Charmed by the Billionaire

by Jessica Lemmon

  His grin is devious and beautiful. “I was right, Firecracker. This is going to be fun.”

  I return his grin, warmed by the idea we have something to look forward to. Warmed further by my new nickname. Firecracker is much sexier than coach.

  Chapter Nine

  Cris

  My alarm pings, reminding me it’s nearly five o’clock—the end of the workday. Some days it would also signify the beginning of a workout, but Benji lifted weights at lunch while I went for a quick walk around the neighborhood.

  I love walking in his neighborhood. The gated community is called Three Palms. There are no palm trees in Ohio, but the name doesn’t take away from the beauty of the immaculate houses and peaceful setting. While I walked I listened to a podcast rather than turning over what we talked about earlier. When I came back to my desk I was hyperaware of the clock ticking the minutes away, eating up what was left of the hours of the day.

  And here we are at day’s end. That was fast.

  I’m sending one last email when he appears in my doorway. My office is connected to his expansive one by a short hallway and outfitted with a white French door I never bother closing. He leans on the jamb, and I freeze, my fingers prone on the keyboard as I admire the long line of his body.

  “Workday is over,” he states.

  My heart hits my throat.

  “Looks that way,” I say. Half of me is worried he’s going to walk in and take care of me right here at my desk, and the other half of me is worried he’s changed his mind and isn’t interested after all. Neither halves are satisfied when he says something I didn’t anticipate.

  “I made dinner reservations for seven o’clock tonight.”

  “For…?”

  “Are you serious?” When I don’t answer his question he adds, “For us.”

  For us.

  “You didn’t think I was gonna come in here and take your pants off at your desk, did you?”

  I laugh. A little too long and a little too loud. I pull myself together enough to say, “Someone very wise and experienced told me I should never let my date pick the restaurant.”

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, because you have been dating idiots. I know exactly what I’m doing. And I know how you like to be treated. Isn’t that what you’re counting on?”

  There’s something sweet about him knowing me. And how he’s taking his knowledge and funneling it into treating me well. I haven’t been the recipient of many selfless acts in my lifetime.

  “I’m not counting on anything,” I say. “I’m winging it. Totally and completely at your mercy.” It was supposed to be a joke, but his brow darkens as he pushes off the doorframe. He stalks to my desk, all potent, masculine energy, and bends down in front of my chair. He sets his palms on my knees and turns my chair to face him. His face is chest-high to me, his golden eyes peering up beneath thick, dark eyelashes. I can’t think of a single reason why we should go to dinner when we could do what I have wanted for as long as I can remember.

  “You’re not at anyone’s mercy, Cris,” he reminds me. “Always remember that. What you’re asking for is not out of the ordinary. It’s not ridiculous. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. And it’s definitely not something you should let happen without your express permission.”

  “I know. But you’re…you.”

  “I am me. And you know you can trust me. I’m glad you know that. What I need you to remember is that with this physical stuff comes great responsibility on the part of the other person. He has to please you. He has to be good to you. He has to put you first. If he doesn’t, move on. Every time.”

  I think of the experience Benji has had. He has treated quite a few women to his goodness, his way of pleasing. He’s no doubt put them first. I have seen it time and again when I’m at professional functions and he brings a date. Especially when he was seeing Trish last year. Whenever she was around, it was like there was no one else in the room. His focus was on her. I figure he’s always treated women well. In or out of bed.

  “What if he does all of those things and leaves anyway?” I realize how transparent my question is the second I ask it. I’m not talking about a mysterious stranger from the dating app. I’m talking about Benji. He’s the one who’s going to leave. Yes, he’ll still be my friend and we will work together afterward. But we’re not going to be showing up hand in hand at family functions. We’re not going to be holding each other on the dance floor at Archer’s newest nightclub. That’s not what this is about.

  “If he leaves, he’s a moron. You’re a keeper.”

  I don’t know what comes over me, whether it’s his proximity, the open, kind way he’s watching me, or the compliments he’s laid at my feet, but next I surprise both of us.

