The Billionaire’s Desires Vol. 1 (4 page)

“Hello?”

“Hello. Who is this?”

“You're the one calling me!”

“Right, Camille. I didn't recognise your voice. Is everything alright?”

“You're losing your mind, sis, did they drug you?”

“Whatever! Did Oscar finally let you get a little sleep?”

“Ha! No. But you didn't seem to care at all last night. What's going on?”

“Huh? Nothing! I just wanted to check in with you. Did Alex come back?”

“Yes, but you can stop pretending to be concerned. Anyway, promise me you'll never get married and have kids. At least not before you're 40 years old. Or never. Babies are annoying, they're noisy, they may be cute but they can't hold a conversation. And love means nothing, at least it's nothing like what people say it is, you know what I mean?”

I don't reply.

“You don't have anything to say? Come on, what's going on? I know you too well. Do you need to tell your big sister something?”

“No, I...I've got to go, I think. Good luck with your two guys. Take care.”

I press frantically on the button to end the call and cut my losses. Marvellous idea, that phone call! Mission accomplished! I bury my head again into the pile of pillows, hopeless. All of this over a kiss! Sure, his lips were incredibly soft and felt like they were made for mine and yeah, his tongue slid through my mouth with a delicate touch I never thought a man could be capable of and fine, he tasted of just the faintest hint of peach, just divine, but it was just a kiss, nothing more! I try to pull myself together and shake off this teenybopper-slash-drama queen mentality that's come over me. As a result of all this ridiculous behaviour, I only have one hour to prepare myself for the appointment he gave me. I'm going to need to regain my dignity in order to do a good job with this interview. I can do it. I just need to refrain from looking at his mouth, at all. I won't allow it.

After a long, refreshing shower, I'm back in my white bra and panties hovering over my open suitcase, with everything thrown about chaotically. Nothing sexy, that's out of the question, my outfit needs to set a boring tone! But nothing too plain, either, it's still a professional interview, Diamonds needs to take me seriously. But nothing too frumpy, either, I don't want him to start wondering how he could have kissed me. I slip on a pair of nicely-cut dark jeans: a sure bet, nothing can happen to me in these. A white blouse that makes me look just a little older, and a maroon cardigan that fits me just right. I adjust the collar of my shirt, keeping it from shifting over to one side, and almost tie Gabriel's navy blue sweater around my shoulders, but quickly nix the idea. I'll bring it back to him, dignified and disinterested, as if it were some worthless object. I leave my hair down, put on just a little bit of makeup, slide on my black ankle boots and stand in front of the mirror, Meh. I look like a teenager whose boobs are too big. Or a woman disguised as a grumpy little girl. I put my hair into a high pony tail, hoping that a hairdo will make me look a little more alluring. It's better. I try on ridiculous poses in front of the mirror, attempt a few rather forced smiles and then just give up. Sitting on the large bed, I do nothing, just wait for the time to pass. I go over the questions I want to ask him a hundred times in my head, I try reformulating them again and again and start thinking that they're all rather stupid.

At 11:45, I leave my room, notebook and pen in one hand, the other hand in my pocket and I slowly navigate the long corridors leading to the private flat of Gabriel Diamonds. I'm a little bit early, just in case I get lost in the labyrinthine chateau, which isn't entirely unlikely. This was actually a good idea, as I realise when I'm halfway there that I forgot to bring his famous sweater. Sometimes it's just not easy being me! I run back to get it and it's already 12:05 when I knock, slightly out of breath, on the door the butler points to as the one behind which “Monsieur” is hiding.

“Come in.”

OK. He couldn't have been colder, more authoritarian, more blasé. This is off to a great start.

“You're late.”

How nice of him to make me feel welcome.

“Yes, but I have your sweater.”

“It was heavy enough, it slowed you down this much?"
What sweet words. You're too kind!

“Would you like it back? Or I can take it back to my room, and me with it.”

“Don't be so bitter, Amande. Take a seat.”

He points towards a huge brown leather armchair on the other side of the enormous solid-wood desk he's sitting behind, like a king on his throne. He doesn't take his eyes off of me as I settle in, carefully avoiding his eyes. His tyrannical side disturbs me as much as his charisma intoxicates me. And his gorgeous looks still bowl me over. I don't know where to look.

