Dance with the Billionaire (12 page)

I take a deep breath then push my lips against his, about to take him inside me when ...

“Jesus!” he says, his whole body stiffening in shock. He pushes me off him, turning to look at something behind me.

“Isabella?” he cries out. “What the fuck?!”

I spin around, snapping back into reality, just in time to see Isabella teetering precariously down the wet stone steps, bottle of whiskey in one hand, lit cigarette in the other. She stops halfway, her mouth curling into a woozy grin. 

“Well, well, well,” she slurs, before taking a big hit on the whiskey bottle.

“Bella?” Dylan says firmly. “That better not be Dad’s Macallan ...”

“Who cares what it is,” she mumbles. “I found it in the cellar. I’m bored shitless, Dylan. I wanna get drunk. Come on! Come and get drunk with me. Please?” Then her glazed eyes turn from Dylan to me. “Just you, not her,” she says with a dismissive sneer.

“Isabella, that’s
enough
,” Dylan snaps, sounding more like her father than her brother.

He’s seriously pissed – I can tell by his voice.

“You’re no fun,” she whines, turning on her heel to leave. But she only makes it two steps up the path before her foot flies from under her, skidding on the wet slate, and she topples backwards, landing hard on her ass, right at the bottom of the path, the whiskey bottle – I really hope it
wasn’t
the Macallen; that’s $50 a glass where I work – smashing loudly next to her.

Ouch. That must have hurt
.

“Jesus,” Dylan mutters beneath his breath, quickly adjusting his trunks then jumping out of the hot tub and grabbing his robe for good measure.

She’s sitting on the floor in a pool of broken glass, crying like a baby. “I’ve fucked up again, haven’t I?” she says between sobs as Dylan tries to help her to her feet.

“No, no, no,” he says, bringing her into a tender hug as she sobs loudly in his arms.

Snapping back to reality, I remember that I’m butt naked, so while nobody’s looking, I fish out my bikini, pulling it back on and grabbing my robe, before I head over to them, super careful to avoid the broken glass that’s strewn all around, sparkling in the moonlight, beautiful but dangerous.

Isabella might well be a total nightmare and a spoiled bitch, but even so, right now I still feel kinda sorry for her.

“Hey,” I say as I join them, thinking about just what
I’d
want if I was in this kind of a state, “why don’t we all go inside and watch TV? I bet
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
is on ...”

She sniffs back the last of her tears then nods her head. “You know, my friend Ashley
totally
made out with Kendall’s boyfriend in a club in Vegas this one time, right behind her back,” she slurs.

Taking one arm each, Dylan and I carefully escort Isabella back up the path and into the house. As we walk, she seems to have forgotten all about her little outburst, plus how much she’s supposed to hate me, and as she gossips away happily, Dylan looks at me over her head and silently mouths, ‘thank you.’

At breakfast the next morning, Isabella is nowhere to be seen. I’m guessing she’s most likely sleeping off an awful hangover somewhere. And after last night’s little incident, I reckon Dylan owes me one. So it gives me the courage to come out and say it aloud.

“Listen,” I begin. “I’ve been bored out of my mind hanging around this amazing palace all day. Please don’t go to work again today. Come on. Stay here with me for once. Let’s do something. Something fun. What’s the worst that’s gonna happen?”

He looks at me, his face so serious, contemplating my offer like it’s a million dollar business deal. Then, finally, he nods to himself.

“Come on,” I persist. “You can take a day off, right? You’re the one in charge after all ...”

“Okay, you’re right,” he says. “What’s the worst that can happen? I won’t go into the office today. I’ll stay here with you.”

Yes
, I think excitedly. I mean, it’s just one day, but even so, it’s still a victory.

“So?” I say. “What do you wanna do?”

“Let’s go walk on the beach,” he suggests. “It’s beautiful this time of year. You’ll love it. I spent whole summers there as a kid. It’s been way too long since I was back.”

“See,” I offer. “You’ve done the right thing.”

He nods again, slowly and contemplatively, then folds up his newspaper, drains his coffee and stands to leave the table. And it’s only then that I notice that his shirt is made of more of a rumpled cream linen that his usual crisp white numbers, and his pants are soft navy chinos rather than tight-fitting, tailored suit pants.

“Besides,” he says with a slowly spreading smile. “It’s Saturday. Meet you at the front door in twenty minutes.” 

Touché
, I think.

