Billionaire With a Twist 3 (11 page)

“You ready to take my cock?”
he growled against the back of my neck.

I nodded, and then he was inside me.

He thrust into me hard, and I shrieked,
the feelings all the more intense for not being able to see him, for
having to trust him, for being completely at his mercy as his strong
hands held me hostage and his long hard cock slammed into my pussy,
again and again, filling me up, stretching me, lighting up my nerve
endings and electrifying my veins.

With a moan I pushed my ass up against
him, wanting him deeper still, and the hand on my hip stole around to
stroke my wet pussy, his long fingers tweaking my clit as I clenched
around his cock. As he rocked into me I let go of everything bad I
felt inside, everything that had been hurting me or dragging me down
for years. Grinding into his hand, feeling the steady beat of his
cock, hearing his gasps of pleasure behind me, the ecstasy pushed me
higher and higher, until I found myself falling over the edge.

We came at the same time, moans
wrenching through us, calling out to each other. Finally we collapsed
boneless onto the bed, Hunter’s weight like a comforting
blanket settling over my body as he tucked me back against him. I
reached up behind me to stroke his hair, the smooth skin of his
powerful shoulders.

He pressed a soft kiss to my neck, just
below my ear.

I had never felt so much a part of
another person, so connected and together, so warm. I never wanted to
leave the safety of his arms.

“I’m glad you’re here
with me,” Hunter said, his words barely more than warm puffs of
air against my skin. He squeezed me tight. “You make me
strong.”

I twisted around just enough to press
my lips to his jaw. “You make me strong here.” I found
his hand, interlaced my fingers with his. “I’m glad we’re
in this together.”

The expo was a whirlwind of activity,
people embracing and shaking hands as they bustled between tables and
booths overflowing with samples of products, jingles, and packaging.
The roar of conversation dipped and fell like the waves of an ocean,
and the sea of people before us seemed about to swallow us whole.

Hunter took my hand as we stood off to
the side, ran his fingers over my knuckles. He bent to murmur in my
ear: “You nervous? Or excited?”

I chuckled. “Both, honestly!”

He nodded. “Tell me about it.”

Unfortunately, we couldn’t spend
the whole day joined at the hip. We had to let go of each other—well,
of each other’s hands, anyway, and head out to mingle. We were
both locked and loaded with flyers and an elevator pitch for our
bourbon beer booth.

“We got this,” I told
Hunter.

He grinned. “I know we do, babe.”

And we headed out together to conquer
the expo.

#

An hour later, flushed and exhilarated,
we began to make our way back to the booth to pick up more flyers.
We’d been picked clean by eager expo-goers who were intrigued
both by the new beverage and the fact that Hunter Knox was in the
saddle again. Our pockets were bulging with the business cards from
potential investors and distributors, and I’d already scheduled
interviews for Hunter with three different journalists who’d
expressed interest in writing articles about the company.

And then, like a zit on the face of a
supermodel, Chuck appeared on the floor of the expo, strolling
through the crowd as if he owned them all, flanked by two
serious-looking older men in blue European-cut suits and two women in
tailored pastel dresses.

“Ah, if it isn’t Hunter
Knox and sweet little Ally Bartlett,” he greeted us, oozing
insincere charm. “How nice to see you here. Holding up nicely?
Not burned though all the charity yet?” He laughed like a
hyena.

“We’re fine, thank you,”
I said through gritted teeth.

“So glad we were able to work out
a deal,” he said with a malicious smile. “But oh! I’m
being rude! I haven’t introduced my companions.” A
sweeping gesture indicated the well-dressed men and women behind him.
“Still, I’m sure you recognize
the Big Four
. Don’t
you, Hunter?”

“I do indeed,” Hunter said,
not deigning to look at Chuck. He gave a respectful nod to the
others, instead, who returned it. I gave them a friendly smile, and
we all exchanged handshakes.

“I’m sure we’ll speak
later, Hunter,” said one of the women, gray-haired with a regal
profile that reminded me of Viola Davis. “I’m certainly
interested in what you’re up to these days.”