  Placing my palms on either side of his face, I bend and touch my lips to his.

  Benji

  Her lips. Her soft, soft lips.

  I thought I exaggerated in my mind how soft those lips were, but as they move gently along mine, I realize I didn’t exaggerate at all.

  I’ve received plenty of kisses to know this experience is unique. It holds an entirely new facet than any in my past, given I know Cris better than I knew anyone in my past.

  There is a deep trust between us, and I refuse to lose it. I know how tough it’s been for her to relax and unwind with her responsibilities at home. I didn’t realize it involved her intact virginity and the claim she’d “forgotten” about it—still not sure how that happens. But I refuse to let her feel like an outcast.

  I’m going to show her how good it can be—how good it should be. Knowing I can deliver better than any bumbling moron she’s dated before me strokes my already stroked ego. Speaking of strokes, her tongue comes out to play. I tip my head and allow her to deepen the kiss. Her hands slide from my cheeks to my neck and rake upward into my hair, sending chills down my spine. I scoop up the back of her hair with my hand and pull her seeking mouth to mine, tighter than before. The tiny whimper from her throat is like a gun signaling the start of a race.

  And they’re off.

  I love physical affection. Touching, kissing. Delivering what the other person needs or wants. If I had any idea Cris was lacking in that department, I’d have leapt on this opportunity way before now. I wasn’t trying to be cocky when I said I was good. I was sincere. There has always been a clear demarcation between my head and my heart. My body and my soul.

  I pull away to take a much-needed breath, floored by the heat simmering in her eyes. I can’t help smiling since I’m responsible for putting it there.

  “Firecracker,” I whisper. She smiles a demure, pure Cris smile that tugs the vicinity of my groin.

  Not my heart. Never my heart.

  “Can we skip dinner?” she breathes.

  “But—”

  “Benji.” Her fingernails stroke my scalp. “I’ve waited years for this. Now that I’ve accepted, I’m pretty damn anxious.”

  Fuck, she’s cute.

  It’d take superhuman strength to turn her down knowing she wants what I want. To show her the time of her life and send some of the heat in her eyes skittering down her entire body.

  “Still want me to slide my hands into your pants?” I murmur against her lips. She squirms and scoots to the edge of her chair, a nonverbal yes. “Do you want me to kiss you anywhere else? Like here?” I ask before I place a long, open-mouthed kiss on the underside of her jaw. She sighs.

  “Or here?” I rake my teeth down the side of her throat before soothing it with another kiss. She moans. Her fingers go tight in my hair, and she pulls at the longish strands on top.

  “Or lower?” I drag my tongue along her collarbone.

  “J-just above the waist,” she amends. I raise my head and find her looking adorably nervous. “But your hands can go below.”

  “That I can do.” I stand and she stands with me. She’s drop-dead gorgeous today. Even in the simple ensemble of jeans and a T-shirt. She’s wearing a gold ring on her index finger and no othe
r jewelry. Her beauty has always been understated. You have to look closer to see what’s there. Simplicity. Honesty. Once I noticed, I couldn’t unsee it, but seeing it is never a hardship.

  I lead her to the loveseat on the other side of her office. It’s dark brown, matching the earth tones of this room. Beige walls with green and beige and orange artwork on the walls—not my mother’s work, but I made the frames.

  I sit and she sits with me. Leaning in, I kiss her, this time untucking her shirt from the waist of her jeans as I do. She lets me lay her back, her big gray eyes looking so hopeful it hurts—in a good way.

  “Trust me?” I ask, knowing she does.

  “Of course.” A shaky smile follows.

  “We’ll keep it light. This is supposed to be fun.” I raise her shirt and kiss her stomach, her ribs and then up, up until I press a kiss between her breasts. They’re the perfect size. B-cup, I’d guess. The bra she’s wearing, a pale spring green lace, gives me enough of a peek of her pink nipples to spur me on. “This okay?” I kiss the swell of one breast over the demi-cup of her bra.