Not at his lips, not at his lips, not at his lips. Look at his forehead!

I open my notebook, try to say a sentence that refuses to come out, awkwardly clear my throat and start again:

“I've prepared a few questions.”

“Me too.”

“Ah, you're going to interview me? For which newspaper?”

Don't start, Amandine, don't provoke him, he always wins!

“That's confidential information.”

“Alright. Who starts?”

“You may have the honour, sweet Amande.”

“Do you ever play by the rules?”

Well played. First question, first improvisation. Good work as a journalist. You'll go far, girl!

“Rarely, but it's always an option. Which rules in particular?”

“For example, you could call people by their real names, or answer questions at an interview you yourself scheduled. Do you ever enjoy making your guests feel welcome?”

“First names are arbitrary, nicknames are always better chosen. I'm answering your questions right now. And friendliness is merely a social veil people throw over their animal impulses.”

That's enough.

I can't think of anything to say, I'm outraged by his egoism but also admire his scathing comebacks, and those last two words have taken the wind out of me. His handsome, elegant face can no longer disguise the wild desire that seems to be flowing through him. I don't think anyone has ever wanted me this way. And I don't know how to deal with the desire that is also starting to stir within me. He continues his monologue, both to provoke me I guess, and to stay in control of the situation.

“Your silence says a lot about you. Now you're forgetting about social conventions and gradually letting your basic instincts take over.”

“Do you really think you're always right?”

“Not always, no. Often. I'm simply convinced that you're dying to kiss me right now. And I dream of doing even worse things to you. But we're talking to mask these impulses. Rather than succumb to the temptation.”

While putting on this charming intellectual act, he rises from his large armchair, walks around his desk and sits down on the middle of it, facing me. Still sitting, I can't take my eyes away from the bulge rising from his pants. My panicked eyes search wildly for something else to look at and land on his lips.

Fatal error.

I leap up to put an end to the domination he's assumed by taking on this position. And probably to get closer to that diabolical mouth, magnetically drawing me closer. His hand lands on my shoulder, and with a gesture that is as sensual as it is stern, he immediately sits me back down on the armchair.

“Believe me, I'd love to. But I can't kiss you. Not before I've tasted every part of you. I already know the exquisite flavour of your lips. Now I need to taste your nectar to confirm the alchemy I already feel. I don't like to make mistakes, you know. Those are my conditions. Take it or leave it.”

Tell me I'm dreaming. I come here for an interview, I end up in this nonsensical conversation, I lower my guard and I don't even get a kiss. Instead...is he really proposing what I think he's proposing? Or rather, imposing this upon me?

I'm too shocked to accept, but too excited to refuse. I remain mute, unable to move. I haven't even said yes when he leans towards me, puts one knee on the floor, then the other and his enormous hand begins to slowly move along my thigh. I can feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of my jeans. My cheeks blush red, my throat is dry, I suddenly feel feverish. And not just in my face! I reflexively move back when his fingers near the button on my pants. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out.

“Don't refuse me, Amande. I can't stand being refused.”

This is probably the first and last time I hear him plead. His breathless whisper, his gaze full of urgent desire destroy my last barriers. As if soothed, Gabriel continues with the conquest of my clothes, undoing the button, slowly drawing down the zipper as my desire rises into a rage. With a disconcerting ease, he lifts my thighs and slides my pants and knickers down my legs. He takes off my boots and socks before I realise what's happening. His fingers drum along the soft skin of my thighs and instantly give me goose pimples. The room grows hotter and hotter as he leans his head towards my crotch. I try not to think about how surreal this situation is: me, half naked, sitting on a leather armchair in a luxurious office, facing a billionaire on his knees, ready to devour me. He exhales for several long seconds, I can feel his hot breath on my sex and I start to lose my mind. He finally plunges between my thighs. The first slow and gentle caresses of his tongue drive me out of my mind. I can't suppress a moan. The next laps of his tongue are even more divine, and Gabriel grabs my butt to bring me closer to him, gluing his hungry mouth on my sex. He licks, titillates, twists, breathes on my clitoris, swollen with desire. I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Suddenly, he pulls me to the edge of the armchair, his hands raise my legs and spread them apart in the air. He gazes at the sight for a moment then plunges his hot tongue into my intimacy. I'm going to faint. I ignore the little voice inside of me, and I don't care where or how he learned to do this as I float through the air.

