A Bad Boy Billionaire: Forbidden Alpha Male Romance (3 page)

As I eat small piece by piece I think of DH Lawrence. He didn't write in this or that genre. And I'm not him, but I can respect him from the place I occupy in this particular moment in time. But these words are my words. The way I describe the shape of her ass. The way I remember the way she smells when she comes to me. The way she moves when she cums for me, with me, next to me. The many ways in which out bodies writhe and I want to occupy more of her time, but as always I fear the motivation and the lack of connection. Is it just me?

I finish eating and head outside to think and sit and just bask in the immensity of the universe for just a while, just a bit. Then I think of her tits and I want to call her. I have to wait. I have to wade further into the water, closer to the point of no return as the black hole calls me as if I'm a galaxy to devour. My mind notices her absence. I notice too much for my own liking, but I'm learning to come to terms with the facts. The truth is more important than the facts. You hear that? A drone flies overhead – the least sexy thing in a piece of erotica. Romantica. I invent a new genre and invest my time investigating the crimes of the mind.

By the time the night comes around as the planet swings and sways in the vast openness around us, I ponder buying a bus and naming it Even Further and traveling here and there across the world to touch the lives of some of the 99 percent. Not to give out money (or fish), but to teach how to make these really good toasted cheese sandwiches with fresh garlic. I stole the recipe from a hippie. She didn't sue me, of course. She liked American music too much which is why she parted, but I got the memory in the form of food. I had the better lawyers.

I give up on the bus idea and retreat to my tower to pen some words to the world. As a member of the one percent I feel it is my duty and mission to make sure the misunderstood have a voice as I try to make my way through the vast number of women in the world to find one with whom to blast off in a starship to travel here and there – maybe mars. Tropic of Mars. March. I touch myself too much but who knows me better than me? The idiosyncrasies that make me tick, what can make me cum and so on. She told me it turned her on to see me touching myself and I've been trying to unravel the secrets of that statement ever since.

In her absence I don't feel like touching myself. I smoke and find the room in my mind with a good power supply so I can sit and translate the thoughts into individual words to turn you on. Turn her on. I want to turn her on, but I occupy my time with fantasies instead of chasing something real. For enough you can have whatever you want and some things you don't even know you want until they're offered to you. She occupied a piece of me like all the other 99-percenters around the world. I don't hate them even though most hate me. And I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me. I just wish she could see as she walks out the door – both what's real and what's not, what really makes me hot.

I have to stop soon. I'm not hard tonight, but I think of her moist pussy and miss it already. The night and day over so soon. It's the moments in between. I need a new adventure. When in weightlessness, you need to picture one direction as being “down.” Once you do that everything else falls in place and you can decimate the aliens first. And then other stories. I miss the way she tastes the most, so moist and full of my seed as I clean and please, serve and protect. I'm sure she thinks I'm insane, which may be the source of all my supposed riches. As for erotica niches, I have to keep writing until I find my own. Hone the skills to produce bones. Discover the ways to make others wet with anticipation.

Either sex or literature but never both. You can't fuck your cake and eat it too. I tried once. Quite comic in a certain sense. A bit burlesque with a modern twist. I think it was a chocolate cake. My black hole for the moment. I have to choose tits and ass for mass appeal or something deeper that stirs ancient and primal feelings for maybe one or two special readers. Yes, I'm talking to you. Personally. This is my diary and writing you makes me hard (to comprehend). But I'm going to do it again and again. Because, as humans, that's what we do. When you fall down you get up and start again. I would find a way to tame her. Whether I'm talking about Toni the enchantress and muse or literature as a whole IDK, ya know?

My phone rings. Hello Kitty.

Saving Ingrid the Paris Whore

I'm greeted by the smell of strawberries. She looks into my eyes and sees into my mind. We have time to waste. With the money I have we can stay in this room for the rest of our lives. Hell, I may end up buying the hotel before we're done. So much fun. She leans on her elbow and looks me over. Reaching down there, she wonders if she can stir me to life. Rescued from the slums of Paris, Ingrid has been with me for a while now. I can't remember how long.

What can I say about the way her hair feels on my chest as she moves smooth and slow – with perfect precision – down my chest. She stops and shakes her head, her hair raining down and tickling me. I take her head in my hands and push her down more. She bypasses me and continues licking my legs. She's teasing me again. I can feel myself stirring as she laps her way back up my thighs. Crawling between my legs, her long blonde hair rains down on me.

Jim Morrison croons in the next room as she finally gives in and takes me in her mouth. I gasp slightly. I don't want to let her know how good it feels. I want to make her work harder. She peeks up quickly and I see her eyes and I know I can't lie to her. I nod my head as she teases my tip with her tongue, slowly running it around and around. Lightly then forcefully. Suddenly she swallows my length, as much as she can take. I have more money than inches, but she doesn't seem to care about either as I see the blonde locks bob up and down.

My cock is rock hard now and she climbs on top of me, placing just the tip near her entrance. I thrust up to enter just a bit, but she pulls up. I reach up and cup her breasts in my hands. They're not large, but more than enough for me. As I pinch her nipples and get them even harder, she lowers herself onto me. Inch by inch I enter her. Moans fill the room as we find our groove and move in sync with each other. We are one. My mind is her mind and her mind is my mind.

Because of my money, we have all the time in the world. She knows I'm rich, but not that I'm near the top of the one percent. Would it make her hotter, I wonder? Seeing her face, I don't see how she could get more turned on. Love finally? I search her facial expressions to see if I can find the answer. Her mind is mine, but my self-doubts still torture me. Money can't buy everything. She leans forward and kisses me. My tongue enters her mouth gently, exploring.