  “Yes.” It’s more of a breathy sigh than a word, but it was a yes, so it totally counts.

  “What about this?” I slip my tongue past the bra to taste her areola.

  “Yes!” That was a borderline shout. Her eyes open, and her head jerks off the sofa. I lay my palm flat on her chest and push her down. “Don’t even think of stopping me,” I warn. “Not when you’re enjoying yourself.”

  I wonder if this will take long at all. Let’s find out.

  Reaching behind her back, I unhook her bra. Then I sit back and bring her forward. “Shirt off okay?”

  She nods, a little dazed, a lot beautiful. I try not to gloat as I take her shirt and bra off and set them on the low table next to the couch. She’s in such good hands. She has no idea what she’s in for, but I do. She crosses her arms over her chest and lies back, watching me with curiosity and something else I can’t name. Anticipation, I think. But I have to ask. No way do I want her regretting anything. She’s either all in or this is all over.

  “What’s wrong?” I touch the cleavage she’s giving herself by pushing her breasts together, dragging my finger along the soft swells of each breast.

  “What if—” She cuts herself off to smile, teeth and all. “What if I…can’t? I’ve never let anyone other than myself touch me down there.”

  Rather than argue she most definitely can, I say, “Behind performance anxiety is usually worry you’ll let the other person down. You can’t possibly let me down. You have nothing to lose. I’ll do my thing. You relax. If I don’t hit the right buttons or ring the right bells, you can call it quits, or you can instruct me and I’ll keep trying until I succeed.”

  She shakes her head, but it’s not so much a “no” as it is expressing wonder and surprise. “Why are you doing this?”

  “With great power comes great responsibility. Just so happens I have a lot of power in this realm. Are you going to let me prove it to you or not?” I reach for her crossed arms. She lets me pull them away from her body to reveal two of the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “Oh, Cris. You’re gorgeous, honey.”

  She blushes. It’s amazing.

  I lower my head, place her hands in my hair, then I stroke my tongue over one of her nipples. I go slow, licking, suckling, laving. She tastes incredible. She can’t hold still, her hips wriggling beneath me. Her whimpers of ecstasy let me know I’m on the right track. I continue kissing her while moving one hand to the button of her jeans. By the time her zipper is down, her hips lift.

  She’s ready.

  Sliding my hand past the barrier of her jeans, I find matching silky green panties. I stroke my finger over the fabric panel. She’s wet. Ready. But to be sure, I ask. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  It’s the sincerest one I’ve heard yet. Slipping past the silken fabric, I touch her bare pussy and feel my cock grow heavy. The hardest part (no pun intended) is going to be remembering not to take this further. This isn’t about me. She is looking for an orgasm. She didn’t ask to lose her virginity to me. Although, I don’t see why I couldn’t help her out in that area as well. One thing at a time.

  Focus, Benji.

  Stroking her damp folds, I move up her body and kiss her mouth. Against those soft lips I instruct, “Spread.”

  Her legs fall open like I command, and damn, is that heady. I deepen my touch as her tongue explores my mouth with vigor. Her hips lift and drop in a rhythm she’s setting. I’m just keeping time.

  When she’s close, she pulls her mouth from mine to suck in a few quickened breaths. Her brows dive inward, her eyes shut. She licks her lips. Her hands are clutching the couch cushion beneath her. I insert one finger incredibly gently, and for a moment she goes rigid before she relaxes into it. I press her clit with my thumb and, knowing she’s close, dip my head to take a nipple on my tongue to send her over.

  She comes on contact.

  Her cry is hoarse, desperate, satiated. I continue stroking until I feel warmth on my fingers. Her entire body tenses and relaxes until finally, her hand grabs my wrist. I flatten my fingers against her sex and feel her pulse out the end of her orgasm. Her breasts lift. I take a moment to place one final kiss on the tip of each one.

  She’s so responsive. So bare. So open. So ripe. I was not wrong. This is damn fun. My cock disagrees, pounding against my fly with angry fists.

  Down, boy. Greedy bastard.

