BILLIONAIRE (Part 6) Read online

  Our first argument, and we’d weathered it mostly unscathed.

  While I waited for him, I basked in the rays of sunlight that striped the bed, and listened to the steady fill of Alexander’s inbox as his computer chirped from the corner as though demanding attention. I couldn’t help feeling a sense of bittersweet triumph, listening to the sound of his minions, seeking his attention. I’d won, in a way. I was the one he was lavishing with attention. The minions could wait until I was appeased and satisfied. I was his priority and his obsession.

  And I was glad he’d agreed to at least try to work with me. I’d get to watch him at his game, emperor of the empire, and be with him during the days as well as the nights. The work itself was exciting to me, but even more, I was elated that I’d convinced Alexander not to cast me out, not to put me on some distant pedestal. I wanted him to trust me and to trust himself.

  I hoped he could.

  Alexander

  Jake was getting impatient, like they all were. He’d have to wait, at least for another hour or two. My priorities hadn’t exactly changed; it was more like they’d been blown out of the fucking water. I’d checked in from time to time, made a few critical phone calls, given the odd decisive hard word to a weak link when the need arose. I’d been building these systems for more than ten years. I’d selected and trained my staff carefully for good reason. I should be able to take a week or two off – or three – if I fucking felt like it, and not have the whole goddamn thing crumble to the ground in ruins. I’d slogged away for years to make sure my interests had solid foundations and impeccable records. But there were always glitches that needed experienced problem solving. Jake was up to speed but he was still young. I’d pin his mistakes on that, for now. My brother was a loose cannon and always had been. It was part of the reason I gave him a job and put him in charge of his own company. That way, at least I could keep an eye on him. He was a punk who didn’t follow rules, inside the boardroom or out of it. His style was reckless, I knew that only too well. With women, with life in general. Sometimes a dose of recklessness worked in business. Sometimes it gave you an edge. This time it had backfired. The insider-trading fiasco at his company was coming to a head. It was time for me to step in, get rid of a few bad seeds and placate the authorities with solid numbers, with rolling heads and, if necessary, with money.

  My nubile nymph wanted a slice of the action, and as far as I was concerned she could have anything she wanted. I was in so deep I would have appointed her president of the fucking company if she made the request into a particularly sublime donut-hold of opportunity. I knew I wanted her with me. But I also knew things could get very complicated very quickly with her around. My head – or, more precisely, my heads – were pointed in one forward direction whenever she happened to flick me a sultry glance. Or whisper a pouting little command. Or scald me with a shimmery, light touch of her fingertips. In the office, that kind of coercion or lack thereof could be downright fucking dangerous. Ruinous, even.

  I didn’t trust myself.

  Today, I didn’t have subversive intentions, not at all. Just the desire to fulfill her and lull her so thoroughly that I could take my leave for a few hours to sort out my brother’s problems.

  I filled two bowls with ice cream and put the whipped cream can under my arm to carry upstairs.

  She’d obeyed.

  Fuck.

  She had the power to stun me and energize me simultaneously. I couldn’t even think, I could only look, and absorb all that. Lust so potent it was almost painful, stabbing into me like hot, sharp knives. She was reclined on the bed where I’d left her, curled slightly on her side in the sun, her honey-blond hair a cascade of brilliant spun gold. Her curved hip glowed white, the outline of her both elegant and naughty, somehow, her femininity a perfect blend of sexy womanliness and mischievous girlishness. She was still piqued by our argument, I could see this, but the edges of her ire had softened. She’d slung her arm behind her head so her breasts were raised and bouncy-looking. Lush. Like milky, ripe peaches. Her nipples were still beaded from my hungry mouth.

  “Hi,” she breathed.

  “Hi,” I said, walking up to her, sitting down beside her, setting the bowls of ice cream and the can of whipped cream on the beside table. She adjusted, sliding over to make room for me. Her legs parted as she sat up and I could see that her pussy was still slick with my cum and slightly swollen from my eager, forceful possession. I went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water, wringing it out. Then I went back to sit beside her. “Lie back.” I had plans and was more interested in her taste than my own. Gently, I rubbed her clean with the cloth, taking my time, opening her and savoring the sight of her rosy, juicy beauty. “There,” I said, once I was satisfied.

