Borrowed Billionaire #2 Lexie Goes Shopping (2 page)

“Funny,” she said, “I could have sworn I heard Mr. Thorne's voice in here.”

“I thought he was out on business today.”

She thumbed through the money, and said, matter-of-factly, “There's an extra hundred for your underpants.”

I scratched my head. “Beg pardon? I could have sworn you just said …”

“Not for anything unseemly,” she said, an impish light in her eyes. “For a joke. A practical joke.” She held the money in front of me, teasingly.

I'm sure some girls would have refused the offer, but those were inexpensive panties I had on that day. For a hundred bucks, I could buy a dozen better pairs, so you'd better believe that, as old Grace stood there with the cash, I whipped down my underpants right there on the spot.

I'd had a quick tidy-up in the en suite right after Mr. Thorne, so they weren't gooey or anything, but even so, I felt absolutely filthy. I felt like some cheap prostitute.

And as I took the roll of cash from a leering Grace, I felt even cheaper, but the strangest thing was, I liked it.

With money in my pocket, and a bare-naked whiskerbiscuit, I walked out of that mansion with my head held high.

Outside, I snooped around the grounds for a few minutes, looking for Mr. Thorne in his sexy jeans, but he had been replaced by a portly man with a big mustache.
Now that's what a gardener looks like
, I thought to myself as I walked out the gates.

The next day, Suzanne called me with a new job. I sat up straight in my warm bed, and my heart thumped away like mad. The job was for Mr. Thorne! (Or so I hoped.)

Ah, but my excitement was short-lived. It was for a woman whose name had only sounded like
Luthor Thorne
due to my wishful thinking. The woman's name was Alison Hubert, so clearly my hearing was being extremely optimistic that day.

Suzanne, my sorta-boss-sorta-partner, went on with the details over the phone as I jotted them down.

“Hold up,” I said. “What kind of professional organizing job happens at a high-end department store?”

“We're branching out!” She sounded like she was peeing her pants with excitement, but of course she would be. She got paid off the top and didn't have to go out and do some job she had no experience in.

I protested, but she assured me I was “confident and stylish,” (flattery gets you everywhere) and that these personal shopping clients mainly wanted someone to  keep them company while they bought a bunch of overpriced stuff they didn't need.

Grumpily, I said, “Sounds cruel. They shop while I watch? Why not take me to a creampuff bakery and make me watch you eat creampuffs.”

“Only on my birthday,” Suzanne said. That was one of our little jokes. I'd name something ridiculous and she'd threaten to make me do it on her birthday. 

“Did you get any feedback about the job at the Thorne mansion?” I asked, feeling hopeful. “I feel like I could have done more. Can we call them? I'll go back for an extra day, no charge, just to follow up. They could be a great long-term client.”

“I don't think so.”

“Suze. You gotta get me back in there.”

She didn't say anything for what felt like an eternity. “Lexie,” she said, my name sounding like a dirty word. “You fucked the pool boy, didn't you? You have the worst taste.”

I started to argue with her, but stopped myself. “Yeah,” I said. “I totally nailed the pool boy when I was there. You know me!”

“Tell me how you did it,” she said.

As we were talking, I was still in bed, enjoying my morning coffee with most of me under the covers. 

Suzanne and I had been friends since we were teenagers, and we used to call each other every morning after dates and tell each other everything, no detail too gory.

“Tell me how you fucked the pool boy,” she repeated.

“Alright, you sick lady. You sound pretty hard-up over there. Your husband not giving it to you? Honeymoon over?”

Her voice flat, she said, “I live vicariously through my single friends. Shannon's pregnant, so that just leaves you. This pool boy. How old was he? Oh, tell me he was blond. Blond like a surfer.”

“He was blond!” I said, thinking about Mr. Thorne, who had dark hair. Aside from his identity and hair color, I told her the story of what had happened with Mr. Thorne, pretending it had happened with the pool boy. Funny thing was, I didn't even know if the Thorne mansion had a pool! Suzanne didn't know any different, so what did it matter?

As I recalled all the delicious details, my mound start to hum with happiness at the memory being replayed in my head. A big smile crept up on my face, and I was giddy.

She stopped me, “Wait, why was the pool boy up on a ladder outside the window?”

