Curves for the Billionaire (10 page)

“It’s about time, sleepyhead.”  Zachary kissed her temple and she rubbed her face against his chest.  “You slept for almost six hours.”

“Really?”  She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since her father’s phone call to tell her of his cancer.  His death, the stress of arranging his funeral and the bombshell of his will had added to her sleeplessness.

“I’m going to grab a shower.”  Zachary nibbled her left earlobe.  “But I’ve arranged a bath for you.”

“Arranged a bath?”  Samantha turned and looked at him fully.  “Don’t I just turn on the water, pour in the bath salts and get in when it’s full?”

“You do nothing.  Two beautiful young women will run the bath and then wash your hair and bathe you.  You don’t have to lift a finger.”

Beyond decadent!  But Samantha was feeling just pleasantly exhausted enough to enjoy the experience.

“And where will you be when this is happening?” she asked.

Is he one of those men who fantasized about women making love to each other?

“I’ll be downstairs reading The Financial Times…but only because you’re too sore for what I’d planned after the bath.”

Samantha felt her face warm as she remembered the tender way he had helped soothe that soreness earlier.  The discomfort was almost gone, but she was planning a little surprise performance for him—it would be expedient if he was out of the room while she got dressed.

“Would you like something to eat first?” Zachary queried as she reached over and plucked a ripe date from the appetizingly-displayed selection of fruit.

“No, thank you.  I’ll have some fruit now and save my appetite for dinner.”  She bit into the fruit, closed her eyes to fully savour its taste and gave a soft purr of delight.

She opened them again to find Zachary’s arrested gaze on her.

“What’s the matter?”  She smiled uncertainly, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

“You’re just too sexy for your own good…and mine.”  Zachary cupped the back of her head and gave her a long, lingering kiss before lifting his head away with reluctance visible in every muscle.  “Right, time for a cold shower.”

With that he threw his side of the covers back and revealed an erection that looked painfully hard.  Samantha put her hand over her mouth to smother her gasp of shock.  She had been pressed against it and not recognized it for what it was.

Zachary smiled wryly at his own predicament, got off the bed and walked unashamedly naked towards the walk-in shower, the firm buttocks she’d held on to tightly as he’d buried himself deeply inside her, flexing rhythmically with each stride.

He was a magnificent specimen of manhood.

And he was hers…well, for possibly three glorious years.  Samantha turned over, buried her face into the pillow where his head had just rested and hugged the thought.

***

Samantha felt a little self conscious as she watched the two slender young Arab women who had appeared soundlessly in the room just after Zachary had dressed and left the room, prepare the bath and then stand waiting demurely for her to slip into the scented water.

She had thought that things couldn’t become more decadent than they had already been—the bath add another layer of pure indulgence.  She felt like a princess in a fairytale as they washed her hair, massaging her scalp gently but firmly, scrubbed her body with a coarse wonderfully-aromatic mixture and then polished it with a similar concoction ground to a finer consistency.

Once out of the bath, she was treated like a queen.  Soft towels were used to blot the moisture from her skin before sweet-smelling oil was massaged into it.  Her hair which had been wrapped in a towel after being washed was then towel dried, lightly oiled and brushed until it shone like burnished copper.

She thanked her bathers and dismissed them once they had helped her into a white halter dress, the style of which Fiona had shamelessly borrowed from Marilyn Monroe’s famous outfit in
The Seven Year Itch
.

The dress left her newly-exfoliated arms and back exposed, nipped in closely at the waist and flared softly to just below her knees.  She slipped her feet into white high-heeled sandals and glanced at her reflection in the mirror.  She almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her.  Her hair shone like a new penny and her skin literally glowed, not just from the pampering she’d received but, she suspected, from being married to Zachary, making love with him and feeling incredibly happy.

She shouldn’t be this happy, she thought guiltily, so soon after her father’s death.  Tears came to her eyes and she hurriedly dashed them away.  She would take time out to grieve properly, she promised herself, when the pain was less raw.  Strangely she felt that her father was smiling down at her in approval.  He had loved and admired Zachary, and had seemed almost as disappointed as she when Zachary had turned up at her eighteenth birthday party with his girlfriend in tow.  Once she had convinced him that she and Zachary were just friends, he had accepted the fact and treated Zachary pretty much like the son he’d never had.  He would have wanted her to be every bit as happy as she felt.

***

Zachary was sitting on the sprawling sofa, engrossed in the newspaper, a snifter with a generous shot of cognac cradled in one hand.

He looked up as he sensed her approach and for a moment he just stared at her.  Samantha revelled in his look of blatant appreciation, belatedly wishing that she hadn’t been so hasty in dismissing the young women.  A strategically-placed fan set on high would have added the final touch to the fantasy.  But Zachary didn’t seem to mind that the dress wasn’t blowing up around her ears and revealing the tiny thong which was the only thing she wore under the dress.

“You look incredible!”

He got up and stalked towards her like a hunter, his eyes drinking in her magnificent curves.  Samantha shivered with awareness at the look in his eyes.