  I tossed the cloth to a chair and picked up a bowl. Slowly, I fed her a spoonful of the ice cream, watching her mouth open. Her plump, perfect lips closed around the silver spoon, the creamy white ice cream melting on her tongue. I kissed her, licking a taste.

  “I don’t get whipped cream?” she asked, pouting.

  “Sure you do.” I grabbed the can, giving it a shake. “Where do you want it?”

  “Take off your jeans and I’ll show you.” My dirty girl and I were on the same wavelength. I followed her command, kicking my jeans off. I stood in front of her and she feathered her fingers across the head of my ridiculously rigid cock. “Put some on here,” she smiled shyly, yet the glimmer of our small conflict shone in her eyes. Something about the challenge in her hardened my cock even more. I wanted her to take out all her feminine frustrations on me. Right now.

  I climbed onto the bed with her, my elbow propped near her knees. “Soon,” I said. “First I want to put some here.” I eased a little of the cream onto her nipple in a neat swirl, then the other. And I bent down to take it, to suck her clean, to draw that sweet flesh into my mouth, to lave my tongue across the delicate bud, and scrape my teeth tenderly until she moaned and ran her fingers through my hair.

  “That feels so good,” she cooed.

  I sucked her other nipple clean, going slow. I could have sucked Lila’s nipples for hours. The taste of them made me feel like the king of the world. She was beginning to arch and to writhe in pleading little movements, like she does when she gets all hot. Her legs had parted and her pussy looked like a moist, pink flower.

  “Put some on you,” she said, her voice rasped with passion yet pure and bell-toned, like she was a fallen angel.

  “First you,” I said, spurting the cream onto her luscious, blooming sex.

  Fuck, I could hardly stand this. I’d gotten my rocks off less than half an hour ago, but I was so hard I thought I might explode as soon as she touched me. Almost tentatively, I put some of the whipped cream along the length of my cock, making a thorough job of it, with extra on the head.

  “You look good enough to eat,” she giggled. “I can’t wait for a taste.”

  Lila watched me as I moved closer, adjusting my position so I could reach her as she sucked me.

  Holy fucking hell.

  Her tongue licked in coy little flicks, barely touching me at first. She grew bolder, taking the head of my cock into her mouth, sucking strongly. “Mmm,” she said. “So good.”

  I lowered my head, licking the cream from her, taking it all, greedy to get to the main course. The sugary cream was nothing compared to the taste of Lila. She was sweeter than honey. And I couldn’t get enough. I pulled her closer, holding her hips in my clasp and she moved with me, lying half-astride me, taking my cock deeply into her mouth as I ate at her. Her mouth made little sounds of greedy suction as she licked me clean while her fingers stroked and squeezed. I sucked her hungrily, flicking her clit with my tongue before delving deep into her sticky warmth, repeating the sequence in strong, rhythmic pulls. She was mewing and wriggling. I knew she was getting close. Her sex was quivering, her little nub hard and swollen. I drew it into my mouth with insistent, tugging pressure as I slid two fingers knuckle-deep into her pu
ssy, swiveling gently.

  She took me deeper, the insatiable little minx. The pleasure was severe, filling me like hot liquid. I was on the verge of bursting with it and I was glad I had already come once; I could hold onto this blinding, slippery, surreal heaven for a few more seconds. Until it was too much. Until I felt the overload begin to spool out of me in savagely-intense rockets of ecstasy. She bucked and moaned just as I started coming in hot bursts against the back of her throat. Her pussy clenched tightly around my fingers in succulent compressions and I could taste her orgasm as a light, creamy tang. She kept sucking me as I came, taking all of it, kissing and girlishly suckling my cock until I was completely, totally, divinely spent.

  She went limp then, as spent as I was.

  I wanted her to come again. I wanted to prolong her ecstasy into one more peak, so she could ride the drifting wave into a drowsy, blissful recovery. I lifted her carefully, laying her back into the pillows. Her eyes were closed.