§

He’s right. The beach is beautiful – picturesque and unspoiled, with just a few holiday makers dotted here and there, soaking up the mid-morning sun. We walk along the very edge of the shore, bathed in the sunlight, the soft breeze ruffling our hair. Everything seems just perfect, and in a moment of madness I reach over and take his hand in mine. He doesn’t pull away, either. In fact, he does the opposite, giving my fingers a squeeze of contented happiness. This seems outside the contract somehow. I mean, he’s right, I never read it through. But I’m pretty sure there was nothing in it about a walk on the beach that seems ... romantic. Just then I see another image in my head, of that photograph: Dylan with his wife and child, and I pull my hand from his in disgust. He gives me a confused look, but decides not to challenge me on it.

“Once more, I’m sorry about Isabella’s behavior last night,” he says instead. “Sometimes I just don’t know what her problem is. She’s such a drama queen. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted and our parents were always really careful not to spoil us. But she’s such a daddy’s girl, I think she still got spoiled anyway, and now she’s ended up acting out. And I’m sure some of her friends at Brown are a bad influence. They’ve all watched too much
Real Housewives
and they only seem to care about getting into the pages of
NY Goss
. I think it’s warped her a little.”

If there’s one thing I hate in life, it’s a hypocrite. So I find myself lashing out before I even know quite what I’m saying, the words tumbling from my mouth with way more venom than I’d planned. 

“Your parents were careful not to
spoil
you? Oh come on! I saw you ‘playing the boss’ at Campbell Finance. I would say giving someone a multi-million dollar company to play with at twenty-nine is still ‘spoiling’ them, wouldn’t you?”

He stops abruptly and turns to face me, the sea breeze ruffling his thick black hair, a look of wounded pride etched on his face.

“What do you mean giving someone the family company to
play
with?”

“Come off it, Dylan,” I continue. “It’s not like you built Campbell Finance up from
nothing
, is it?”

He balls his fists in frustration then fixes me with a look of steely anger.

“Actually? Yes, I did,” he counters, his voice cold and direct now. “Campbell Finance is completely my own baby. I’m not gonna pretend that I came up from the mean streets or anything, because yes, I worked at the family business – Campbell
Industries
– for several years before presenting my idea for a new way to invest to the board. I was fortunate that they trusted in me and agreed to back my idea. But I am very much the man behind Campbell Finance. Responsible for its creation, its day-to-day running, and its current success. Now what exactly about
that
is ‘spoiled’?”

Okay. He’s got me there. But I’m not gonna let him off the hook quite that easily.

“Fine,” I say. “But hear me out. All the men I went to school with? The men
I
grew up with back home? They’re cab drivers, or truck drivers, or dock workers, or they’re in the factory, or the army, or
jail
by the age of twenty-nine. Not one of them is the CEO of his own firm. So what makes you so special, Dylan Campbell, to run your own company, and have so much responsibility at the same age? Is it all just down to
hard work
?”

“No Julia, of course it isn’t,” he sighs. “I never forget how lucky I am, or that the parents we’re born to are just an accident. I know that my upbringing was just a fluke. But accident or not, I’m gonna make the very best of what I’ve got. I strive for excellence in everything I do.”

I guess he’s got me there.

Do I really expect him to throw away every opportunity he’s ever had, just because other people aren’t so fortunate?

No, I guess I don’t.

He’s a hard worker, and he doesn’t take anything for granted. What more can you expect from somebody? Why am I so angry?

I guess if I’m honest, I’m still taking it out on him because of that photo – the one of his wife and kid, the one that makes me feel even more like a whore.

I wish I could tell him what’s really gnawing at me. I don’t think he’s spoiled. Sure he’s lucky. But he works hard. And now I’ve had my little outburst, I’m lost for words.

“Let’s go back to the house,” I say after a long awkward pause, turning to head back along the shore.

And just like that, we walk back in silence.

“The first boy you ever kissed,” he says in an icy cold tone, “did you like it?”

I shift in my chair, the dazzling spotlight shining straight in my face, blinding me, so much that I can’t even make out Dylan in his seat facing me just a few feet away. He’s obviously enjoying this little ‘interview’ he’s set up; I can tell from the tightness and the deep growl of lust in his voice that he’s clearly savoring the fact that now he’s exploring my mind as well as my body.

