Butt-dialing the Billionaire: Chapter 39


Historically, the transition from the place where you agree to fuck to the place where you do the fucking has always felt to me like an awkward holding pattern preceding the main event. And maybe you chat, but you’d just as soon be on your phones until you get inside the hotel room or wherever it is you’re going.

With Jada, this transition could be the main event. Picking a leaf out of her hair could be the main event. Her grabbing my hand as we head down the sidewalk could be the main event. It’s as good as it can get every moment we’re together.

She sits on my lap in the back of the limo and shoves her hands up the sleeves of my overcoat. I grasp her forearms inside the sleeves of her coat, and that’s how we ride.

We’re under each other’s clothes, but my heart is on the outside of my fucking sleeve. It’s total high-wire-act shit. No net. No safety. Total danger. Total exhilaration. It might be the most foolhardy thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t stop it now.

I push my arms deeper into her sleeves. Her eyes sparkle.

She’s telling me about some echo place at some airport, and then she’s giving me shit when I reveal to her that I never set foot inside of a commercial airport in my life. I make her tell me what they’re like, and then she’s laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I demand.

“You never having been in an airport would be more proof to everybody that you’re from some village straight out of Hansel and Gretel.”

“People don’t think that,” I say.

“Why wouldn’t they?” She ticks through the proof, from my lack of office skills to my refusal to drink from water fountains.

“So you’re saying the mega-rich are nearly indistinguishable from medieval villagers?”

“You walked into a shoe store and thought somebody should trace your foot.

I growl and tighten my hold on her. “I’ll have you know that outlines of my foot are on file with the finest shoemakers in Milan.”

“Whatever you say, Grey Poupon.”

I kiss every kissable place on her face and neck and ear, finding the sensitive spots. I want to know everything about this woman. I’ll never get tired of discovering things about her.

As soon as we arrive, I dismiss the staff for the night and pull her into the elevator.

“That wasn’t suspicious,” she says.

“Oh, it was very suspicious.” I hit the button for the third floor and press her to the marble-paneled wall. “I’m planning on making you scream loud enough to rattle every piece of china in this whole place.” I kiss her neck. “Maybe enough to break every bit of china.”

She’s panting. She likes that. Again with the pleasure.

“And maybe ruin a few priceless objects,” I continue.

“Except the silk velvet.”

I slide my hand between her legs. “No, I’m gonna make you come all over all the silk velvet.”

“You can’t,” she gusts out.

“I can,” I tell her with evil inflection. “On each and every piece. At least once.”

The elevator doors slide open. I swoop her up into my arms and carry her to my bedroom. I undo her bun and start unbuttoning her shirt.

The moonlight streaming through the window makes her hair glow golden. She’s a lush mirage, sitting in my bed. The cups of her red bra hug her pale, sexy tits snugly.

I kiss a nipple through the satiny fabric. She shudders out a breath.

“You, too,” she says, tugging at my sweater.

“You think you get to say how this goes?” I taunt.

“You’re not my evil landlord anymore, are you? Careful what you wish for.” She takes off her bra with a flourish and throws it—a little striptease like she knows how desperate I am to have her and her perfect tits that are currently wrecking my mind.

“Careful what you wish for” is what you say when somebody might regret something, but I don’t regret that we’re not doing roles anymore. I’ll never regret anything about this.

“I’m definitely not your landlord. I’m the man who’s gonna fuck you senseless.” I pull off my sweater and T-shirt in one single go and toss it all aside.

I help her strip off her jeans. She’s wearing red panties that match her bra. I hold her gaze as I trail my fingers over the smooth fabric, enjoying that she put them on for me. I swipe a thumb between her legs, grazing over the wet spot. Just the feel of her wet for me swells my cock. Slowly, I slide them off of her, kissing my way down her legs.

“The panties get to live?” she asks.

“For now.” My progress slows at her thigh, then her knee. I’m lost in the soft, coconut-scented silk of her skin under my lips. “Your scent…” I shudder out. “Like tropical candy.”

She closes her fists in my hair. “My wicked plan…”

“You’ve got more than a little wicked in you,” I say.

I stroke a hand over her blonde mound and she groans. I didn’t take the time to properly enjoy her before, but now I’m feasting on her with my fingers, letting her feel my utter lust for her.

She looks down at me, chest heaving, gaze unfocused. “You think I have more than a little wicked in me?”

“I know you do. A wicked streak in a good girl is too hot.”

“Like a good streak in a wicked man?”

“Don’t count on it.” I grab her ankles and pull her under me, spreading her legs out wide in front of me. I kiss her pussy and she gasps, but I’m the one who’s reeling, intoxicated by the perfect pink of her.

I move up on her, pressing kisses to every part of her.

She roams her hands over my chest. Over my belly. Over my cock, caressing it loosely. “How are you so sexy?” she asks.

I have no answer. I’d trained myself out of giving a shit about what anybody thinks of me or my appearance. But with Jada, I really do care. And the idea that she’s enjoying me, that she’s as mesmerized by me as I am by her, it feels like dark magic, like it defies the laws of the cosmos.

I dislodge her hand from my cock. “Too close,” I say. I want to last.

I kiss her palm. I kiss the tender underside of her forearm and then her shoulder and then the little puff of flesh next to her breast. “I could make out with every part of you.”

“You want to make out with my boob buddy?” she asks, incredulous. “You sure?”

“I love your boob buddy.” I rub my cheek over it, like it’s the finest silk velvet.

“Oh my god, you are nuts,” she says in her sassy way.

I kiss her quivering belly. I push her legs apart and pet her slick folds, slow and tender.

She takes hold of my hair again and makes the hmm sound I love, rocking into my hand, breath coming faster. We’re in perfect sync, as though we’ve always been here.

“Please, Jack,” she gasps.

My name on her lips has me in flames. I roll over and, with shaking hands, I grab my wallet from the bedside table and pull out a condom.

She snatches it from my fingers and nudges me over. I roll onto my back, torn between needing to experience the feeling of her competent hands rolling on a condom and needing to be inside her.


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