“He's a pool-boy-slash-handyman.”

“Tell me about his dick. Was it straight? Don't tell me it was one of those skinny ones with a big mushroom head. Eugh.”

“No, Suze, it was perfect. It was the most beautiful cock I've ever seen. He could earn extra money by doing casts of it, to be used for sex toys.”

“Ohmygod. Don't stop. What did it taste like?”

“That's the thing! I don't know. We ended up boning almost immediately. It felt really good, along with the rest of his body, but it was over so fast.”

“Mmm.”

“I know this makes me sound extremely slutty, but I really regret not getting to suck on it a little.”

“Lexie!”

“So, you've gotta get me back over there for another job. I'll do anything. I'll do cleaning. Housekeeping!”

She said she'd do what she could and get back to me, then she held the phone away from her mouth and spoke to her husband, saying something about where clean towels were for his shower. Suzanne had everything. She had a man there twenty-four-seven to satisfy her whenever she needed it. She could hang up the phone and be grabbing onto his manhood, feeling it stiffen in her hands, and then slipping it into her mouth, within seconds.

How I envied her.

Yeah, I had my toys for pleasure, tools to get the job done, but you never, ever feel sexy sticking a chunk of silicone in your mouth. For some things, there's just no substitution.

* * *

I bought lollipops.

I bought lollipops and I sucked them as I waited for my personal shopping client, at the coffee shop across from the ritzy department store I'd never been inside.

I felt like a goofy kid, sucking away on my big, round, red lollipop. A few guys and one girl gave me a funny look, and I liked it. I wished the lollipop could have been Mr. Thorne, and wishing made my loins hot with desire, but wishes aren't reality.

When the shopping client approached me, I thought she had to be someone asking for directions, because she wasn't alone. She had a man with her, a classy-looking guy with silver hair. A silver fox.

“I'm Alison Hubert,” she said, reaching for my hand. I spat out the lollipop and dropped it on the coffee shop's plate before I shook her hand.

“Mrs. Hubert,” I said. “I'm so delighted to meet you.”

She eyed the big, red lollipop, still shiny from my saliva. “God, I haven't had a lollipop in years.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out another one, green, and offered it to her.

“I don't know,” she said, hesitating. “Green?”

The silver fox with her guffawed.

I rummaged around and pulled out a purple one. Her eyes lit up and she took it from me.

“Where are my manners?” she said. “Lexie Ross, this is my better half. He keeps an eye on me when I'm shopping, so I don't spend too much.” 

“Mr. Hubert,” I said, shaking his hand. His steely blue eyes raked over me, all the way down past my hot crotch to my shoes, then back up again, stopping at my breasts. He grunted acknowledgment, but he seemed to be a man of few words. 

I guessed he was somewhere in his fifties, and fit, by the grip of the hand. Mrs. Hubert looked like she could be Mrs. Hubert Number Two—no, Number Three. She was in her thirties and had a giant rock on her wedding ring finger.
Good for you, Mrs. Hubert the Third
, I thought.

We left the coffee shop and crossed the street over to the ritzy department store. 

When the doorman opened the glass door for us, I got hit in the face, full-blast, with the scent of riches. It made me twitch, deep inside. This was where they kept the good stuff, away from people like me.

All those gorgeous designer clothes, and the high-priced makeup counter, too. I felt like a starving kid in a candy shop. I'd worn a low-key flared skirt, in navy, and a newer blouse, simple and cream-colored, and I'd cut off the labels, which was good, because if I fainted of pleasure amongst all the good stuff, I didn't want the paramedics to see what cheap clothes I was wearing.

As we started shopping around, I noticed Mr. Hubert, the silver fox, was looking at my ass like it might have
Mrs. Hubert the Fourth
written all over it.

I caught him looking, and he didn't look away. Oh, he was a bold one! 

Mrs. Hubert wanted to try on some perfume samples before we moved on to the “main event” of clothes and shoes. 

“A little shopping foreplay?” I said to her.

She blushed prettily and said, “That's exactly what it is. Working up the appetite. You're so good! I bet you're naughty, too.” She raised her eyebrows and gave Mr. Hubert a pouty look. “I think today might get expensive for you.”

He took her by the hand and kissed her bony knuckles. “Anything for my kitty-cat,” he said, shooting a look at me, over her shoulder.

