Head Hunter: A Virgin Billionaire Reverse Romance

by Alexis Angel

  “I will be,” she says to me and I wonder how this story could affect her so much. If she were working with Simon, it’s possible she may be having second thoughts after hearing this.

  Normally, having her firm body pressed up against me does wonders to make me forget everything, and for a moment I draw in the smell of her shampoo.

  Brittney feels the same way and it's not long before I feel her tiny hand navigate under the folds of my robe. She unties the sash, opening it up, and with total concentration, brings her hands to my cock, slowly jerking me off.

  She looks up at me and gives me a lascivious stare. “Thank you for trusting me with that, Ethan,” she says to me. “It meant a lot to me.”

  I smirk at her. She’s in the mood to play. Well, fuck, so am I.

  “How much?” I ask her, grinning.

  She doesn’t answer with words, but rather by sinking to her knees and running her tongue over the tip of my cock.

  Finally. Something good is happening this morning.

  Brittney

  Five thousand.

  That’s how many dollars I’m spending every month to keep a one-bedroom apartment near Riverside Park even though I spend most of my nights with Ethan at One57. I don’t mind the cost, really. I mean, I’m not complaining about that. Besides, it gives me a sense of independence. Until I’m completely honest with him, I don’t think I’d be comfortable moving in with him. I mean, you tell me, has he ever once told you anything about wanting me as his girlfriend? Or that we’re exclusive?

  We haven't had that talk on my end.

  What?

  I swear. We haven’t had any sort of discussions…oh, wait, we had that one time.

  It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and we had both gone out to some party the night before. It was a cast party I think for someone who was leaving the set of Hamilton and we had both had too much to drink.

  We woke up the next morning slightly hung over. After eating a greasy breakfast over at the Red Eye Diner, Ethan looked over to me.

  “You get that hang over horniness, babe?” Ethan asked, his hand on the small of my back as we crossed the street.

  How did he know? All I wanted that morning after food and water was to get his giant cock inside of me to scratch an itch. But I was too much of a lady to say anything. Instead, I looked over at him once we crossed the street.

  “Let’s wait till we get upstairs and I’ll show you,” I told him. He smirked at me.

  He wasn’t smirking ten minutes later as his hands were grabbing my tits and squeezing my ass as I desperately shucked myself over and over on his thick, hard cock and came. Then, he turned me over on all fours and fucked me doggie until I had another orgasm. He fucked me on the sofa, then moved to the balcony where he bent me over the railing and drilled me, and then brought me inside and fucked me missionary where he came all over my tits. And he came in gallons. It was intense.

  I scooped it all up with my fingers. Yummy.

  Okay, yeah you’re done listening to my crazy sex life with my hot handsome stud, but this is the important part.

  As we lay naked on the sofa together, Ethan turned to me.

  “You have enough clothes for next week?” he asked me.

  I shrugged. “I thought you like it when I’m naked,” I replied, doing my smart ass thing that I use on him sometimes.

  “Yeah, but you know, to go to work and shit,” he replied.

  “I’m usually naked at work, filming scenes for I.E.,” I told him.

  “Fuck, if you need to go to your place and get your shit, I’ll help,” he said, getting annoyed at me.

  I turned over to him. I knew what he was going for. But I didn’t want to have that conversation.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked him with a pout.

  I knew it would fuck with his head.

  I know, why did I spoil the chance?

  Because I was scared, I think.

  I don’t know, hun. I’m fucked up in the head. After Robert. After running away.

  Ethan just dropped the subject and went back to watching television. Which at the time was fine by me.

  Now I’m wishing I had told him that it might have been easier to just move in—that this going back to my apartment over and over to get things was time consuming. Because an hour after our conversation, that’s exactly what I had to do. Trek all the way uptown and get my stuff.

  But, no! Don’t you dare tell him that.

  Seven.

  That’s how many times I’ve had to go visit Simon. Go give him progress reports on the I.E.

  Thank God Simon has no way of knowing that I’ve actually tried it on. That I’ve had sex with Ethan on the I.E. Thank God he doesn't know just how utterly realistic and life-changing that device is—how much it’s going to revolutionize pornography as we know it.

  But still, he has questions. He has threats.

  “Aren’t you telling me that you’re the one who's going to be the face of it?” Simon asked me on the last time that I went there to give him my report. “That you’re going to be the star?”

  I nod my head. I didn’t know what else to tell him. He dipped his head onto his desk and used a $100 bill to do another rail. When he was finished, his eyes were bloodshot.

  “So, you’re not only taking the money that I’m paying you to infiltrate Illicit Entertainment,” Simon said snidely before taking some coke and using his fingers to slide them over his gums. “But now you’re also going to be a star again?”

  I shrugged. There wasn’t much I could do to respond to him in a way that he’d be satisfied.

  “I hired you for a job, Ms. Roman,” Simon said to me, getting up from his chair, his body already tweaking. “I expect you to carry it out or be prepared to face the consequences.”

  I mean, each time I see Simon, it’s pretty much the same formula every time around. I give him my progress report, which isn’t that much progress, and then he gets upset at the lack of progress and follows by threatening me.