And damn, this
does
feel kind of intimate. I feel stripped and vulnerable, even though right now I’m still fully clothed. I’m so hyper-aware of my body right now, I can feel every little movement it makes: the bra straps digging into my shoulders, and the silk of my dress resting against my thighs.

“I was thirteen,” I say, deciding to tell the truth, even though it would be so easy to make up some kind of lie. “It was spin the bottle. My friend and I set it up so that we could get our first kisses out of the way as soon as possible. We both kissed the same boy. Afterwards we laughed about his sloppy tongue and his limp hands that tickled rather than grabbed us. So no, it’s fair to say I didn’t like it. But my
second
kiss? That was a different matter altogether ...”

Shut up, Julia. He only asked about your first kiss. Why are you telling him about your second? In fact, why are you telling him anything at all? There was nothing in the contract about his right to your private memories. Or maybe there was. If only you’d read the damn thing ...

There’s a pause as he thinks up his second question. I shift a little in my chair, crossing my legs, that bright light still shining directly in my face, dazzling me. 

“And when did you first touch yourself?”

“I don’t remember,” I say, again for some reason deciding to tell the truth. “But I
do
remember the first time I made myself come. I remember the pleasure coursing through my body, and I remember thinking
what the fuck just happened?
I didn’t know that anything could feel that good ... Because touching ourselves? That wasn’t really the kind of thing my friends and I talked about. So I kept quiet, even though I wanted to scream from the rooftops about how good it felt – this amazing new trick I’d learned.”

What is it about this freaking guy that makes me want to tell him my deepest secrets, the things I’ve never told anyone? It’s like he’s hypnotizing me ...

His next question comes much more quickly, catching me off guard.

“How often do you masturbate?” he says bluntly, the word carrying a small charge of illicit excitement with it. And I feel my body respond, his words working some kind of weird magic, as if he’d touched me – cupping me right between my legs.

“It depends?” I say. “Maybe a couple of times a week?”

“Where do you do it, Julia?” he persists. “
Where
do you masturbate?”

I feel myself blushing. I’ve never talked about this kind of stuff with anyone before, not even Nat! I feel totally out of my comfort zone now, totally exposed ...

“In the shower,” I say, fighting back the flush of warmth to my face, once again surprising myself that I’m telling him the truth. “Usually after a dance class ... Dancing can get me kinda worked up and I’ll often need to let off some steam afterwards ...”

“And what exactly do you think about when you masturbate? What gets you off, Julia? What makes you
come
?”

This is too much ...

“That’s kind of a personal question,” I say, my voice shaking a little. 

“As indicated in Clause 20 of the contract ... the contract that I’m beginning to suspect you haven’t
read
properly, it stated in clear terms that you would answer any and all personal questions truthfully and to the best of your knowledge.”

God damn it. I really should have read that fucking contract ...

“And how do you know I won’t just lie?” I counter, my words shivering past my lips, my heart pounding, the blood buzzing through my veins.

“Obviously I can’t know that. But I’ve studied human psychology and behavioral patterns,” and even though I can’t actually see him, in the pulsating darkness between us I imagine a slow smile spreading across his face as he moistens his bottom lip with his tongue, “and so far I
know
you’ve been telling the truth.”

Damn, he’s good.

“So?” he persists. “What exactly do you think about when you come?”

I take a deep breath.

“The last time I masturbated,” I say, “I thought about being picked up by a hot customer at the bar.”

“Are you teasing me?”

I know where these questions are leading – next he’s gonna ask me about my non-existent ‘first fuck’. And what am I going to do then? Lie? He’ll be able to figure out immediately that I’m still a virgin. No. I need to turn the tables, and quick ...

“Of course I’ve been teasing you,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “This whole damn week has been a tease, hasn’t it? One which
you
, Dylan Campbell,
have been enjoying ...”

I wait for him to take control again, to tell me to sit the fuck back down. But instead, just as I suspected, he’s enjoying this new turn of events. He’s
enjoying
having me take the lead, maybe even more than I’d hoped.

I strut confidently towards the lamp, grab the chrome casing and spin it around, one hundred and eighty degrees, so that the blinding white spotlight is now blazing squarely back at Dylan. He recoils for a moment, squinting at the intense white light, then settles back in his chair, trying his best to get comfortable, leaning back, spreading his legs, moistening his full bottom lip with his tongue.

“Very good,” he says with a nod of acknowledgement. “You’ve got me. I
have
been enjoying it. I’ve been enjoying it very much indeed. I think that you and I, Julia, both know that the
build up
can be just as delicious as the main event ...”

