The Billionaires Club Read online

  “Yes. I mean that he kind of left before things even got really started.”

  “What do you mean he left?”

  “Like we went up to his suite, and he got a phone call and had to leave.” Even explaining this to her is painful. The memory plays through my mind. The passionate kisses. The tender caresses. His sensual touch. And then it was all gone.

  “That's lame. So you two didn't do anything at all?”

  “Well.” I twirl a strand of my hair in my finger. “We kind of made out.”

  “Kind of? How do you kind of make out with someone?”

  “We made out, alright. I mean we kissed and stuff and he did a few other things, but there was no sex.”

  “Details. I'm married, remember? I have to live vicariously through you.” The happiness returns to her voice, and I'm relieved. The last thing I want is for her to be upset about this.

  “Do I have to say it?” I squirm uncomfortably. For as much as I love reading about sex, talking about it makes me feel off.

  “Did he eat you out?”

  “No.” I blush at the mention.

  “Did you blow him?”

  “No.” I squeak.

  “Did he finger you?”

  “Kinda?” It sounds more like a question than an answer.

  “He kinda fingered you?”

  “It wasn't penetrative,” I confess, feeling flustered from the conversation. I can't wait to get off the phone.

  “Well, at least it's something.” She sounds unimpressed. “You have a whole month to get used to each other. Make the best of it.”

  “I will. I'm tired. It's bedtime for me.”

  “Me too. Work tomorrow and all.”

  “Yeah. Sleep well.”

  “You too.”

  I hang up the phone and stare at the ceiling, wondering what tomorrow will bring. I won't see Anders for three more nights. I get him twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays. The rest of the time, he's with other women. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, though I don't know why. This was explained to me already. He's not really mine. I'm just renting him.

  ***

  I wake up feeling refreshed. After breakfast, I go to the spa for a facial, and then I decide to spend the remainder of the day lazying around the pool. There's no reason why I should let one disappointing night ruin my time.

  My mind has been made up. I've read enough romance novels to fabricate a few amazingly great sex scenes. The thought of being with a man whom I don't know, albeit a gorgeous man, is a lot less appealing now that I've put so much thought into the fact that I'm just another name on his to-fuck list. Will I ever have a chance to sleep with someone like him again? Probably not. But if I were to have such a chance, I would want it to be because of genuine mutual interest, not because he had been paid-off to sleep with me.

  I plan the entire thing out in my head. When I see Anders on Thursday, I'll tell him that his services aren't needed. He can have my month off or pick up another girl, whatever he usually does when clients fall through. No hard feelings.

  I slip into my bikini and head downstairs to the pool. A few other women are already sitting out and sunning themselves in the California heat. There's really a diverse mix of women here. Fat, skinny, old, young. Though I'm pretty sure that I'm the youngest.

  I take a lounger next to a woman who is easily in her late sixties. She stares intently at a man less than half her age who is scooping leaves out of the pool. The infamous pool boy. The entire staff here is male and all for our pleasure. The cooks, the maintenance, the cleaning crew. They're all readily available for a romp between the sheets with any one of the clients. And they're all gorgeous.

  These guys aren't billionaires. They're just blue-collar workers, college guys, and guys who enjoy getting paid to sleep with women. While I'm sure that's not drawn up in their employment contract, you know that's what they were really hired for.

  Mister Pool Boy is casting a glance across the pool to Late Sixties. He burns into her with a seductive gaze, and she throws it right back at him. Her confidence makes me a bit jealous. If he was giving me that look, I would be a blushing, blubbering mess.

  But then he does notice me, and his gaze shifts. I instantly lower my eyes. Late Sixties huffs in my direction, though I can't tell if it's from anger or amusement. By the time I look back up, a tall shadow is being cast across my body. Mister Pool Boy is standing at the edge of my lounger, and then he kneels beside me, taking my hand into his in a way that makes my heart skip a beat from nervousness.