  “You’re much better than I am at that,” she mutters sleepily, her cheeks the perfect shade of rose. Her eyes flutter open. Her gray irises appear darker with blown-out pupils. “You weren’t exaggerating. You are very good.”

  I kiss her again, unable to stop myself. I pull my hand from her panties, zip and button her up, and then I retrieve her shirt and bra and lay them over her chest. She clutches her clothing to her body and watches me from beneath heavy eyelids.

  Seriously gorgeous.

  “Any time you need my assistance,” I tell her, trying to shift around a burgeoning erection without being noticeable about it, “you let me know.”

  She opens her mouth, maybe to laugh or maybe to tell me something. I don’t find out because my phone buzzes and rings in my pocket. “Shit. Sorry about this.”

  I move to silence it as she sits up and snaps her bra. “Don’t be sorry. Answer it if you need to.”

  Trish’s name lights the screen. My phone rings again. I feel the weight of Cris’s eyes, but she looks away as soon as I look at her. She redresses as I stand and silence the call.

  “Not important,” I tell her. She returns my smile with a tight-lipped one of her own.

  “Well. Thank you.” She fluffs her hair and tucks the front of her shirt into her jeans. I have a brief thought about how creamy she was, how good she might taste. But the timing is wrong to ask for more. I reroute my gaze to her face.

  She’s already snapped out of her post-orgasmic haze thanks to me not leaving my phone in my office or silencing the fucking thing. Now who’s the idiot? She redresses quickly, and then shuts down both her laptop and her sated expression.

  “Maybe we can have dinner another night,” she says, all business once again.

  I want to argue, but I sense she’s not in the mood to discuss. She took what she needed and she’s done. Not that I didn’t have fun giving her what she needed, but I didn’t expect to lose her company so soon.

  “Anytime, Firecracker.”

  The nickname slows her hasty movements. She watches me, her purse in one hand and travel mug in the other. “I’m being weird, aren’t I?”

  Just like that, I have my Cris back.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No. No,” I repeat emphatically. “Do not be sorry. See you tomorrow. Take all the time you need. I understand the need to recover.” I wiggle my fingers for effect. “There’s a lot of power in these babies.”

  She rolls her eyes and then surprises me by coming to
her tiptoes to place a sweet kiss on the corner of my mouth. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

  With that, she’s out of her office. A few minutes later I hear my front door open and close. I’m left with eight inches of hard-on I refuse to take care of with Cris on my mind.

  That’s not what this was about.

  I’m not what this was about. This was for her.

  Irked by her absence and several other things, including the call from Trish when I haven’t heard from her in months, I stroll to my office and resume working.

  Chapter Ten

  Cris

  Benji texts me the next morning to let me know he has a “thing” across town I didn’t know about, and that he’ll be back late morning. Fine by me. It’s not like I was looking forward to bumping into him in the office and explaining my bizarro reaction yesterday.

  Rather than drive straight to the office, I swing by Grand Marin, which is nowhere near on the way to Benji’s, but the coffee and muffin joint there is calling to me. I plan on indulging in a triple chocolate with chocolate chunks muffin plus a matcha latte. And maybe I’ll buy an extra muffin to indulge in later this afternoon. This is shaping up to be a week of indulgence and it’s only Tuesday.

  Bakery bag in hand, I’m sipping on my latte and wondering if I should drop in on Vivian. I decide that’s not the best idea. Not that she wouldn’t be supportive. She’d probably throw me a party. I’m not ready to tell her—to tell anyone. This secret is mine, all mine. Well, and Benji’s. It’s precious. Special. Now a memory, but a really friggin’ good one.

  He kissed me and then my breasts, and in the span of a few minutes—if that—I was shouting my release and riding his hand. I feel my face heat, my body responding as the memory of yesterday loops in my head. Truth? I’ve been reliving it since it happened. At home I zoned out during dinner, staring at the TV without seeing the screen, and then later I lay wide awake in bed. I replayed how his tongue felt on my nipples. The way his finger felt moving inside me.