“Nothing much, I’m sure,”
Chuck put in quickly. “Not like the exciting things you have
going on.”

The woman forced a thin smile. “Quite.”

Interesting. They seemed to be
tolerating Chuck more than anything. I wondered how quickly the
tables would turn if he no longer had something they wanted…

“I bet you’re wondering
what I’m doing with these fine ladies and gentlemen, Hunter,”
Chuck said, his grin ever more malicious. “Well, let me put you
out of your misery. These are the soon-to-be new owners of Knox
Liquors.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Really?
Well, I suppose it’ll be in better hands than yours then.”

One of the men stifled a chuckle.

Chuck was thrown, but to his credit he
shook it off and kept plowing forward. He’d gotten one over on
us, and by God, he was going to grandstand about it, current evidence
to the contrary be damned. “Without your shares we couldn’t
sell,” he sneered. “But now the playing field is clear.
Knox Liquors is mine to sell to the highest bidder. And so I shall.”

He was so busy gloating, he didn’t
notice the looks that crossed the faces of the four people behind
him.

“One moment,” said one of
the men, balding with blue eyes. “Did you just say Hunter Knox
has left the company?”

“Yes, yes,” Chuck said
impatiently, “which means that now we can move forward—”

“But this changes everything,”
the man said.

“Agreed,” said the second
woman. “With the way sales are dropping, the only reason we
were considering a takeover was with Hunter’s management. He
knows how to lead the business with the best interests of the company
legacy in mind.”

Chuck scoffed. “Mr. Knox’s
business practices have driven the company straight into the mud.”

The Big Four narrowed their eyes,
furrowed their brows. Chuck’s face paled as he realized the
implications of what he’d just said out loud to them.

“I mean,” he backpedaled,
“Not such that we can’t recover! We’re recovering
as we speak! Now that he’s gone we’re moving forward
stronger than ever before, and if you’ve seen the new ad
campaign you’ll agree that soon enough the younger demographic
will more than make up for the sales that the older customers’ve—”

The regal woman scowled in disdain.
“We’ve seen the ads. Appalling, really. Clearly a
misstep, and one which we’re looking to correct
if
we
move ahead with this plan, which seems increasingly unlikely given
the…recent changes in management.”

Her colleagues nodded in agreement.

Chuck looked around like a drowning man
searching for something to grab on to. “But—but—well,
I’m sure we could work something out, I could invite Hunter
back, offer him a consulting position—”

“That won’t be necessary,”
Hunter said. His voice was quiet, but commanding; everyone stopped
and turned to him. He went on: “I have no interest in working
at the same company as Chuck ever again. So I’ve left. And I’ve
set up a new brand.”

And like a stage magician, he pulled
out one more flyer.

The Big Four immediately clustered
around him like flies around honey.

“Tell us more—”

“—the stock options for
early investors—”

“—and in terms of
marketing, how are you planning to account for—”

“—flavors does it come in?”

Hunter and I swept them away, answering
their questions as we guided them towards our booth.

We left Chuck behind, the smirk wiped
off his face, gaping like a fish left stranded on the shore.

#

We thought the booth had been busy
before, but as we neared it now, we saw Martha’s arms
windmilling in a blur, desperately trying to keep the booth stocked
in the face of the mob that had descended upon her, desperate for the
free samples and only slightly less interested in the business plan.
People spotted us and began to push towards us, shouting to make
themselves heard above the rest:

“I run a small distributing
company with good connections in the Georgia area, I can—”

“—completely free all week
if you’d like to speak about a substantial investment—”

“—I’d like to stock
this in my supermarkets, if you’ll just meet with the board—”

Meanwhile, another mass of people
couldn’t have been pried away from the table of free samples
with a crowbar. I passed a journalist, caught a glimpse of some notes
she’d dashed off on her tablet:
bold yet
earthy,
full-bodied, flavorful, sweet.

Someone else shoved a microphone into
Hunter’s face: “Mr. Knox! How are you planning on
staffing this new venture? Will it continue to be a one-man
operation?”