MEOW!

Mrs. Hubert tried on some perfume samples, getting at least two makeup counter girls to run back and forth, growing flustered in their pristine white jackets. It's funny how girls with absolutely no medical training suddenly look like doctors in those white makeup counter outfits. The two girls, one dark and one fair, were attractive enough, but Mr. Hubert only had eyes for … me.

Even as his wife leaned across the counter and bade him to smell all manner of samples, on her wrists, her arms, her neck, he kept looking my way, hungrily.

The silver fox was hungry.

And I was his prey.

I pretended to be really interested in the perfumes, saying, “Definitely a chocolate undertone,” when prompted by Mrs. Hubert. “Delicious,” I said, “Makes me hungry for another lollipop.”

Mr. Hubert's lip twitched.

I knew if I could get him alone, I would get fucked so hard. Every time I made eye contact with those steely blue eyes, I thought about the silver hairs that likely sprouted around his firm manhood, and I kept thinking, you want to fuck me, over and over, like telepathy.

So hard, he said with his eyes.

I glanced over at Mrs. Hubert. Her face said,
whee, shopping!
At least she was happy. I felt ashamed for eye-fucking her husband, but I was sure she'd done the same to him back when he was with Mrs. Hubert Number Two.

My mound was getting so hot and juicy over Mr. Hubert's eager looks that I considered excusing myself to the ladies' room to have a little finger-blast on my own, but I figured as soon as I left Mr. Hubert, the silver fox heat would fade, and it would just be me, banging away. I was good, but I wasn't that good.

I wondered if Mrs. Hubert was kinky. Maybe she wouldn't even mind if I blew her husband. She could watch, even. I didn't care. I'd heard things about the ample-sized changing rooms at this particular boutique, and I wondered if the stories were true.

Apparently, according to certain unnamed sources of mine, the staff were extremely discreet.

As I was mulling this over, trying to remember which one of my friends had tipped me off, one of the makeup counter girls gave me a knowing look. “You're new,” she said.

“I usually work in the home,” I said. “Organizing.”

She gave me a meaningful smile and leaned toward me, looking like she wanted to tell me something in private. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Hubert were down in the men's cologne section, and she was trying to mist him with something, while he was being obstinate and refusing to try a new scent. He liked the one he had, he insisted. She giggled and chased after him with a spritzer.

I leaned in to talk to the makeup-counter girl. She was the darker-skinned one, and her name tag said Teisha. “Do they come here a lot?” I asked Teisha.

She smiled, revealing perfectly-white teeth that matched her pristine jacket. She wore shell-pink eyeshadow, which contrasted nicely with her dark carob skin. “The Huberts have an interesting arrangement,” she said.

“Do tell.”

She looked around, as though keeping an eye out for a supervisor.

“I shouldn't say.”

I leaned in. “One professional to another. I work hard for my money, as I'm sure you do. Rich people are weird. You can tell me anything.”

She looked around again, then giggled. The other girl, the fair one, had disappeared, running after the Huberts with tissues and cologne.

Teisha said, “Their rule is he can do anything he wants, but nobody but Mrs. Hubert is allowed to touch his … his you-know-what.”

I frowned. “Well that's no fun. That's the best part.”

She raised her eyebrows and batted her eyelids, her pale pink eyeshadow shimmering. “You'd be surprised.”

“With you?”

She nodded.

“He gave you … ?”

Her tongue darted out of her mouth, made a few suggestive licks, and went back into her mouth.

“No way. Here?”

Teisha nodded. “Right here behind the makeup counter.” She pointed over to a cubby under the counter. “He got down there while she was shopping. We were technically closed for the day, but people could still see in the window. I was wearing a skirt that day, so I slipped off my panties and stood right there and he went at it.”

“No!” My jaw was fully dropped open.

Her dark cheeks reddened. “He was a champion, too.”

“Did you … come?”

She laughed, suddenly and loudly. In answer, she held up three fingers.
Three times! Wow, Mr. Hubert.

I said, “And Mrs. Hubert, she doesn't mind?”

“As long as he doesn't touch a girl with his penis, she doesn't mind one bit. You know, she actually invited me over to their house for dinner after, but … I have a boyfriend!”