  I knew how sensitive she would be and I was gentle. I licked her again in a slow, sweeping stroke and she protested feebly, shaking her head and pushing at mine. “I can’t,” she breathed.

  “Shhh,” I whispered. “You can. One more. I’ll be so gentle. Feel me. Feel my mouth kissing you so gently. Softly, like this.” With my tongue, I licked her pussy open. I concentrated on the engorged little nub, tenderly exposing it, touching the tip of my tongue to it once, and again, until she was moaning for more. With my fingers, I dipped into her, sliding in, curling my fingertips to stroke her g-spot as I eased her into yet another rippling climax.

  “Oh, Alexander,” she cried softly, repeating my name as I prolonged her pleasure into one last undulating swell. I kissed her mouth leisurely, then climbed up to lay next to her. She had already drifted into a light, dazed sleep.

  What I wanted to do was to sleep beside her, to hold her in my arms for hours. To stroke her hair and kiss her skin. I simply could not get enough of this girl. I wondered if I ever would. I could have just watched her sleep, the graceful, youthful lines of her face, the curl of her long eyelashes against her flushed cheeks. She looked so impossibly young, so extraordinarily beautiful.

  I knew I had an unreasonable attachment to her, and an overblown protective instinct for reasons we’d already discussed. And I couldn’t shake the desire to keep her close to me, where I could keep track of her and keep her safe. The thought of her wandering, alone, on the streets, where any maniac could reach her, or speak to her, or touch her.

  Or somehow steal her.

  It was more than I could fucking handle.

  I allowed myself a few minutes with her, so she could feel me close to her. Then I silently rose from the bed. I put on my jeans and a shirt and grabbed my laptop. I took my key ring from a dresser drawer and, after quietly closing the door behind me, I locked it.

  Lila

  The lock clicked.

  The taste of my terror was bitter and metallic, like blood.

  “Open the door!” he yelled, rattling the doorknob and pounding with his fist. Huddling in the corner, I could smell my own doom as a deathlike, floral perfume. I glanced at the window, but he’d nailed it shut after I’d slipped through it the last time he forced entry. He’d removed the lock but I’d, somehow, managed to push the bed in front of the door to block it, knowing only too well that he was strong enough to break down all my barriers.

  As he was doing now.

  The wooden legs of the bed began to slide, making a mournful, dull squeak. She wouldn’t hear it. My mother would be dead to the world this time of night, bottle laying next to her on the old couch. She might even be cradling it, as she often did, like an empty, glass infant.

  No one would stop him. No one would hear my screams, I knew this. So I kept myself quiet, even when he slipped through the crack, closing the door behind him, looming and large. He held the key in his hand, the only key, which he used to lock the door before slipping it into his pocket. He wasn’t especially tall but he was stocky, solid. With lank, dirty-brown hair that hung almost to his shoulders.

  “Why’d you go and push the bed against the door again?” he said, his voice gravelly and terrifyingly devoid of emotion. “You know that doesn’t work.”

  I stared at him, my fear giving the scene an almost ethereal glow, like heaven was waiting for me on the other side of this experience. Like death was close at hand. Maybe he would kill me. He never had before, but I wouldn’t have put it past him. Anyone who could do what he did to an innocent, defenceless ten-year-old child had all the power of God, for all I knew. An evil God. An all-powerful being who always got his way.

  He was walking towards me, pulling his belt from its loops. “I don’t want to have to use this. You do as I say without making a fuss this time. Or you’ll feel this, hard.”

  I stood up. He’d whipped me before and it had been a week before I’d been able to sit down. I’d had to do my homework standing up. Miss Mills at the library had asked me about it but I’d told her I fell off my bike. I didn’t have a bike, but she didn’t know that.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  My hands were shaking as I began to unbutton my plaid blouse. It had holes at the elbows but I’d patched them with an old blanket that was almost the same color. Two boys at school had laughed at me and called me “trash”.

  I took off my pants, too, and my underpants. And I stood naked in front of him.