  “You look like you need something,” he says, his accent thick and exotic. Spanish perhaps.

  “I-I'm fine,” I stutter. I just want him to go away. He's hot, but I'm not interested in what he's offering. I just want to sit by the pool and read.

  “I don't bite, unless you want me to.”

  A hard lump forms in my throat, and I quickly lose focus of everything. His voice is so sensual, practically beckoning to me. I won't fall for it though. I can't.

  “Tessa. There you are,” another man's voice says, this one behind me. My entire body tenses as I recognize it. I feel like I'm being tag-teamed by two predators, though it's quickly apparent which one is the alpha.

  Mister Pool Boy pulls himself to his feet and returns to his duties, backing down from the prey. The impending presence behind me stands firm, and I don't understand what he's doing there. We're not supposed to see each other again until Thursday.

  “Anders.” I turn toward him, but the sun almost instantly blinds me.

  “I hope you weren't having too much fun with Vernon.”

  Vernon. That's not a Spanish name. I can't help but wonder if the accent was fake or if the name is a moniker.

  “He just asked if I needed anything.”

  “I'm sure he was willing to take care of all your needs,” his tone sounds almost bitter. He extends a hand to me, and since I'm confused, I take it. “Shall we?”

  He pulls me to my feet, and I realize he's leading me inside. I cast a nervous glance back at Late Sixties and Mister Pool Boy, who are already locked into another lecherous staring match. Maybe he'll show her a good time instead. The thought oddly doesn't bother me at all.

  “I'm sorry about last night,” Anders says as we stand in front of the elevator.

  “It's no trouble. I thought I wasn't supposed to see you again until Thursday?”

  “You weren't, but I couldn't be without you for that long.” The look he's giving me makes me feel weak in the knees. It's at that moment I figure out that he's taking me back up to his suite. He presses the elevator button for the twentieth floor, and I force myself to lean across him and press the button for the sixth floor.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, casting a confused look in my direction. Good God he's beautiful. Am I completely out of my mind for wanting to deny him?

  “Listen, Anders, if that's even your real name, I appreciate what you're trying to do. I really do. I get it. You feel bad about what happened last night, so you decided to come here early to get me in before your Tuesday night girl.

  “I'm not upset. You don't owe me a makeup session. In fact, I think I'm going to release you from all future sessions while I'm here. I'm not asking for a refund or anything, so the full amount can still go towards the charity. I think I just want to relax while I'm here. You can pick up another girl and double your money.”

  My breath hitches as he unexpectedly corners me in the elevator, putting his hand on my waist. There's an amused twinkle in his eye, though it's tempered with lust.

  “I don't want another girl,” he tells me. “I want you.”

  Why does he have to be so devastatingly handsome? The illogical part of my brain makes me believe him. The wanton part of me doesn't want to let him go. He's giving me one last chance to have him, to get what Evelyn paid for. Why do I have to be so damn weak?

  His lips brush against mine, and I barely hear the elevator door open and close for the sixth floor. I'm trapped between ha
rd muscle and the wall, and my body refuses to try to escape. All I can think about are those soft lips and how I've longed to feel them again. I open my mouth to allow him entry, and he takes it, sweeping his tongue across my bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth to nibble sweetly.

  “I've been dreaming about you ever since last night.” He presses his forehead against mine in a strangely affectionate gesture. Then the elevator stops again, and he takes my hand and leads me to the door of his suite.

  I watch the back of his suit as he takes out his key card and opens the door. It looks almost identical to the one he wore last night. Classic black. Except the buttons are different. I realized that when I was sitting crotch level next to him at the pool. He's also traded in his blue silk tie for a striped red and gold one. And his dress shirt today is light blue instead of white.

  When he turns back to me, he puts a hand around my shoulder. For a second, I'm confused, but then fear races through me as he effortlessly picks me up and carries me over the threshold into his suite. I've only been picked up like this once before, and the guy who did it dropped me. With that memory in mind, I wrap my arms around Ander's shoulders, leaning into his chest and praying I'm not strangling him with my tight grip.

