A Billionaire's Love Read online

  “You’re late,” he rattles off.

  I stare at him expectantly.

  “What did you think of the meeting earlier?” His entire focuses on me. Up close, I take in the vivid blues of his eyes. They are mesmerizing.

  “It was good.”

  “Hm. It seemed to me that some of those ideas were yours originally. Were they?”

  I study my shoes, trying to organize my thoughts. Him and Anna were rumored to be tight. Story was that Anna used to be a customer happiness rep herself but she swiftly worked herself to the top. Or worked him. Or worked him while on top. That’s another rumor. For a moment, I’m tormented by the thought of them together - all glamorous and beautiful. They look perfect together, like a matched set.

  “I don’t brook any disobedience. Answer the question.”

  That authoritative tone cuts straight through my self-pitying thoughts. And to my core.

  “Yesterday we talked over some of my ideas. But she added her own spin to them.” There. A neutral answer.

  “Don’t dress things up for me. I want the truth. Yours or hers?” His eyes glint dangerously.

  “Mine,” the words spill out. I can’t deny him. For just this one moment, I won’t blend in with the background.

  He raises a brow. And then casually strides over to the bar, pouring a drink, looking every ounce of a suave gentlemen. He thrusts the drink into my hand.

  I consider the amber liquid, swirling the whiskey in my cup. I can smell the fumes. And I’m not much of a drinker.

  “You seem like you need some liquid courage,” he says. Is he teasing me? Or judging me a finding a wanting?

  And that does the trick. I stiffen and then straighten myself up. He still towers over me but it’s a start.

  I’ve been skating through my life on autopilot the last few years. I’ve been keeping a low profile. My life has become small and boring. My circle of friends and family has pitifully diminished these last years since I started holing myself up apartment, shutting out the world. I had my reasons. But deep down, under my self protective layers? I’m no coward.

  “She took my ideas and didn’t give me credit. So what? She’s my boss.”

  Mr. Price closes the space between us. I can feel every fiber of my being trembling at his presence. He places a finger under my chin so that I’m looking up.

  “No,” he says angrily. “I am.”

  Every nerve in my body fizzes with his nearness. The space between us is electric. One spark and I could be aflame. I study his face openly - his strong jaw, full lips, the slight bracketing of lines around his mouth and eyes.

  “Do you like what you see, Ms. Flores?”

  I’m sliding into a delicate dance with him and shedding my inhibitions.

  I want him.

  If he wants me, I’m his.

  Screw the consequences. Screw the company. Screw all the noise about the privacy breach.

  For once in my adult life I am prioritizing a desire over self-preservation, fear, and practicality.

  Consequences be damned.

  He smiles at me and then I disintegrate from the sweetness of the smile. He has a dimple peeking out on his left cheek. I wonder how many people know about this secret dimple. He smiles and my entire being thuds with longing. He is beautiful like this, with his walls down. He looks younger and boyish.

  I could be his.

  “What kind of game are we playing?” he asks wonderingly. He begins to run his hand across my face. Every nerve in my body is alit in pleasure and longing. “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “N-nothing.”

  “Am I to believe that you want this?”

  I’m so frequently wracked by fears and anxieties, but of this I’m certain. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I want you.” I am stripped bare by his gaze.

  “How can you want this freely, when I’m your boss?” His voice hardens and he storms back to his desk.

  His walls are back up. I take in the enormous expanse of his desk, the San Francisco skyline behind him. He is back to being the billionaire CEO, never letting his guard down.

  I’m tongue tied and left bereft by the absence of his touch, which inflamed and invigorated me and had me feeling alive for once. How can I explain to me that I chose this?

  “Out,” he says, in a voice that brooks no disobedience.

  My heart falling, I obey him.

  For now.

  Seven

  David

  I’ve always been the decisive sort.

  I don’t have long internal monologues.

  I take action swiftly.

  And I’m good at leading.

  So why do I feel like the tables have suddenly turned?

  My back is against the ropes.

  And I’ve never been one to lose.

  I wanted to get to the bottom of how Maribel felt about Anna pilfering her ideas. I don’t like when people steal from each other.

  But instead, I succumbed to my baser instincts.

  The moment she entered my office, penitent and unsure, my cock stiffened. I wanted to protect her when I called her in, to see if she was okay after looking so crestfallen in the meeting. But instead, I dissolved into lust.

  I’m no monster. I’ve been guilty of some aggressive business deals. I’m brusque with my staff. I don’t always take no for an answer. But sex? And desire? That’s always been clear cut. I’ve never had a shortage of willing partners. And I don’t feel conflicted afterwards.

  I don’t like feeling like I’m squelching through a murky swamp.

  But that’s how I feel with Maribel.

  I was so close to pressing my mouth to hers and having her succumb to her desires.

  I marvel at her lush eyelashes, her full mouth, her curvy body. I wanted to dominate her. I wanted to worship at her feet, a penitent seeker of her body.

  So who was doing the controlling?

  I hold her future in the palm of my hand. I could fire her today. I could make her work life difficult. I could sabotage her hopes of finding any tech job in the future.

