Putting my nipple into your mouth.” The memory made me wetter. I could feel my own depths become slippery. The lips of my pussy felt warm and soft against his hardness, open, molded to the shape of him.

  “What else?” he said softly.

  “I remember when you lay me back onto the table. You pulled out the beads and you put your mouth on me.”

  His breath was coming heavier now. “And what happened then?”

  “I came. I came so hard.” Oh, god. I had. My body was remembering, craving more.

  He licked his lips and I could see he was remembering too, tasting me in his mind.

  “I came for you, Alexander. Just you.”

  “Why the fuck was he touching you, in there? Why was he holding your hand?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Why?” he insisted.

  “I don’t know.”

  Alexander’s hand released my wrist. He placed his hand on my thigh, easing upward. His hand cradled my sex through my saturated panties. His fingers pushed the fabric to the side, and his thumb skated over my clit, centering there in light, circular strokes. My anger was melting into molten, honeyed sensation. I couldn’t help it: I opened my legs wider, settling more deeply onto his massive, rock-hard erection. He felt so goddamn good. “Who are you so wet for, Lila?” he murmured. “Him? Or me?”

  “How can you even ask that? You know it’s you. It’s all you.”

  “Is it? Tell me what he said to you.” He slid two fingers into me, curving them to touch a sensitive place inside he knew drove me wild. His thumb continued to stroke and to glide.

  “Oh,” I breathed. “I can’t remember. It was nothing.”

  “Open your dress.”

  When I hesitated, still clinging to the dwindling embers of my anger, he slowed the pace of his delving fingers. Then he stopped, removing his touch.

  Challenging me, once again, to resist him.

  I couldn’t. He was too beautiful, too unruly, too imperfectly perfect
. God, I wanted everything he could give.

  I pulled down the neckline of my dress. My skimpy bra was made of extra-fine lace with no underwire. I adjusted the fabric, pulling it down. The lace framed my bared breasts, pushing them gently together and up. My nipples were high and rosy and beaded.

  “Put your nipple in my mouth. Feed it to me.”

  I should have protested. I should have stone-walled him and made him suffer. Instead, I adjusted my position slowly, turning towards him. My breasts felt full and heavy with need. My nipples were aching to be sucked. By him. I was incapable of withholding anything from this man. My pussy was pulsing and wet. All I wanted to do was to please and to give. And to take. I wanted him in my mouth. I wanted to feel his big cock sliding into my slippery warmth. He could read this shift in me and I could see it pleased him. He was going to use every ounce of his power, as he always did. He ripped the lace of my panties as I straddled him and threw the shreds aside.

  “Those were expensive,” I commented.

  “I’ll buy you some new ones. Give it to me. To my mouth.”

  I held my breasts, easing them together so my nipples were both on offer. I placed one in his mouth as I arched my back slightly. “Like this?”

  I wished he would touch me again with his fingers but I knew if I asked, he would purposely deny me.

  He drew my nipple into the hot silk of his mouth, taking it between his teeth until a dart of pain jolted in a shadowy strike, straight to my pussy, which throbbed and fluttered. I gasped. He released me, licking the tip of my nipple. “Who do you think of when I do this to you, Lila? Did you like the way he sucked on you?”

  “No. I told you: I don’t remember.”

  “Not at all?”

  “No.”

  “Did you think about his touch when he was holding your hand?”

  “No. I thought of yours.”

  “Do you like the way it feels when I suck on you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He had pulled back just slightly and I couldn’t bear it. I placed my nipple between his parted lips. Just the humid strikes of his breath on my wet, sensitive flesh was electrifying. Soft puffs of pure pleasure that warmed me at the contact, and deeper. My orgasm was fringing, already. I was so damn hot for him I felt half-mad and entirely desperate. “Suck me again.”

  “Tell me what you talked about.”

  His hands were on my skin. On my thighs. His fingers roved, touching me intimately. His fingers pushed inside me as he gently squeezed the lips of my pussy together, rubbing and catching my clit between the slippery flesh. He worked a light rhythm, stoking sensation. I was touching my nipples, rolling them gently between my fingers and thumbs. I tried to feed one between his lips. He licked it once but he wouldn’t take it. He was staring at me coolly. That sexy-arrogant sneer.

  “Tell me,” he said again. I hadn’t replied yet. As a punishment, his hands slid away, to my thighs, leaving me dripping for more.

  “I – I don’t know. He talked about how he was worried about getting fired.”

  “So he wanted you to comfort him, did he? Sway my decision?”

  “Yes, a little. But –” Alexander’s fingers slid into me. At the same time, he started feasting gently on my nipple, tugging and biting in lightning-strike nips with his teeth. He touched his thumb to my clit, pressing in a circular swirl. It might have taken six, maybe seven, of those gentle presses to make me come. He gave me four. Then, again, he removed his touch altogether, letting his head fall against the headrest, challenging me once again with his deceptively-lazy, midnight gaze.

  “But?” he pressed.

  I felt bad about it, but Alexander had already fired him. It was only common sense that Mark would need start his own business or get a new job. “But he was thinking of going out on his own. He felt it was only a matter of time before he lost his position at Skyscraper.”

  “Where’s he thinking of going?”

  “He said he was considering starting his own publication.”

  He considered this. “What else did he say?”