  That’s the same thing that happened this time. I’m hoping that’s the same thing that happens next time, and the time after.

  Although last time, Simon ended the meeting by glaring at me.

  “For three months, I’ve asked you to get me a copy of the prototype!” he yelled at me.

  “They only have one working copy!” I yelled back at him. “Not even he’s alone with it. I’d have to sleep with half the office to get them to turn the other way while I take it,” I shot back.

  The thing was, and I had been thinking this for a while—once we get close enough to the launch date, maybe that buggy old prototype that they were working on would get me out of this mess.

  “Never mind about stealing the physical prototype now,” Simon said however, dashing my hopes. “It’s too late to do anything with it. What you need to do is get me the underlying computer code that runs the software,” he said. “A copy that actually fucking works. Unlike your brain, which doesn’t apparently.”

  I remember looking at him and blinking.

  “Simon, how do you even expect me to do that that?” I asked him. “I barely know how to use SnapChat. Last time I tried I brought what you said was junk.”

  But all Simon did was look at me and smile evilly.

  “If there’s a will, there’s a way darlin’,” he hissed. “This is what happens when you dilly dally on getting the prototype. If you had just gotten that, it would have been a lot easier. But I guess you’ll have to be extra clever now. Or maybe you want me to just call Robert up on the phone so you can say hi?”

  I nodded and left.

  Little does he know that Walter and I already had the plans once… and the beta computer code… all downloaded on a USB drive. But by the time I gave it to him, it had become junk.

  But yeah, I guess I keep that information to myself. I’ll also keep to myself that Walter and I talked about whether we even want to try again to steal the computer code, or we try for the physical prototy
pe. I don't want to tell Simon any of our plans. It’s the only way I can keep some sort of control over this fucked up situation.

  I don’t know what else to do, okay?

  I can’t let him point Robert in my direction. Not after what he put me through. I mean, I ran away from porn and moved across the country to get away from him.

  On the other hand, I can't betray Ethan.

  Not after everything we’ve done.

  Not after I’ve fallen in love with him.

  Three.

  That’s how many months have passed since I’ve first infiltrated Illicit Entertainment. It’s been three months of filming simulated sex for the virtual reality marvel that is the Illicit Escape. Three months where I’ve become the face of the new product. Three months where I’ve fallen in love with Ethan.

  I know what you’re thinking, babe, and you don’t need to worry.

  I’m not having real sex on set. Ethan isn’t having to watch me fuck another guy.

  Anytime a real cock is needed, guess who’s filling in?

  That’s right. Mr. Kane himself.

  But even those times are really for still shots, or when the viewer maybe wants to look down and see me blowing them, you know? Like we don’t use a real cock for much because for the first time, the viewer is moving from viewing to participating.

  It takes POV porn and goes one step closer.

  But that means in filming, I only ever really film anything by myself.

  It’s harder than I expected. If you don’t believe me, try pretending to have sex without anyone having sex. Like try scrunching your face in an orgasm when there’s no cock inside of you and without using your fingers.

  But we only ever film maybe one day a week. The rest of the days are photos, touching up some shots, and other housekeeping.

  Filming porn for virtual reality, where the user expects to have the sensation and experience of having sex with me is actually a very lonely endeavor. I’m actually spending a large amount of time in front of a green screen holding ridiculous poses.

  The other day, I spent five minutes holding my hand in front of my mouth as if I was grasping a cock and guiding it inside. The day before that, I must have lay there for ten minutes with my legs spread out as they used my image and then moved it around in their computer systems to get it ideally pixelated for the I.E. experience.

  It’s safe to say that being so close to sex, but not having real sex is enough to make me want to jump Ethan when we get home.

  Afterwards, I go take a bath while Ethan fixes dinner.

  Then we cuddle on the sofa and watch TV.

  Well, let me actually correct that. Ethan watches TV and I lie in his arms, feeling them surround me and keep me safe. I like the sex, but smelling his cologne and feeling him wrapped around me is probably the most satisfying feeling I’ve had in years. I usually fall asleep there and he carries me to bed.

  Every night.

  One.

  That’s how many weeks I’ve known that I’m pregnant.

  I know, right!

  I’m pregnant!

  I mean, yes, I’m happy. It’s okay. Don’t worry, this is so a good thing.

  Oh, yeah, I first found out when I missed my period. I’ve never been late in my entire life. It has always been on the dot. And somehow, I just knew. Something was up.

  One home pregnancy kit later, I knew that my body’s sixth sense was spot on.

  And no, Ethan doesn’t know. I’m sorry, hun, but I need you to keep one more secret from him for me. You can’t tell him this until I tell him.

  And I haven’t told him just yet because I’m still not sure what to do about Simon.

  I mean, I would love to go and tell Ethan and have him pick me up in happiness. I’d love to start buying baby things with Ethan. I’d love to start teasing him about naming our little boy Wilfred and our little girl Juliana and watching him cringe at those names.

  But I can’t.

  I either have to wait until Ethan releases his prototype, or until I can get Simon off my back.