Nearing orgasm, I dig my nails into the leather armrests of the chair and feel his face wet with my pleasure. His head sways passionately over my sex and he accelerates his diabolical movement to the rhythm of my panting. Overcome with uncontrollable shivers, I grab his hair to stop him from moving, to end this sublime torture. His insatiable lips devour more and more of me and my orgasm explodes into his mouth. An incredible orgasm, unlike anything I've ever felt before. One last time, his tongue collects the fruit of my pleasure. Eyes closed, he licks his lips, smiling.

“A pure delight. I wasn't mistaken,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. He gets up again, goes back to his desk, visibly bothered. I'm in another world and unable to decipher his expression. Sitting on his armchair, he looks out the window, eyes narrowed, forehead furrowed. I've never seen him like this before. I should probably get upset over his stormy reaction, which is frankly inappropriate, but I feel oddly moved. Maybe I should say something? But what?

“You should get dressed. We can see each other again at 4 o'clock today, if you want to continue the interview. Meet me in the vineyard, we'd be outdoors and a little fresh air would do both of us some good.”

Thank you and goodbye.

My cheeks still flushed and my breath staccato, I return to my room after our torrid encounter. The large gilded clock over the fireplace indicates that it's almost 3 o'clock in the afternoon. I realise that within four hours I'll be back on the train and this bizarre daydream will be over. Delicious shivers still roll down my spine; I haven't completely pulled myself together yet. This man is literally driving me crazy. His body and mine seem to be made for each other, but our two personalities resist, challenge and provoke one another, without either of us coming out the clear victor. He's impressive alright, with his piercing gaze, his husky and smooth voice, his skilled hands, his starving mouth, which electrifies and inexorably subdues me, but I can't admit that he's won me over just yet. If he's looking for a docile little girl, I'll pass.

Easy to say that now, but when you're with him, you're a lot less convincing, my dear...

Again I hear this little voice inside me, a voice that keeps on interrupting my thoughts and discrediting all my attempts at rebellion. It's like I'm in denial. I need to open my eyes and admit it once and for all: Gabriel Diamonds has clearly got the better of me in our game of cat and mouse! Compared to him, I'm only a beginner. This conclusion bothers me. All of a sudden, I'm sick of thinking about it, my non-stop over-analysis.

Just live in the present, Amandine, stop obsessing over it!

Marion is the only person who can help bring me back down to earth. I take my cell phone out of my back pocket, but even this tiny movement reminds me that the billionaire’s hands were just there. Again, I feel a rush of anxiety, but I don't let my own weakness tip e off-balance. Immediately I call the one person who knows how to screw my head back on straight.

“So, are you bringing me back a bottle of the good stuff?”

Hi, my name's Marion and I need to know everything!

“Not yet, it all depends on this call.”

“You know me, I'm an angel! How's it going? Not too boring being stuck in the middle of nowhere, I hope?”

“No...”

“You're hiding something from me! Fess up!”

“I met someone. Well, met isn't the right word. Let's just say that I'm no longer winning our abstinence contest.”

“What? You slept with a stranger?!”

“We didn't go that far, but almost. And he's thirty-five years old, handsome as a god, and a billionaire.”

“Ha ha ha, stop messing with me. I've got to run, Tristan is coming by. Call me tonight to let me know you got home safely!”

Grrr, obviously she doesn't believe me!

“And Amandine – you're pretty, intelligent and fun. You're going to find your Prince Charming, there's no need to make one up!”

I end up hanging up on her. I thought she'd help me get my head together, but that didn't happen and worse, now I'm in a bad mood. Between this irresistible and impossible man, who thinks he can get away with anything, and my best friend treating me like I'm some sort of compulsive liar, I'm trapped! My sister Camille isn't much better. Emilie, she stands out from the lot. Ultra-pragmatic, she has the gift of finding a solution for everything.