  I didn’t want to think about Mark Faber anymore. I just wanted Alexander to touch me again. I reached for his belt buckle and began to unfasten his pants. I thought he might stop me but he was distracted, waiting for my response. He was holding me in place on top of him so I couldn’t fully free him. I reached into his boxers, playing with the head of his cock, running my fingertips across the slit until I felt the hot spill of a drop of moisture. I tried to adjust my position, to get closer so I could rub him against my aching clit and ease him inside.

  But he wouldn’t let me, holding my hips, locking me in place so I couldn’t move. “What else?” he said again, his voice deep and vaguely hoarse.

  “That’s all, really. He was just thinking about a Plan B, he called it.”

  I swirled the silky liquid across the broad end of his cock but he took my wrist, pulling my hand away. His denial was starting to reignite my fury. I wanted to come. I wanted to free him and slide down onto his big, thick cock. To ride him as he sucked my breasts and played me with his fingers.

  He knew this. But he held me securely with his strong hands. He watched my face as he touched his thumb to me, just where I wanted it. He circled my clit, working it gently between the saturated folds. I started to writhe against his touch. I was very close. I could feel the sweet rise building in my belly and the soft clench of my inner muscles. I could get there if he just kept doing that. Just a little more …

  Again, he stopped.

  I was getting more than a little desperate. And furious. “Alexander.”

  But his hands were like steel bars. “Did he offer you a job?”

  How did he know that? “Yes,” I said. “But –”

  His grip became painful. “Yes?”

  “Ow!”

  He didn’t quite push me off him but sort of placed me on the seat next to him a little less gently than he could have. “Let me guess – you told him you’d consider it? Are you going to fuck him at the job interview too?”

  I stared at him. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

  “Stop the car,” I said. “I’m getting out.”

  “No. We’re going back to the apartment.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you! Let me out.”

  “No. You’re –”

  “Now! Let me out!”

  “Lila. Stop this.”

  I reached for the door handle, but the door was locked. Locked! How could he? I struggled with the handle, pulling on it, my accumulating anxiety unreasonable, maybe, but very real.

  “The doors are locked for our safety, Lila. Calm down.” For our safety. That on-going fine line we walked between what was protection and what was entrapment. Only a few hours I’d been reveling in that safety, and now it felt more like a noose around my neck.

  “Let me out!” I said, feeling that rising tide of panic begin to boil in my brain. He knew. He knew.

  And he could see it, the beginning of my withdrawal. “All right,” he said, his all-out fury now infused with frustration. “Fuck.” He pushed an intercom button. “Stop the car, Ralph.” He pushed another button. There was a click as the locking mechanism released. And the car was slowing but not yet stopped.

  I realized I was still half naked. I tugged my bra and dress back into place and smoothed my skirt. Alexander was buckling his belt. I leapt out of the car and started walking. Through traffic. I heard the honk of a car but barely noticed it. Alexander was almost immediately at my side.

  “Lila.” His hand was on my arm but I shrugged it off angrily. “Come on,” he said, trying too late to diffuse what was already a fucking fucked-up situation. “Come to the apartment with me. We’ll talk this through.”

  “No. I’m going back to work. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  I kept walking, not even realizing he was making a call until he started talking into his phone. “Hi,” he said. “Yes. Lila and I have some wedding arrangements to
work through this afternoon. She won’t be coming back in today.” I stopped walking. Ashley, that’s who he was talking to. Asshole! Taking total control again, because he could. Because he was in total control. Of everything and everyone, including me. “Yes,” he said, into his phone. “Tomorrow.” A distracted pause. “Yes. Thanks.” He hung up.

  “How dare you, you overcontrolling asshole!” I shouted, getting the attention of the entire street corner. “I told her I’d be back this afternoon!”

  Alexander looked around, equally flustered and irate at my outburst. At the attention we were getting. “Lila, fuck. What the fuck is up with you? You’re not going to run away from me again. You promised me that.”

  “And you promised me you wouldn’t be such an almighty prick all the time! I don’t want to talk to you … you egomaniacal control freak! You self-righteous jerk! If I recall correctly, you had no problem whatsoever with me fucking you at my job interview! And every five minutes since! If I’d known it went against your principles, I never would have done it!”

  Alexander ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it, making him look even sexier than he already fucking did, which pissed me off to no end. “Jesus Christ, Lila! I’m sorry I fucking said that, all right? But how do you expect me to react when I just so happen to walk in on you getting cozy with … him! The one goddamn person in the world you knew it would fucking infuriate me to all hell for you to ‘have coffee with’ … for obvious fucking reasons! Are you trying to fuck with me?”

  A guy was taking a picture of us with his phone. I could picture it now: ‘Mogul Alexander Wolfe and Unidentified Woman Seen Brawling on Fifth Avenue’ splashed all over Twitter. Alexander grabbed the man’s phone and threw it into the concrete wall of a nearby building, smashing it in a dramatic little explosion of metal and plastic. A woman made a shocked sound, like a squawking seagull. The small crowd of people that had gathered took a few steps back.

  “Fuck, man!” the guy yelled.

  Alexander ignored him. “Lila. Please can we take this somewhere a little more private?”

  I started walking and Alexander strode along next to me. His plush penthouse apartment was the very last place I felt like going right now, for the very reason that it was his but the reality was: I had no other goddamn place to go. At least we could have this out without all of New York videoing it.