“Quiet,” I say, cutting him off, silencing him, again surprised when he does exactly as I say.

Wow. He’s
really
enjoying this; and I wonder if perhaps it’s because this is the first time a guy as powerful and controlling as Dylan Campbell has ever had someone else tell him what to do before.

“Now it’s your turn to answer some questions,” I continue. “How many people have you slept with?”

He shrugs his shoulders, so casually and confidently.

“I don’t keep count, Julia,” he says. “It’s crude. I don’t need an ever-increasing number to feel good about my sexual potency.”

“But it’s a lot, right?”

“More than most, but less than some. I suppose you could say I’m
omnivorous
when it comes to sex. I’ve had lots of it, sure. But this?”

Here he indicates the space between us with his finger.

“Well, this is something
very different
indeed. You know, I didn’t even know I got off on this kind of stuff, Julia. But you’re really teaching me to enjoy it ...”

“Oh, you have
no idea
how much of a fucking
tease
I can be,” I reply, the words escaping my mouth as if they’ve sprung from some place deep inside me, as if they were hiding there all along, just waiting to be spoken.

“Unbutton your pants,” I command, feeling a thrill of excitement when he begins to do exactly as I say.

He’s still sat there on the chair, illuminated by that bright white spotlight, while I remain completely in the shadows watching him as he begins to unbuckle his belt, then pull open his pants, his hard cock springing free, jutting upwards from between his spread legs. He makes a motion to grab hold of it, but I stop him in his tracks.

“Uh-uh. Hands by your sides,” I command, watching him follow my orders exactly.

I take a moment to really savor the scene before me, before I strut towards him, my heels clicking, ringing out into the darkness. I stride confidently towards him, then fall to my knees between his legs, my hands, my
mouth
so close to his rock-hard cock.

I lock eyes with him.

“You really
are
enjoying this, aren’t you?”

And in answer, his cock twitches.

“You’ve always had exactly what you wanted, haven’t you, Dylan Campbell,” I say in a slow, seductive voice, my hand reaching out to his cock, my slender fingers wrapping around his shaft as I trace one long thumbnail up and down it, just as slowly and sensuously as the words I’m speaking. “You’ve never been denied anything in your whole fucking
life
before,” and at this I let go of his cock completely, “and it’s turning you the hell on, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he whispers, his cock twitching again, a clear bead of liquid pulsing from the head, his whole body taut with a heady mixture of frustration and excitement as he waits for me to touch him again.

This time I place my hands on his spread muscular thighs, then lower my glossy lips towards his cock, pausing when I’m close enough for him to feel the heat of my breath against his most sensitive organ.

“I bet you’d like nothing more,” I purr, pausing to trace the tip of my tongue upwards, from the root of his cock right up to the patch of skin just below the head, “than for me to take your hard cock in my mouth right now. Isn’t that right?”

I let my fingers curl around his shaft, easing him towards my parted lips, enveloping him with them for a moment, feeling him shudder, before pulling him from my mouth with a slick wet pop.

“I bet you’d like nothing better than to fuck my mouth right now, isn’t that right, Dylan Campbell?”

I’m jacking him slowly, feeling him shift and tighten, his whole body tensed, his cock growing bigger in my fingers with every second, my open mouth as I speak just inches from the swollen purple head of his cock.

“Answer me,” I command. “I bet you’re thinking about coming in my mouth right about now, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” he says with a breathy groan, his voice utterly charged with desire.

“I bet you’re thinking about covering my whole fucking
face
with your come, aren’t you?”

I’m working his cock faster and faster, pumping him in my fist, my mouth open, my tongue tracing slow, tantalizing circles around the head.

“
Aren’t you
?” I repeat sternly.

“Yes,” he groans, right on the brink of orgasm, “oh God,
yes
...”

“Well, too bad,” I say sadly, letting go of his cock and pushing myself back to my feet all in one smooth movement, leaving him sprawled in the chair like that, his chest heaving, his cock twitching madly, his eyes burning, so fucking desperate for release.

As I turn to leave the room, a part of me suspects I’ve gone too far – that he will tell me to stop where I am, that he will take control once again, commanding me to come back this instant.

But no. He lets me leave the room and head back to my bedroom.

It turns out Dylan Campbell really
does
enjoy being teased, far more than I ever suspected ...