  But she holds mine in her palm too. She could go to the Board. She could tell her coworkers. She could manipulate me into a compromising position and leak details to the press.

  My life is not normally this complicated.

  I see someone I want and they want me too.

  The problem is, she wants me. She wants me but I’m starting to realize I won’t be content with just one taste.

  What if this desire for possession only deepens, until everything is on the line - my sense of self, my CEO title, and the hundreds of people who depend on me for a job?

  I growl with anger.

  I’m in my office mooning around like an antsy teenage boy, when I should be doing something, taking action, negotiating a deal, anything but getting lost in my thoughts and second guessing myself.

  I have it worse for Maribel than I thought.

  I need to handle this today.

  I’m still uneasy with the moral complications of pursuing her.

  But the risk of staying like this, clouding with confusion, desire, and regret, is far worse than any consequence pursuing Maribel could be.

  I’m not the man I think I am if I let this slide.

  My fingers drum impatiently on my table. There’s a package I flinched from the mailroom earlier with Maribel’s name on it. I took the package instinctively, because I wanted a touch of her.

  I’ve crossed the Rubicon.

  I won’t slip the package back into the mailroom, making the smart decision for myself, my company, and my future.

  Instead, I am going to carry this consuming desire through, consequences be damned.

  It’s time to take action.

  Eight

  Maribel

  Despite everything, I finish up my day with some semblance of productivity. Anna is still breathing down my neck. Everyone at the company is on edge with all of the press and pushback we’ve
been getting.

  Even though I had to stay late, I ended up catching up to a reasonable stopping point. Despite the distracting fantasies and scenarios roaming unchecked through my head.

  My world went topsy turvey after meeting with Mr. Price. Everything seemed so sweet and easy for one moment and then everything went sideways.

  I wish I could have had the words to fix things - to have him understand that I want this. That I am breathless and scared of the ramifications of this wanting, but I would chose him.

  I imagine what it would be like if he hadn’t stopped. Would we have kissed? Would he have pushed me to my knees so I could suck him off?

  The idea of me, in his formal office, on my knees for him feels me with confusion and longing.

  I’m conflicted and confused, but I want him.

  I am letting myself want someone. And this want is traveling through my body like a jolt of caffeine, waking up parts of myself that I had forgotten existed.

  I check my watch and realize it’s seven, much later than I realized. The sun is beginning to set, the fading sun transforming everything in its path into gold.

  I realize that I’m dawdling. I’m holding off on my long, crowded commute to my sad, grey apartment because I want more from life. I can’t bear to go home to my tired, stilted life today.

  Footsteps echo behind me and I whirl around, foolishly hoping its him.

  And it is.

  Tension rolls off of his body in waves.

  I can see him clench his jaw.

  My gut knows what he wants before he says it.

  “My office, now.” He turns around sharply and knows he doesn’t need to check if I’m following.

  I follow him at a slow pace. If this is him giving things one more shot, I want to savor it. I want to store up all of these memories like a warm comforter on a cold night.

  The desire that ran through me all day catches fire and ignites again.

  Heat rushes down to my core.

  This is happening, right?

  His office is illuminated with that same shimmering golden light. The light brings out the lighter flecks in his eyes and the subtle golds in his dark hair.

  I enter and want to drop to my knees immediately.

  I want to show him that he can have all of me, no strings attracted.

  That no matter what consequences tomorrow brings, right now is ours.

  Nine

  Maribel

  “I am disappointed in you.”

  I stare at him expectantly. I’m back in his office. Being in a private space with him is intoxicating. My head is swimming.

  “Using company resources inappropriately? Unbelievable.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir.” The sir comes out unbidden and I flush. I feel a flick of arousal in my core.

  He raises his eyebrows and I struck by his powerful gaze. His gaze strips me bare.

  “It is expressly forbidden to use the company mailroom for your personal use. And here you are, flouting the rules.”

  The pieces click together. It’s a game and not a game.“I am so sorry, sir. It’s not safe for me to have packages delivered to my home. I didn’t even know that was a rule.”

  I see his nostrils flare and I am terrified when I see rage cross his face.

  “That’s hardly an excuse that you are so uninformed. What’s so important to you that you broke company policy, Maribel?”

  My name on his lips is a drug I didn’t know I craved.

  “C-clothes.”

  “Clothes?” He raises an eyebrow, reaches down, and throws my brand-new lingerie across his desk in a tangle, aside an imposing stack of papers. My hands instinctively reach towards my things before I realize what I’m doing. I clutch my arms behind my back.

  The juxtaposition of my flimsy clothes and his business papers sends a wave of longing to my core.

  “This doesn’t look like clothes,” he says in a mocking tone of voice, as his fingers begin stroking the ludicrously small fabric of my lingerie.

  I feel a corresponding rush of pleasure and my eyes flutter.

  “Your lingerie,” and I tremble with pleasure and the wrongness of this when he speaks, “is so dainty and tiny. Strip.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Maribel, I know you heard me. We are going to figure out what this is. I don’t do ambiguities and gray areas. It’s yes or no. You want this or not. Are you in?”

