The Billionaire's Desire (2 page)

“I never – ” she gasped, instinctively pushing him by the shoulders and trying to close her legs.

“You should,” he responded, pulling her knees open and plunging his tongue into her slit.

“
Ohhh
,” she sighed, squirming against his face. “But I don’t – ”

“I do,” Luc said. He circled her swollen clit with his tongue for a minute that felt like an hour before slowly drawing it over the most sensitive and sexual spot on her body.
Ally cried out like a mewling cat, her entire body shaking and tensing up, all at once. Her cries grew louder, sharper as he lathed her clit with attention, alternating between slow, languid licks and faster, lighter flicks.

Ally thought her entire body would explode. It had been months, maybe even a year since she had been with a man, and that her boyfriend of two years, who’d lost interest in foreplay, then sex, in the months before the break-up. And now here she was, in the south of France, at an exclusive party for one of the most influential fashion houses in the world, on the receiving end of some pretty ribald oral attention, in a bathroom probably valued at more than her entire apartment building back in New York – by the founder and CEO of Gemme. It beggared belief.

“Oh!” Ally cried out, her spine arching and stiffening. Her chunky heels dug into Luc’s back and she grasped at the cool marble with the pulsing pads of her fingers.

This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy
, rang through her head as heavy and strong as the pulse that thudded between her legs. She arched her back one last time and gave a strangled scream of pleasure.

“
Vous étiez trés rapide
,” Luc murmured. “So quick, my dear,” he added in English for her benefit, kissing his way down her thighs, a man who believed in doing a job to completion.

Ally would have laughed if she could catch breath enough to do it. In fact, she’d come faster with Luc than with any of her vibrators of late.

“But wait – there’s more,” Luc said, provocative, lifting her chin once again to meet his lips, which tasted of her naughty sweetness.

It was easy to get lost once more in his kisses, easier still to draw his hips into the folds of her bent knees and easiest of all to reach between their bodies and, with a shocking forwardness that surprised both of them, unclasp the tab hook of his dress pants, tug the zipper down and let his bottoms fall to the floor.

How did this happen?
Ally wondered, vaguely aware that he was pulling his impressively big cock from his boxer briefs and she was reaching for it, stroking it.
Oh right. He offered to show me the abalone mosaic. I can’t say I’ve seen much of it yet…

“Oh my God,” Ally groaned as she pulled his cock toward her slit and he pushed himself from tip to balls inside. They both stopped, stared each other square in the eyes
as if trying to read each other’s thoughts.

Luc moved first. With his hips, his wicked, knowing hips. He positioned his hands on the small of her waist and began to pull her into him, using her at his rhythm, though he knew, from the tight clenching of her water-tight cunt, that she was enjoying this just as much.

It began slowly, an almost elegant act, but it quickly degenerated into frantic humping on both their parts, passionate, biting, animalistic fucking. Ally had never felt so sexy, like such a vixen in her entire life; in Luc’s hands, she was a goddess, powerful and confident in her allure. She felt more beautiful, more desirable than ever before – and then there were the orgasms.

What is it? Why? Because we’re strangers? Because we’re in a gorgeous bathroom that’s been tiled to make you feel as if you’re hidden away in a tropical cave? Because we’re half-clothed, so hasty and hot for each other that we couldn’t even wait to get naked?

All of the above…

Luc pushed her heavy heels upward, so that she was tilted all the way back, her round and supple butt cheeks exposed; the erotic view of their bodies joining, his cock covered in her cum, made a lust surge in Luc that he hadn’t felt for another woman in years. And then there were her noises, her sweet, whispery cries mingled with the harsher outbursts as she neared orgasm or climaxed, hard, again and again.

He pulled her legs back down, wanting to kiss her as he came, move his mouth against hers. She immediately clasped her ankles around his nude butt, and he could feel her heels digging into his flesh. A few pumps more and he knew he’d be spent.

Unable to hold it back any longer, he bit into the nape of her neck, pulled back and came all over the inside of her thighs and her wet, creamy pussy.

“
Je m’excuse
,” he pardoned himself, chagrinned and yet deeply aroused again by the sight of his pearly semen on her porcelain skin. “I’m so sorry, mademoiselle…” He reached for a towel to wipe her off.

“I’m not,” Ally said, blinking rapidly. “I can’t believe it…but I’m not.”

Chapter 3

Beautiful, carefree and
clad in a tiny gold lamé bikini, Catherine Fedoroff twirled and gyrated around the enormous bonfire set on the beach in front of Luc’s house. Her friends and colleagues, all attractive and worldly, plus the dozens of other partygoers, international jetsetters and socialites, danced with her, drunk on expensive champagne and their own jaded arrogance, upbeat dance music blaring from speakers set up in the sand.

“Gorgeous party,” a male model remarked, materializing behind her to put his hands on her waist.

“Thank you.” Catherine took a sip from her half-empty champagne flute and let him touch her, feel the satiny smooth skin that photographers and editors alike marveled over. She was airbrushed perfection without the airbrushing and Luc, with his modern sophistication and sensibilities, didn’t care who looked, who touched. She was a model, for God’s sake, he once said. Her body belonged to hundreds of people at any given moment.

It was reassuring to finally be with a man who wasn’t
plagued by tortured, suspicious jealousy, but it was a little dismaying how Luc seemed perfectly immune to it in any form. She was touted as the most beautiful woman in the world, she counted kings and queens among her personal friends and – perhaps most importantly – she was the longtime face of Gemme, and it had been a collaboration of mutual and explosive success. Their past, their present and their futures were tied to one another, so why didn’t Luc get a little angry now and then when he looked over at a party and saw her flirting with the head designer of a rival fashion house?