  “That body is so delicious, I could barely stand to see you lying there,” he tells me as he sets me down in the bedroom. I forgot that I'm only wearing a bikini.

  “I went downstairs to relax,” I tell him as I begin to fidget with my fingers.

  “I'll help you relax.” He slips behind me on the bed, brushing my hair away from my shoulder. When his lips touch my skin, I know I'm lost. His powerful hands come up to massage my shoulders while he kisses my neck, and all I can do is crane my head and moan.

  “You're so tense. I'll work all the kinks out of you,” his voice is full of promise.

  I notice his hands moving further back. He cleverly uses the massage as a way to untie the top of my bikini. The straps fall down, exposing my breasts. My nipples are already hard just from the feel of his hands on my back. It's almost embarrassing.

  “Your skin is so soft. So perfect.” His hands continue to rub down my back, pulling the strings on the bottom part of my bikini. He slides my top off the rest of the way and tosses it off the bed before leaning forward and taking full advantage of his position. I can feel his stiff manhood pressing against me through his slacks and his warm breath on my shoulder. He reaches around me and rubs my legs, sliding a hand down to caress my inner thighs.

  “So beautiful.” He places fluttering kisses on the side of my face. There's a ticklish feel to it, but I'm absolutely loving the affection. This man knows what he's doing. Knows exactly what women want. In that moment, I don't care that he's probably slept with hundreds of women to reach this level of seductive perfection. All I care about is that I'm about to get my turn.

  His hands grope their way up my body until they reach my breasts. He cups them, kneading gently, allowing my firm peaks to pop through his fingers so that he can squeeze them and send shivers of want racing through my body. I lean back against him, feeling the firmness of his muscle and the smoothness of his suit against my back. He's looking over my shoulder, staring down appreciatively at my breasts as he pleasures them.

  “I've been waiting for this. To touch you like this. I know you've been thinking about it all night too, the way it would feel to be together,” he says.

  Though I had been trying not to think about it, the truth is that it was all I dreamed about last night. Being under him. Feeling his thick cock inside of me. Experiencing being taken by a man fully confident with his body and his abilities. Living it was so much better than imagining it though.

  “Tell me you want it.” He shifts behind me, moving up onto the bed and patting the spot beside him.

  “I want it,” I confess, summoning a carnal part of me that's ready to fall head over heels into being with him.

  I move up on the bed beside him, and he starts kissing my shoulder again before moving up to trace his tongue across my jawline. I tilt my face to meet his, allowing him to bury me in a deep kiss. His mouth is so sensual, so perfect, so made for kissing. He knows exactly when and where to caress my face, how to manipulate me to his will. Sex is an art to this man, and I'm his canvas. Please paint me.

  He repositions himself on the bed, moving further down my body. His hand comes up to lightly stroke one of my breasts, then his face dips to draw my nipple into his mouth. I tilt my head back and moan shamelessly, raking my fingers through his short brown hair. His tongue skillfully flicks across the tip of my nipple, forcing it to harden even more. Each gentle lick sends desire coursing between my legs. I want him to fuck me. Need him to fuck me.

  He moves even further down my body, grabbing both of my feet in his hands and giving them a deep massage. As I watch him, I think about how he's being so attentive. It's strange to think that a billionaire would go out of his way to massage a stranger's feet. The massage is brief though, a prelude to him kissing the tops of my toes. I giggle a bit, doing my best not to turn away. I know he's trying to be sexy—is being sexy, but I'm so damn ticklish.

  “Did you know that being ticklish is a sign of stress?” he tells me.

  “I did know that,” I laugh.

  “We'll make you a bit less ticklish then.” He winks at me before pushing my feet up towards my chest. I lean back, my heart racing as I try to put together what he's doing. He holds both of my feet in one hand, and then uses the other to grab the bottoms of my swimsuit. When it becomes clear what he wants, I hold my legs up on my own so that he can pull the bikini bottoms off of me, rendering me naked.