  I’m incredulous. And turned on. I’ve harbored a fixation on him since I started here. What I want to do isn’t wise. It isn’t smart. But it’s what I want. It’s my choice. And I’m in.

  “I’m in.” My voice surprises me - it’s firm and confident. I see my past self, dowdy and in hiding. And now, I feel brave and bold and powerful.

  He doesn’t look surprised to hear this new voice of mine. He smiles broadly at my assent. “Do it now. I need to see if you always dress like this.”

  I weigh my options. I could walk out. I could say no. I could protest. But all I want is to obey and yes with every part of me.

  “I will not brook any disobedience,” he says sternly, and I’m disorientated for a moment with deja vu.

  This moment is fraught with tension and longing. I shudder at the idea of disobeying him – Mr. Price and my CEO.

  I spring into action, unzipping my pencil skirt, pulling off my blouse, and dropping my clothes where I stand. I’m wearing one of my favorite lingerie sets today, a La Perla knockoff bodysuit of soft tulle and lace and embroidery. It’s fully sheer so my pebbled nipples and all of me is on display.

  He gazes at me coolly. I’m caught between a desire to please him and a desire to cover myself. My shoulders hunch inward and my hands drift to cover myself, my confidence evaporating like a puff of smoke.

  He walks towards me, power and might in every step, and forces me to stand straighter so that my nipples almost graze his broad chest. The feeling of him so close to me is electric. I shiver. He places a finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

  “Better,” and a rush of pleasure swims through me at his praise.

  I’m entranced by the blues of his eyes. Almost absentmindedly, his fingers glide around my nipples and I am panting with desire. He reaches for my hands and tugs them more firmly behind my back, until I am standing as straight as possible and my breasts are pushing into him.

  His touch feels like heaven. The wrongness of this interaction heightens my desire. I am standing almost naked in front of my billionaire boss surrounding by a panoramic view of the gleaming San Francisco skyline. I can feel my wetness begin pooling from his touch.

  I’m a virgin, untouched by any man, and yet I am standing in a sheer bodysuit as if I had bought it for him.

  “Did you plan this?” he asks wonderingly.

  “No,” I say and then yelp when his strong fingers pinch and twist my nipples. I feel more warmth cascade down to my pussy.

  “You don’t lie to me, Maribel. You’ve been hiding this body from me, tantalizing me with your skirts and heels and shy glances.”

  Is that really what he thinks? I can’t believe he even knows who I am.

  He grips my breasts roughly, caressing them in his large hands, and I hear myself moan with longing.

  “I own this body now. You are wearing this intoxicating, flimsy thing.”

  “It’s a bodysuit,” I automatically correct him. Tension hums taut in my belly as his eyes turn cold.

  He moves my hands to the side and then without warning swats my ass three times in quick succession. “It’s sir.”

  “Yes…sir.” Another wave of longing sweeps over me, almost knocking me down to the ground. His entitled fondling of my body is intoxicating. Without warning, he starts to tease my pussy with a rough hand and I come undone, letting out an undignified squeak.

  He reads my softening and submission to him. His hands press me down to my knees. I can see the shape of his large, erect cock in his very expensive looking pants.


  “Naughty little Maribel, wearing racy clothes under such a prim package.” My breathing quickens as he slowly unzips his trousers and I have my first ever experience with a penis. His penis – no, his cock – is a thing of beauty. My mouth salivates as if my body is programming to respond to his every need.

  His hand strokes the top of my head and I feel comforted and desperate for more of his touch. He abruptly stops and then places the head of his cock, a drop of pre-cum glistening, at my lips.

  “Do you want this?” he says intently, his gaze searching my face.

  I’m past shame and consumed by desire.

  It is such a relief to complete what we started earlier.

  Consequences be damned.

  I’m seeing this through.

  That anyone could knock on the office door, that he is my boss only heightens the wanting. The desire to be owned, used, wanted, and savored is overwhelming. To have him shuck my virginity and have his way with me. I shudder with longing. “Yes,” I hear myself say huskily.

  “Beg for it, Maribel.”

  There is an incredulous part of my virgin self that is shocked when I respond, “Please, sir, please I need that cock. I need it.” I am whimpering with longing, my pussy is on fire, and my nipples ache to be touched and tormented. I rock back and forth, clenching my thighs together, but the ache between my legs only heightens.

  More than anything else, I want this to be the first time. I want him and all of his beauty and power.

  “I am going to use you now,” he says in a voice that brooks no disobedience. “I am going to use you until I come in the back of your throat. You are such a naughty girl teasing me with those flimsy things. You’ve been dressing like this the whole time, right under my nose. So I am going to use you and then pleasure you and then use you again.”

  I stare at him pleadingly.

  “Open up,” he says firmly and with that he pushes himself into my wet, willing mouth until I can feel him bottom out in the back of my throat.

  I choke. His cock – my first – is warm and firm. It’s rock hard, but the skin is so soft, like velvet. He starts stroking my hair again, winding my locks around his fingers. My mouth starts to relax around the intrusion. I could stay here like this, having a need met I didn’t know I possessed, to be used like a shameless, wanton pet.