Breathe: A Billionaire Romance, Part 1 (3 page)

I knew I wouldn’t be any sort of exception with the likes of Derek Sholts.

Ultimately though, I wanted to experience life for myself. I didn’t care what my daddy wanted. I cared what I wanted. I wanted my education, and then my career, to come first. Everything else, I figured, would sort of follow and just fall into place.

It hadn’t though. Not the way I had expected at least.

I finished school—in the top ten percentile—with a Master’s degree in Public Relations and Communications, and the only job I could seem to get was with Mr. Sholts. Not that I was complaining, it was a good job, with good benefits, and I was doing everything that I had anticipated doing after school... but I expected it to be a little different.

The company was amazing. And my job was a dream job on paper.

But it still wasn’t quite...satisfying.

To start with, I didn’t really foresee myself being the go-to assistant P.R. rep, and every other nook-and-cranny, miscellaneous-odd-job-he-could-throw-at-me girl. I thought my job description was a little more narrowed down, a little more honed and specialized. I thought I was just his P.R. rep, which was something that I had fought to be for years in school.

Of course, though, I was wrong.

So here I was, in my early thirties, unmarried, and relying on a career with the only man in the city willing to give me a job. I had been searching for a year, and only just recently accepted my job with Mr. Sholts.

I was fortunate; I knew that I was. A lot of people wanted the job, including myself. It was a great opportunity to work for such a well-publicized and growing company. I just didn’t expect it to be quite the overload that it was.

Not that I didn’t welcome it though. The more overtime I put in, the more money I was able to obtain for myself and Polly.

More overtime was definitely the keyword.

I went about my day, the same as usual, except overly tired and probably completely zombified.

And just as what seemed like usual, I was at work past the hours I was supposed to be.

My body ached, my limbs barely functioned, and my eyes twitched with tiredness. I sighed. I was ready to go home.

Home.

I sighed again. I barely even remembered what my own home looked like, felt like, and smelled like. I rarely even saw it anymore.

Since working for Sholts, I had been with him almost every hour of every day. I slept near where he slept, I ate near where he ate, I breathed the same air as he did; I was basically a leech, latched onto his flesh for dear life.

His flesh...

That tanned, soft, silky flesh...

I groaned, tightening my grip on my tablet, as I tucked it beneath my arm. He really was sexy, and I hated it, but I couldn’t help the fact that he was the subject to so many of my fantasies.

Crossing through the large cubicle-filled room, I finally found my desk chair.

It was the cubicle as close to his office door as possible and strewn on the table was a picture of my mama and a few small puzzle-type blocks and devices. Post-it notes were plastered about the desk, my computer, and my small, blue lamp.

I sighed. The post-it notes were all reminders, all the things I have yet to do... and there were at least thirty of them.

I was going to be there for a while.

I
t had been a long night of sketching out ideas for new advertisements, and I knew that I was tired. What I didn’t know was that I was so tired that I didn’t even realize I was walking towards Derek’s office — that was, until I reached his door.

And the only reason that I knew, then, was because he was on the phone, and he was angry from what I could tell.

I couldn’t hear specifics, only heated mumbles, and I didn’t dare knock. Not just yet.

I waited, but only for a moment, until I heard him slam the phone down, and instead of storming in, I waited again. I knew better than to go in right away, right after he had just clearly been upset.

I took a couple of deep breaths, knowing that he would be doing the same to calm himself after such a heated call so late in the evening. And then I knocked.

“Yes?” he called out, and I pushed his slightly ajar door open enough to see in.

He was sitting at his desk, in his large leather swivel chair, the one that was complete with more bells and whistles and gadgets that my entire apartment had—with a bottle of bourbon on the little bar cart next to it. He held a glass between his middle finger and thumb and gently swirled the liquid as I entered.

He looked up at me and smiled gloriously. His eyes began to gleam as if he had just caught sight of something heavily anticipated, something worthy of an award winning smile.