  “You’re too skinny, girl,” he said critically as he circled me. “I need to fatten you up some.” I flinched when he touched my hair, which hung to my waist. “You have the prettiest hair. So soft and blond.”

  I closed my eyes as his hand slid to my face, my neck, which he circled with his fingers before gliding his rough touch to my shoulder. He touched the tiny buds of my breasts with his calloused fingers. “Open your eyes,” he said. “Unzip me, girl. You know what to do. Keep your eyes open.”

  I felt the bite of bile in my throat. I knew that taste, of horror and fear. If there had been anything in my stomach, I would have wretched. I unzipped his pants and took his cool, flaccid horribleness in my hands. “Run your fists up and down me, like I like. Get me really hard.”

  I did as he asked, forcing my thoughts away from him. To the book I was reading, about a girl who runs away from home and finds happiness.

  It didn’t take long. “That’s enough. Now go and lie on the bed.”

  I felt removed from myself, like I was floating above, watching my small, slim waifish body perform for him.

  “Open your legs,” he ordered, gruffly excited. He was holding himself, working his own body, feasting his eyes on my vulnerability. “Now touch yourself.”

  My eyes fell closed as I felt my fingers touch my secret place. And I screamed when a jolting pain pierced the left side of my head. He was leaning over me, his fist in my hair. “I said keep your eyes open. Look at me. Watch me.”

  His breath was foul, his hair dirty. It took every shred of courage I possessed not to close my eyes and all my other senses to this routine nightmare.

  It was a thin comfort to know that he wouldn’t fully take me. I didn’t know why. I knew he’d spent time in prison and I wondered if he’d done that before, to some other girl, and been punished for it. He seemed content with this level of torture: making me touch him and touch myself as he did what he did.

  “Spread your legs wider. Open. Use your fingers.”

  He stood between my legs, one of his hands found my own, touching me, moving my fingers. His other hand was on himself. He was close to me, close enough to touch me, to press against me but not deeply. His pace quickened and his face began to contort with his pleasure. White foam spurted from him onto my stomach as he grunted his relief. With his hand, he rubbed his foam onto my skin as though to mark me, to stain me.

  “There you go,” he said. “Good girl. Just like you like it.”

  He zipped himself up, took his belt and began to leave. “Don’t blockade the door again or I’ll whip you g
ood. Tomorrow I’m going to teach you something new, and you’re gonna do exactly what I tell you. And don’t forget, if you tell anybody about our little secret, I’ll fucking kill your mother, like I killed that rabbit.”

  The door closed. And the lock clicked back into place.

  $

  I awoke with a start, groggy, naked, afraid. It took me several seconds to get my bearings, to realize that I wasn’t at home in the tiny, rundown shack that had defined my sad childhood. It was after that night, the one I’d dreamed of, that I’d run. I’d spent the next night in a chicken coop, and the next in a train station, where I’d almost been stolen by a straight-looking commuter who was anything but. I’d learned how to hide, and I’d learned how to run.

  But that had been a long time ago.

  Now, I was in New York, in Alexander’s plush and airy penthouse apartment.

  And I was alone.

  “Alexander?” My voice sounded weak and edged with panic. It had been several years since I’d had a dream like that. I wondered why those deeply-buried traumas I’d banished from my waking consciousness long ago would reoccur to me now.

  I got up and called to him again but there was no answer. His computer was gone and so was he. I felt mildly riled by this discovery but it was understandable, I decided: he had emails to answer and he didn’t want to wake me. He was just being considerate, I told myself. He’d promised me he’d try. He’d left me to doze, then he’d be expecting me to join him in his office. He’d begin to teach me, and train me.

  I went to Alexander’s shower, scrubbing away the seedy, horrific memories.

  After drying myself with one of Alexander’s oversized towels, I grabbed a fitted knit black dress and for some reason, even though it wasn’t particularly cold, my fur-lined jacket. I wanted something thick and buffering to wrap around myself, for comfort. I pulled on my boots and picked up my bag, slinging its strap across my shoulder. I would go to his office so he could make good on his promise. He could start training me today.