“Well, it hasn’t been a
one-man operation for quite some time now,” Hunter said with a
friendly grin. “In fact, you folks wouldn’t be enjoying
this fine beverage today if it weren’t for the efforts of a
small team, foremost among them these two ladies here.”

He indicated Martha and me with a sweep
of his arm, and Martha threw a hand on her hip and flashed a megawatt
smile at the camera, probably imagining her future fame as a
bourbon-beer goddess and all the pretty new boys it would bring her.

“But to answer your question, no,
this won’t remain a small operation for long. I’ve
recently come into some money—” he winked at me—“that
will allow me to rehire my entire team from Knox Liquors, should they
wish to join me in this new venture. Nobody will be losing their job
today!”

Cheers drowned out the rest of the
questions and answers, and camera flashes erupted like fireworks.

Past the glare of one, I saw Chuck
looking on in dismay, his face slowly registering the fact that he
had overpaid for shares that would soon be dropping like Sherlock
Holmes off the Reichenbach Falls.

I gave him a sweet little wave and
giggled, warm satisfaction filling me from the top of my head to the
tips of my toes.

Today was shaping up to be a perfect
day.

#

“Need any help finishing up?”

“Nah, I’ve got just about
the last of it.” I chucked the last box of empty bottles into
the back of Hunter’s car, the Rolls that Martha loved best.
“There. All set.”

He grinned, sliding an arm around my
shoulders. “Well, I do believe this calls for a celebration.”
He offered me a bottle of the beer. “If you’re not sick
of it yet, that is.”

“That’s about as likely as
me getting sick of you,” I shot back, and took a long,
refreshing draught.

We sat down together on the trunk of
the car, passing the bottle back and forth in silence for awhile,
savoring the feel of our bodies at rest against each other.

“So,” I said finally,
leaning back into his shoulder. “I’d say today was a
success. What about you? Did you cross everything off your list you
wanted to say and do?”

“Almost,” he said, and I
could hear the smile in his voice. “There’s just one
thing I haven’t said yet. But I’m hoping to cross that
off very soon.” And then he leaned into me, his lips pressed
against my hair, and whispered: “I love you.”

Time stopped. The world ceased to turn.
Fireworks burst above my head, cannons roared, angels sang.

Tears pricked in my eyes.

“Ally?” His voice was
concerned now, verging on panicked. “Ally, are you all right?”

I leapt into his arms, twining my legs
around him, cupping his face in my hands, his stubble scraping
slightly against my fingers. “Oh, you beautiful, beautiful
man.” His eyes were so wide and worried. I kissed each eyelid,
and his nose, and his cheeks, and his lips. The tears were streaming
down my face now, and I was laughing, and I was smiling, and I was
happier than I could ever remember being. “I’m all right.
I’m more than all right. I—oh, Hunter, I love you too!”

Relief washed over his face and he
pressed me to him, our foreheads touching as we shook with joy and
the release of our long-held tension.

“Never let me go,” I
whispered against his stubbled cheek.

“Never,” Hunter promised,
his voice rough with unshed tears. “I never could. We’re
a team. Always and forever.”

I kissed the tears from his cheeks, not
sure which were from me and which from him. Then I smirked a wicked
smirk and dangled the half-empty bottle of bourbon beer between us.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Have you seen this? You did it,
Hunter!”

“We did it,” he corrected
sternly, before grinning and wrapping me up in a great big bear hug.
I hugged him back, inhaling that sweet wonderful smell that was
purely him. I delighted in the feel of those strong arms around me, a
sensation that still hadn’t lost its magic despite how often it
occurred. I let my hands relish the feel of his strong back beneath
his fine linen shirt. I was rapidly on my way to becoming addicted to
this man, if I wasn’t already.

It had been a few months since the
Martinville expo, and today was the first day of sales for the
bourbon beer. We’d been monitoring the numbers coming in all
morning, and as of five minutes ago, it was official: we were in the
black, and looking to stay that way for the foreseeable future.

That was encouraging, to put it mildly,
and so were the articles that had been hitting the page—both
the printed and the online one—about the quality of both the
beer and the company. ‘The most exciting new product on the
market in over fifty years’ was about as close to lackluster as
they got.