  But I don’t know how to get out of this situation and so I’ve been keeping quiet.

  I can’t lose Ethan. But I have a baby to think about now too.

  Twenty-Four.

  That's how many hours Simon called me and told me I have to get him an I.E. Prototype just now.

  I’m serious. He called just now.

  It’s Monday morning and Ethan is already at work.

  I don't have to go in till later on today to meet with the graphic designers and so I was able to see when Simon called my phone.

  When I picked up, he was curt.

  “Babes, I gave you long enough to get me what I fucking want. The product goes live in two weeks and I’m done waiting,” was his way of saying hello. “You have 24 hours to get me my fucking shit that actually works this time before Robert gets a nice little FedEx with all your fucking information, right down to your address and daily fucking schedule.”

  I froze as I heard him and tried to comprehend what he was saying.

  “I know exactly how many nights you spend at One57 and if I wanted to, I’d know exactly what fucking color underwear you were wearing, so please believe me that I am deadly serious,” he said over the phone. “24 hours. No more.”

  I stand there for a long time feeling ill.

  Wondering not just about myself. But about Ethan. And to top it all off now, about the baby inside of me.

  Ethan

  “The initial marketing efforts will be through broad-based Internet advertising as well as direct television advertising,” Cheryl is speaking on the line and her voice is coming through on speakerphone.

  It’s the afternoon and I’m sitting with my feet up on my desk listening to the people on the call. There’s probably about forty people all told who dialed in to the final two weeks before go-live. We got people from all different areas of the fucking company: Operations, Finance, Marketing, Legal, and R&D are on this call.

  And tying it all together and holding us in check is none other than Cheryl —Personal Assistant to the fucking stars. My fucking personal assistant.

  “What channels on the television spectrum are we targeting?” someone from Marketing asks Cheryl over the conference line.

  There’s a pause. I know Cheryl is prepared for this question. It’s not like someone tripped her up or anything.

  “We’re targeting prime time spots on all broadcast networks as well as contemporary movie channels that target the 18-44 demographic,” Cheryl says, reading off her list. I nod to myself. That sounds like a pretty good lineup.

  What?

  Oh come on, don’t look so fucking shocked. I’m sure prime time television has no fucking problem running ads for a virtual reality porn player. I mean, have you looked at what they put on television recently? Fuck, this shit is exactly what the audiences are waiting for.

  “We also have cross-promo licensing deals with all major fast food chains across the country as well as—” Cheryl would say more but all of a sudden my head jerks toward the door as it flings open.

  I immediately put the call on mute. Then I put it on hold. Whatever is about to fucking go down does not need to be interrupting this important fucking call that's going to make me billions of dollars.

  Jesus. I don’t know why I’m so fucking jumpy all of a sudden.

  I realize how silly I’m being when Brittney walks in.

  Instead of armed thugs being led by Simon Conners, it's the most beautiful girl in the fucking world walking in wearing a tight dark blue wraparound dress.

  I know what you’re wondering right now, and fuck you for wondering, but yes, my cock does twitch a little bit seeing the fabric of Brittney’s dress cling to her fucking perky and full breasts and the rest of her slender body.

  “Brittney?” I ask her. I mean, despite wanting to fuck her, I’m a bit surprised. She’s never surprised me at work like this before. “What’s going on, babe?” I ask.

  Sh
e takes several steps toward me, her face determined.

  “I need to withdraw from the project and end my association with Illicit Entertainment,” she says, as if she’s rehearsed this on the way over. “I need off the team.”

  If she had stood there and told me she was growing a third fucking tit I wouldn't have been more shocked than I am at that moment.

  I stand up, more because this moment is too important to be fucking sitting down.

  “What do you mean?” I manage to ask her, not even sure I heard her right.

  She shakes her head, and it looks like she might burst into tears at any point.

  “You heard me, Ethan,” she says to me. “I need off the IE team. I’m sorry, but I can't be involved any more.”

  I walk around the desk. This isn't a fucking employee problem anymore. This isn't a Human Resources case at this point.

  No.

  This is something wrong with my girlfriend.

  There, I don't care if she has trouble realizing that. Or doesn't want to admit it or whatever.

  I fucking love this woman, and right now there is something that's bothering her.

  “Babe, what the fuck is wrong?” I ask her and she’s about to answer when I realize she’s probably just going to say the same thing she has already. I stop her. “Wait,” I say and take a step toward her.

  She looks up at me and there's the briefest flash of hope in her eyes. As if there's some way that maybe I can sort this out for her.

  “I don't want to hear what the problem is if you can’t tell me, but know this babe,” I tell her and wrap my arms around her, bringing her close. “I will be with you no matter what the problem is. Hell, if you fucking killed someone I’ll be there with you to bury the fucking body.”

  Brittney trembles and I pull back from her so I can look her in the eyes.

  “Fuck the world, babe,” I tell her, my eyes piercing into her. “It’s you and me fucking forever,” I say with finality.

  Brittney stares at me for a long, long time. Her eyes widen as if she’s realizing something for the first time. She uses her hand to wipe away some tears before they can form.