I smiled back in return, glad that he was pleased to see me. It was such a change of pace from the usual bickering we seemed to have on a daily basis. He actually
wanted
to see me. And I knew part of it—or probably all of it—had to do with what had transpired earlier.

“Come in,” he said, gesturing towards the small couch just a couple of feet from him.

I did. I pushed the door the rest of the way open and entered, walking slowly, my confidence suddenly flickering.

“How are things?” I asked, awkwardly as I sat down. I wasn’t good at the flirting game.

He looked down, seemingly frowning for a moment.

“They’re meh,” he answered, scooting his chair closer to me. “These investors know how to piss me off.”

“So you’re not going to offer me a drink?” I asked, smirking, completely ignoring the work-talk. I gestured towards the glass of bourbon he held in his hand.

He smiled up at me. “You know where the glasses are. Aren’t you a feminist? Get it yourself!”

I laughed. I didn’t realize he had such a sense of humor. I knew he was no gentleman, though, which is why it hadn’t surprised me he hadn’t offered me a drink. Yet, it was nice to know that he acknowledged that fact as well. He knew he was no Prince Charming.

I reached out, flirtatious allure somehow coming forth, and put my hand on his thigh. He gasped beneath my touch, and his muscles tightened. I was surprised; his thighs were incredibly muscular.
Whose thighs were that muscular, anyway?!

I pushed myself up, using him as leverage, making sure my fingers brushed the area just millimeters away from where I knew the head of his cock was beneath his pants.

When I stood, I turned my ass, seductively towards him, not quite sure where I was getting the audacity to do something so bold but glad that I had found the courage.

I strolled over a couple of steps to the bar cart and bent down, making a show of it, just before I grabbed a glass for myself. I knew he was watching; I felt his eyes as they bore into me, and I knew what was running through his mind.

I had worn a skirt that day, not too short, but certainly form-fitting and tight against my bum. It fit me almost perfectly if I had to say so myself. I had visited multiple stores and gone in debt just to get it; I loved it. It was my favorite and the best fitting garment I owned. And as I remained bent over and wiggled a bit, I knew I had him. I knew I had him because just as I wiggled, he audibly groaned out. I smirked. Caught him. He had been reeled in and would soon be a trophy on my wall—the only trophy but a prized one for sure.

Sexy Billionaire is on every woman’s list, after all, right?

I rose up slowly, making sure I pressed my bum closer to him as seductively as I could, as I stood and turned towards him. And when I did, I saw him move his hand quickly away from his crotch. I smirked. I knew exactly what he was doing.

Smiling devilishly, I walked back to the couch and sat down on the edge so that our legs touched.He smirked, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of electricity between us at the contact.

I really couldn’t believe what I was doing.

I honestly couldn’t even control myself. It was like I was watching it all take place; and not actually participating in it.

He grabbed the bottle from his desk and poured the drink I had been waiting for.

“Should we toast?” he asked, swirling his drink before raising it up so that it was parallel to his face.

“To this drink, may it be an understanding that tonight was a night of drinking and a night of drinking must never be spoken of...” I spoke with sultry confidence, something I didn’t think I was even capable of.

His lips fell open, and his eyes widened in surprised. And in that moment, I knew he knew what I meant.

I turned to his lips, leaned forward, and kissed him fully and with no regard of a tomorrow. My glass left my hand, and I wasn’t quite sure where it went.

“Cheers,” he groaned, pulling away from the kiss for just a moment, and it was then that I caught a glance of my glass perfectly upright on the arm of the couch.

The unknown was sure to happen to his glass as well, as I heard it clank loudly on the desk’s surface. I wasn’t sure if it was upright or not, but I honestly didn’t even care. We would deal with it later. The
now
was a lot more important.

And in that
now
his hand was in my blouse. It felt amazing—incredible even—as he began cupping my bare breasts, his fingers seeking solace at my nipples. He pulled; he tugged; he squeezed, and I knew that I wanted to do the same to something of his. My hand reached down to his clothed erection and squeezed, wishing that his pants didn’t clothe it.

I gasped at how large he felt beneath my touch.

I wanted it.