“You do realize wearing this dress will have consequences, don’t you?”  His voice sounded strained and it filled her both with a sense of power and a frisson of fear.  She’d wanted him to lose control, but she may have been rather more successful than planned she realized when he literally growled, “God, I need to have you again!”

He kissed her then, his tongue delving deeply.  Samantha welcomed his touch eagerly, thrilled at the urgency of his hands as they slipped first under the top of the dress and tweaked her nipples into twin points of need before reaching under the hem, grasping her behind and grinding her hips against his.  She ground hers right back and he shuddered in reaction.

“Come here.”  Taking her by the hand he led her to the chair he had just vacated, bending her over the back of it and throwing the hem of her dress up over her head.  She blushed as she imagined what he was seeing—the full cheeks of her bottom with just the slender string of the thong between and her full, firm thighs elongated by four-inch heels.  His gasp of arousal told her that he found the sight just as provocative as she’d hoped.

Her juices were already flowing.  Eagerly, she opened her legs wider at his urging, tilting her bottom upwards so that he could penetrate her deeply.  Instead he dropped to his knees behind her and literally buried his face in her wetness as he began to eat her with no mercy—clamping the nub of her clitoris between his lips and tugging on it before sticking his tongue deep inside her and moving it back and forth with the same vigour he had displayed earlier.

“Yesss, ye-ss, yesss…yess, ye-ss.”  Her cries and moans filled the room as Zachary gave her notice that her gentle initiation was over—she would be taken relentlessly from here onwards.  She beat the sofa with her fists as he carried on without giving her a moment of respite.  But just as she felt her orgasm build to the point of no return, he stopped abruptly.

“Zac, please!” she begged.

“I’m not ready for you to come yet.”  He got to his feet and walked around the sofa, freeing his erection on the way.  When he was standing directly in front of her he commanded, “Open wide for me, sweetheart.”

Samantha braced her hands on the sofa and did as instructed, surprised at how eager she felt to taste him again.  With her hands occupied with bearing her weight he had total control of how deeply she took him.  Yet, he stood slightly out of reach, letting her just tongue the tip of his shaft at first, and then inch by inch moving closer until she had him lodged firmly at the back of her throat.  There was still a few more inches to go, but he wrapped his hand around the base himself before starting to thrust smoothly into her mouth.

When he pulled out and offered his balls for her to suck on she did so eagerly, relishing the round smoothness under the scrotal covering.  While she was thus occupied, Zachary bent over her and gently slid the middle finger of his free hand into her moist heat.

“You’re so wet…and so unbelievably tight,” Zachary groaned as if in anticipation of burying himself inside her.  He squeezed his finger inside her again, eased it out almost fully and then thrust it inside her again.  He rapidly built the tempo until she was a breath away from coming.

Again he stopped and walked around the sofa.

This time he parted her nether lips with his thumbs and pressed just the tip of his shaft inside her.

“I love the way your pussy grips the head of my cock like a fist, baby.”  Pulling it out, he did it again and again until she almost went mad with frustration.

“Tell me what you want,” he taunted.

“You know what I want!”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me!”  Samantha felt herself blush as she uttered the unfamiliar word, but she needed him inside so desperately she was beyond pride and shame.

He surged forward with a smooth force which expelled the air from her lungs.  Instinctively she moved forward, though there was little room between her and the back of the sofa—talk about a rock and a hard place.  He pursued her, staying buried to the hilt.

“Take it all for me, sweetheart,” he groaned, tilting her up further and going even more deeply.  “Take it all.”

Samantha winced as she willed herself to relax and focus only on the pleasure building inside her and not on the slight pain as he filled her to overflowing with each hard, forward thrust.  Soon the two merged and she was eagerly thrusting back at him as he sunk his full, hard length inside her.

“That’s it, baby!  Give it to me just like that.” Zachary grasped her hips and increased his already fast pace.  “You like the way I fill your tight pussy, baby?”

“Yes…yes, oh God, yes!  Fuck me, Zac...fuck me…ooh!”

In the lowered position, blood rushed to Samantha’s head as she came suddenly.  She hovered temporarily between consciousness and not. 
La petite mort
—the little death—trust the French to coin a phrase that exactly describes the moment of orgasm.

Behind her Zachary uttered the word “fuck” several times as he too found release.

***

“Are you sore again?” Zachary asked, the piece of lobster he’d speared suspended on his fork as he awaited her answer.

“Not really.”  She couldn’t lie outright—he’d caught her fidgeting, trying to find a more comfortable position on the padded dining chair.

“You weren’t ready for me again so quickly.”  He looked so disapproving she almost laughed.  “This is why I didn’t stay to watch you being bathed.  You should have worn something less provocative.”

“I’m fine, Zac.”  She was.  Being a little sore was a small price to pay for the wonderful, primitive way he had fucked her earlier.  She loved to see him out of control, loved the way he groaned when his cock was gripped tightly inside her pussy.

She laughed at her own thoughts.  Since when had her vagina become a pussy?  And when had making love become fucking?  In less than a day Zachary had become a bad influence.  No, she conceded, this wild woman must have always been inside her.  It had just taken Zachary to bring her out.  Whatever the reason that woman was out and she was here to stay, Samantha decided. She was rather enjoying this naughty side of her character