She starts to writhe and moan even louder and sits back up, adjusting the stroke, the angle. I hit the right spot and she starts to cry out as an orgasm rushes through her body. I feel her tighten up and I can't last any longer either. I let loose and as she twists and turns, I cum inside her. I don't want to leave her. She leans back down, her hair fanning out. She sits up and I slip out. Crawling toward me, I suddenly see her secret cave right in front of my face.

Releasing her muscles, she opens up and I come rushing back out of her. I lap all I can eagerly as she presses herself against me. I look up and see her face looking up at the ceiling. Then she's at my side on her knees and bending down to kiss my lips, share my prize. I don't close my eyes. I want to see her seeing me. We've only been together a week. Or maybe it's a month. I've lost all track of time. I haven't checked in with accountants, advisers, employees or anyone else since I met her, since I rescued her, since she rescued me.

* * *

I was walking down some Rue or another, the narrow street made out of cobble stone. Passing an alley, I heard a moan. Investigating – a little drunk – I stumbled and saw her against the brick wall. A man was between her legs, eating her out. I watched for a moment. She looked at me with pleading eyes. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see a man in a blue, silk suit.

“You need to wait your turn, buddy,” he said in English.

“I want to buy her freedom,” I said, the wine controlling me partially.

The man laughed then looked over at her. “You know how much she brings me in each day?”

“No,” I said, simply. I knew better than to take out my wallet or flash cash, but I had to do something. The way her eyes looked at me let me know she was a damsel in distress. She needed help. She was out of place.

“A fucking bloody lot,” he said, then laughed.

“I'll give you a year's income.”

He looked me over, not being able to tell from my clothes that I was rich. “Two years,” he insisted.

“Done,” I said simply. I gave him the address of the hotel I was staying at and told him to deliver her within the next four hours.

“Eight hundred thousand?”

“Yes. And no funny business or my security detail will make your life a living hell.” I didn't have an active security detail, but he didn't know that.

Before he could up the price, I walked away toward the hotel. I wasn't entirely sure if he would show up, but I had tried to gain her her freedom. Back in my room, I had another bottle of wine on the balcony as I watched the cityscape outside. The bright lights were hypnotizing. I loved the way they made the city seem alive.

A knock on the door startled me. How long had I been daydreaming? Opening the door, I saw the man in the shiny blue suit. The blonde was with him, as well as two burly henchmen. She looked directly at me, as if she was trying to read my mind. I hoped she didn't know what I was thinking. I wasn't even sure about that myself.

I motioned them in and went to a safe in the corner. I retrieved a cool million in hundreds and placed it in two pillow cases for them.

“You're fucking crazy man, I love you,” the pimp said.

Looking him in the eye, I said firmly, “Now get the fuck out of here and out of Paris. If you don't I will come after you and get my money back with interest. Capiche?”

He stared back at me, not blinking, but he nodded his head. With a snap of his fingers and a shrug of his head, him and the two muscle men walked out of the room, shutting the door after them. I walked over and locked it then turned to her. She was undressing near the bed.

“No, no,” I said coming over. I hoped she spoke English.

“I thought you might want to test me out,” she said weakly, still trying to read me.

“I paid for your freedom. You're free now.” I motioned to the door. “You can leave whenever you want.”

“I can leave?” She tilted her head slightly, as if she didn't comprehend or believe me.

“Yes. I saw your eyes in that alley and saw you were bound so I used a little extra money I had lying around so you can be free and start a new life.”

“Some money you had lying around?”

“Yeah, a have a few million,” I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. I had a few thousand million. Maybe more. I hadn't checked in a while. She didn't need to know that. To her I could be a low level millionaire. They were still uncommon in the world.

She continued looking me over as I walked to the mini-bar and made myself a stiffer drink, some American whiskey. “Of course, with your new found freedom, you can stick around and have a drink with me. Maybe get some dinner and talk.”

“Don't play games with me.” I couldn't place my finger on her accent, but it sounded Nordic.

“I'm not. You can go or stay. The decision is yours. The decision is always yours in that life if you haven't figured that out yet.” I wasn't sure of her age, but she looked to be in her early twenties.

“I want to stay a while.”

“Great,” I said. “What should I call you?”

“My name is Ingrid. And you?”

“My name isn't important.” I took another sip of whiskey.

“What should I call you?”

“Call me whatever you want. What do I look like?”

She walked over to where I was standing, examining me more closely. “I would say a Charles. Or maybe a Theodore.”

“Fucking Theodore, huh?” I laughed. “How about Teddy. That work for you?”

“My Teddy,” she said, reaching out to grab my hand in both of hers. “I want to thank you for what you've done tonight.” She knelt down and kissed the back of my hand.

“Get up, get up. I don't want any of that shit. I was serious that you're free. You're not beholden to me at all. Money doesn't mean a lot when you have enough to live the rest of your life.”

She stood up. “Can I get a drink before I go?”

“Yeah, of course. What do you want?”

“Whatever you're having.” She nodded her head toward my drink. I emptied my glass and poured us both another of the aged whiskey. I placed two ice cubes in each.

“To freedom,” I said, holding out my glass.

“To freedom,” she repeated, then clinked her glass with mine.

After a few drinks, she began to tell me her story. She had moved to Paris from Switzerland after being promised a career in fashion. When she arrived, she was horrified to learn the truth. After being sold into sexual slavery, she had to learn to hide her feelings to survive. Times were tough, but she didn't know how to escape, didn't know how to get home.

She fall asleep with her head in my lap as she told the story. Soon she was asleep. I didn't move an inch, not wanting to wake her. I looked down at her face, noticing her aquiline nose, her slender cheeks. Maybe she was a Roman goddess from ancient times who had been brought to me by a future me with a time machine. In the entire timeline she was my soul mate.