I needed it.

And, apparently, so did he—because all of a sudden his shirt, my blouse, and his pants were all ripped away. I glanced over my shoulder to see that the door was still completely ajar. I couldn’t believe the amateur move on my part.

“Get the door,” I said, my breath hot in his ear.

He sucked in a deep breath and froze. I smiled, loving having the upper hand. He nodded in agreement, ran to the door, and slammed it shut, clearly not caring who heard it.

But then, as if the interruption hadn’t even happened, he returned, overtaking my mouth in passionate kisses once again.

We pulled and tugged at one another’s clothes and bit and nipped at each other’s flesh until I felt our ministrations speed up and more clothes fly across the office.

I pushed him hard against the desk, ridding him of his remaining articles of clothing.

It was so unlike me; I felt like I was possessed by some sex-crazed demon. But I loved being in charge. I wanted it so badly I could have screamed. I had secretly fantasized about being with him sexually ever since I first set my gaze on his gorgeous face and ran my eyes over his immaculate body.

I didn’t want to admit it, but the man was damn sexy—the sexiest I had ever seen, in fact—and damn it all if he didn’t look even better that night.

He had been looking almost sick, drained—completely, exhaustedly drained—but in that moment, he glowed with warmth and health. He looked like a picture of perfection. Truthfully, I had been fantasizing about him for a while; and it was even better that he looked even hotter than usual.

I had every intention on having him ravish me in any way that he so desired...

In fact, I wanted him to.

So I let him plunge towards me, his ass leaving the desk, as he held a powerful glint in his eye; a glint full of passionate lust. He growled as he continued his darting aim towards me, just before he enveloped my erect nipples within his waiting mouth. He twirled his tongue around my nubs, and I could do nothing more than groan and claw at his hair for dear life. If he had continued down that glorious road, that very dangerous and sexy road, I was going to be a goner — and quickly.

I slid his trousers down, his beautiful cock springing to view. I bit my lip and stared at the girth with ferocity; it was so big... so hard... so delicious looking.

I hadn’t slept with many men, but his was definitely the best I had seen. It was large in length and thickness and gloriously clean-shaven. It honestly figured that he would be incredibly well-groomed there since there was never a hair out of place anywhere on the man. Aesthetically speaking, and only aesthetically speaking, the man was probably as perfect as perfect could get.

And then with lustful vigor, he lunged towards me, once again. He grabbed me and together we fell onto the miraculously cleared desk, intertwined in a knot of pure lust. His hands exploring me, he finally pressed my back against the wall, his body entrapping mine.

I elicited a moan almost immediately, and an instinctive reaction to close my eyes came forth as they shut tightly in ecstasy. I sort of liked him having the upper hand, too. 

He lifted one leg, and I could feel his head move between my thighs and before I knew it, I could feel his heated breath hover over my purring mound.

I felt and heard him breathe in deeply, and I knew that he was smelling me.

“God, you smell so good...” he groaned before I felt his lips engulf my clit.

I felt it twitch at the statement and throb with a thousand pulses when his lips entrapped it.

“God!” I screamed.

His tongue slid between my pussy lips, and I moaned softly in response. “Lick me, it feels so good....”

I couldn’t believe it.

I was egging him on, urging him to continue something that I shouldn’t have even been doing in the first place. But I didn’t care. I had lost control.

I felt him pull up, only slightly, and felt his eyes as they set on me.

I spread my legs even wider, knowing exactly what he was doing. “You can look all you want,” I said, without any control over my own mouth, the possession-like feel still consuming me.

I felt his gaze on me, and I looked down to watch him lick his lips.

“I still taste you on my lips,” he smirked, and immediately I felt myself cringe with a heated arousal, as he leaned in to assault my clit one more time.

And no matter how good it felt, I wanted something else....

I wanted more.

I tugged at his shoulders to let him know
what
I wanted; and without missing a beat, he smirked against me, clearly getting the message loud and clear and began to move up my body so that he was on top of me. I could feel his hard tip poking and probing at my ready womanhood.