  Almost the second they're off, he's grabbing my thighs and pushing my legs back again, exposing my pussy. A blush creeps across my cheeks as he descends, and I feel the first whisper of his breath over my feminine parts. His tongue shortly follows, pressing between my smooth folds to seek my heated core. I practically cry out as he skillfully gets to work making slow circles over my clit with the tip of his tongue, drawing out my pleasure.

  “You taste so good,” he say. “So moist and ready for me. I could eat you all day.”

  I moan as he laps up my juices, then continues his assault on my nub. It doesn't take long before he's driven me up to the height of oblivion. I spill over from his sucking and licking and teasing, feeling absolutely wrecked afterward. For all of my weakness though, I want more of him. I need to feel him inside of me. I want to give pleasure as well as receive it. To suck his cock and fondle his balls and worship his body.

  I rake my fingers through his hair as he drinks my wetness, cleaning up the mess he's made of me. He moans as he licks at my pussy, only intensifying my pleasure with the soft vibration of his mouth. Even though I just had an orgasm, I already feel like I could go again. He's that good.

  “Please fuck me,” I beg.

  “Mmm, but you taste so good. I don't want to stop.”

  “Please,” I practically cry out as he touches on my sensitive spot again with his tongue.

  “But I want to watch you come again,” his voice is almost teasing.

  “You can watch me come while you're fucking me.”

  He straightens himself finally, allowing me a chance to breath. The look on his face is absolutely satisfied, as if he knows he's crushed what little willpower I had left.

  “Say it one more time.”

  “Please fuck me.” I look him directly in the eyes when I say it this time, too impassioned to look away. I want it more than I've ever wanted it in my entire life.

  “How could I deny such a body.”

  I watch as he sheds clothing, my heart thundering in my chest with each passing second. The suit jacket comes off first, then the tie, then the dress shirt beneath. Finally, his hands reach his belt buckle. I hold my breath as he unbuttons and unzips his pants. He grabs them at the waist and pulls them down along with his boxers. I stifle a moan when his manhood pops out to greet me. He's every bit as impressive as I imagined he w
ould be.

  He only gives me a moment to admire his naked body before he opens up the bedside table drawer and pulls out a condom. I watch him slide it down his length and then crawl back onto the bed beside me. He grabs one of my thighs, pulling it up so that he can take me from the side. His focus is completely on our soon to be joined parts, and while I'm silently anticipating it, I still can't get over how beautiful he is and that this is actually going to happen.

  He grabs the base of his cock and gently slaps it against my pussy, causing pulses of pleasure to race through me. I rest my head back and moan, enjoying the sensation, enjoying him.

  “I bet you can't wait to feel my cock inside of you,” he says confidently.

  “Can't wait,” I mumble.

  “Are you sure you can handle it?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Let me know if I get too rough.”

  I bite my bottom lip as I feel his helmet pressing against my entryway. It takes everything in me to still my hips from wanting to press up to meet him. My body is so embarrassingly desperate.

  He bucks forward, and my breath hitches as I feel him spear into me. The initial intrusion is shocking, but I quickly grow used to it, my body clenching around the intruder to feel his full girth. Anders groans, and it only makes me want him inside of me more. Then he gives me what I want, pushing forward and connecting us completely.

  “Mmm so tight,” he tells me as he holds onto my leg and begins thrusting. The feel of him between my thighs is exquisite. This is everything I wanted, everything I dreamed it would be. He's absolutely amazing, fucking me and kissing me and fulfilling all my wildest fantasies.

  “Your body was made for my cock.”

  “Yes,” I quickly agree. This is how it should have been last night.

  Our lips move together, and I drink his breath as he continues to pound into me. After a while, he switches positions, crawling on top of me and between my legs. I gasp when he pushes back inside of me, gazing up at him in a dreamlike state. He's so sinfully handsome. To be beneath a man like this . . .