“Your new ad is perfection,” the model said into her ear, his English stilted and heavily accented with the low purr of Italian.
Though she came into contact with people from all parts of the world, her Russianness sometimes made it difficult to understand other international speakers of English.

The model’s
hands skimmed up her waist, going for her high, round breasts, small but ample on her tall, lithe frame. Catherine felt her temper flare with irritation that Luc wasn’t here, coveting her, his co-host for the party, and this, this
manchild
had the audacity to presume his amateurish advances were welcome.

“And
what have you accomplished so far? Oh, right, just a catalog in the States. How did you even get in here?” Catherine snapped, pulling away from his impudence. “Security!”

S
he watched with satisfaction as the disgraced model argued with one of her security guards and the crowds stopped and stared, whispering snide comments behind hands that did little to conceal their derision; he’d probably get a small blurb in some gossip rag and find himself with a fizzled-out career in a year at most. Champagne flute still in-hand, Catherine scooped up her jeweled sandals and stalked off in search of Luc.

Catherine padded down hallways, up stairs. The house was still somewhat unfamiliar and there was really no telling where Luc could be. It had been hours since she’d last seen him.

“Come…we’ll see about that painting.”

It was Luc’s voice, she’d know it anywhere, that languid, low rumble after he’d had his way with her in a hundred different positions, all night.

The realization struck her as the pair of them came into view.

Ally was smoothing her blonde hair back, straightening her skirt, Luc’s hand on the small of her back once more as they
strolled out of the bathroom, flushed and sweaty. She looked up at the shriek.

“What the
fuck is this
?” a statuesque woman screeched, striding on her long, skinny legs toward them, her face as red as theirs.

“Catherine – ” Luc began.

She cut him off. “What the fuck is this? Who is this? Who is this, Luc? Oh no, don’t try and explain to me, I can tell very well what is going on. I was outside, entertaining our guests while you were
inside this whore
!”

Ally cowered and tried to shrink back; confrontation with the woman she recognized as Catherine Fedoroff, furious and screaming in a bikini that looked ready to burst off, was not an experience she relished facing.

“Calm down, you are making a scene,” Luc growled, grabbing her arm when he saw that she was ready to lay hands on Ally and people were starting to wander toward them, drawn by Catherine’s piercing voice.

“You already made a scene! Who is this little bitch? I’ll kill her! I’ll ruin you! Who is she? Who are you, you little conniving cunt? I’ll kill you, you slut, you fucking whore!”

Ally was no longer shrinking back. Luc had Catherine restrained by now but in truth, Ally had never seen a woman behave like this, in public, and it was compelling, if not a little funny. She was terrified of Catherine, of course, but the woman was making a ridiculous spectacle out of herself and she didn’t seem to care one bit who saw.

“The only reputation being ruined right now is yours,” Luc responded, his tone even. He rolled his eyes. “Come, Catherine,
vite
, before your behavior makes you a byword of hysteria. Your PR staff will be millionaires before tonight is over.”

“Catherine?” a male friend said, approaching. “Are you all right?”

“Yes yes, come and hold her for a moment, Felix,” Luc said. “She needs your support.”

As the man came forward and Catherine rushed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably while repeating “
Bitch!” and pointing at Ally, Luc took the object of Catherine’s maniacal jealousy by the arm and led her out back to the valet parking.

“I am so sorry,” Luc murmured, snapping his fingers at driver in a black suit. The man scrambled into a nearby town car and swung the vehicle around to the curb where they stood.

“Where are you staying? Marc will get you back safely.”

“Hotel des Lices,” Ally responded after a beat, still stunned at the fury of Catherine Fedoroff. The heat and the passion of their encounter earlier was obliterated.

I hope the gift shop sells Advil
.

Luc repeated the name to Marc and opened the door for her.

He popped his head in as she sat there on the black leather interior, shivering despite the warmth of the night. “You will hear from me tonight, you can count on it,” he said, holding her gaze once again. He pulled his phone out. “Give me your number and I will check on you in a few hours.”

Ally repeated it to him, still in a daze.

Luc smiled, shrugging. “What can one do? I apologize again. I will talk to you later. Oh,
mon dieu
. A name for the number?”

“Ally,” she said. “It’s Ally.”

“Luc,” he responded. “Though you must have known because I heard you moaning it earlier.”

He winked and shut the door.

Three hours later Ally hadn’t heard from Luc, but she wasn’t surprised. Everything that she had used as armor in the first moments of their meeting came flooding back. She started to feel foolish, though foolishness didn’t stop her from pressing her finger tips against her lips, still sore from his demanding kisses, or running her hands along the outsides of her thighs, remembering how he’d held her there, kissed her there. As it was, just thinking about his face, his eyes, his smile, made her quiver. Had he been using her for quick sex? It seemed more likely as each minute passed by and no call.

She hadn’t been lying to him; she never did that kind of thing, not when becoming successful in her career meant a quiet lifestyle, few distractions. Sex in a bathroom with a famous stranger was the wildest thing she’d ever done, and now, alone in this luxurious hotel room in this beautiful, glittering foreign city, Ally wondered if it would somehow have professional repercussions.

And yet…it might have been in a huge mistake on her part, but it’d also been a very sweet one.

Ally sat a
t the hotel desk and opened her laptop, connecting to the building’s WiFi. She clicked her cursor into the search bar at the top of the browser and typed “Catherine Fedoroff.” In a split second a flurry of images appeared, mostly editorial shoots and magazine covers, with a few interviews. Her personal website fell in the middle of the page; Ally visited that first. She went back to her search results and read the interviews, read the little blurbs from gossip magazines.

All agreed she was extraordinarily gifted as a model, with a striking presence that commanded all eyes and the masterful ability to manipulate her body and her expressions. All agreed, as well, that she was imperious, mercurial,
prone to furious outbursts and a holy terror to work with on a bad day.