Enthralled by a Billionaire

Enthralled by a
Billionaire

Lexi Jordan

Published by
Forbidden
Lust

Copyright © 2015

Emma stood in front of the
Art building with a double mocha latte rattling in her hand. The
first day of school set the pace for the entire year. Her freshman
year of high school
had been a disaster all
because she made a poor first impression on the new kids she met.
She'd worn old clothes handed down from her brother. Her hair had
been in a plain pony tail and she hadn't bothered with make-up. The
girls from neighboring middle schools shunned her on the first day,
and the few friends she'd had in middle school followed their lead.
Freshman year was incredibly lonely for her. The following summer
she got a part time job so she could buy some name-brand clothes.
She spent the summer flipping through fashion magazines, learning
how to do make-up and studying the lives of celebrities she
couldn't have cared less about and it worked. Sophomore year she
was accepted into the pack, and while she was never popular, she at
least wasn't unpopular.

College was a new start and Emma was
determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past. She and Reggie,
her stylist and personal shopper, picked out her entire wardrobe
for school. She decided on a style of simple, comfortable clothes
that were tasteful and expensive. For her first day she wore a
pleated skirt, with a matching jacket and wedged sandals. She had
Casey, her make-up artist, teach her how to airbrush on her
foundation. Never again would people judge Emma for not having much
money, Dylan had seen to that.

Emma braced herself and entered the
air-conditioned building. She had no trouble finding her class—a
studio on the top floor. At the head of the room was the teacher’s
desk and the rest of the room was filled with easels set up in a
half moon facing the desk. Long tables ran along the wall under the
large windows where light poured in.

A man that Emma recognized as Clay
Forrester, the famous artist and teacher of the most important
class she'd ever take, rose from his desk and walked towards her
extending his hand, "Ms. Cobb? I'm Clay Forrester, it's a pleasure
to..."

Emma's wedged sandal scuffed across
the linoleum floor. Such a small thing, not even a trip really. She
regained her balance almost immediately, but that small jerk was
enough. The contents of her cup knocked off the no-spill top and
went flying through the air, leaving a brown strip down the face
and chest of her idol.

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry." Emma
dropped the cup and began rubbing her double mocha latte up and
down Mr. Forrester's chest as if her hand could somehow soak up the
mess she'd made.

Mr. Forrester took a step back,
shaking off what liquid he could. "It's fine Ms. Cobb. I'll just go
borrow something to wear." He turned to the class which was a
mixture of people trying to hide their laughing and those who
laughed without trying to hide it. "I'll be right back. Why don't
you take a seat Ms. Cobb."

Emma picked the stool in the furthest
corner of the room. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and
vanish. A dark haired girl with purple highlights, goth makeup, and
an eyebrow piercing leaned over to her and said, "Wow Princess, I
bet this is the worst day of your life."

While not the worst, it definitely had
reached the top ten. "Princess?"

"Yeah, did your dad discover oil or
something in his backyard?"

Emma's brow furrowed. "No, my father's
a farmer."

"Yeah, right. More like CEO of
Monsanto. Who do you think you're fooling? I can tell you're a
freshmen because you have that new freshman smell, yet you're in
one of the most advanced classes at the University. The rest of us
had to present a portfolio and interview to be in this class, but
Clay doesn't know you, which means you didn't have to interview.
What happened? Did Daddy write a fat check and get you in
here?"

While the rest of her classes were in
the 100s, this one was 478, Emma assumed it had something with it
not being a general studies class like Math or English, she had no
clue the kind of strings Dylan had pulled for her.

"I told you already. My father's a
farmer. I'm independently wealthy." With the million dollars Dylan
had given her, this statement was true enough. Plus, she didn't
like the way this girl looked at her. Her eyes glimmered with
judgment.

"Independently wealth, huh? Well, good
to know."

Mr. Forrester came back to class
wearing a campus T-shirt that looked completely out of place on
him. He gave a speech about how art was about revealing one's soul
and good art was about revealing those parts we’re ashamed of. "For
your first assignment, I want you to paint anything you want, in
any style you want. But what you choose should tell me and everyone
else in the room about who you are."

Emma stared at the blank canvas in
front of her. She looked around the room and everyone was hard at
work. Most of the paintings were dark, gloomy, troubling. Emma
figured she should paint something dark too. That she should blend
in and hopefully everyone would soon forget she wasn't there
because of her merit and had doused a legend in sugary
coffee.

But she couldn't bring herself to do
it. She couldn't paint anything light either. All she could think
about was how everyone else in that room had fought and earned
their right to be there and hers was just handed to her. Not
because of who she was, but because of who she was sleeping with.
Time ticked by and Emma just sat in the back of the room staring at
her blank canvas. Two and a half hours had passed and class was
almost over.

Mr. Forrester walked around and
examined people's paintings. For some paintings he just nodded,
other paintings he offered suggestions, and others he asked
questions. When he reached Goth Girl, he asked, “And what did you
create today Ms. Silvetti.”

Goth Girl growled. “I asked you to
call me Violet. I’m my own realized person, not the property of my
parents.”

“Forgive me, Violet.” He took in her
painting of a cloudy, starless night and a little girl with dead
eyes holding a bloody knife and asked, "Is this really the part of
yourself you hide from the world, or the part of yourself you use
to disguise the parts you hide?" Violet opened her mouth to answer,
but he held up a hand and said, "No, just think about
it.”

When he reached Emma, he cocked his
head to the side, "Did you not understand the assignment, Ms.
Cobb?"

"No. I understood. The more I thought
about it, the more I realized there was nothing I could paint. I'm
just starting out. I'm not sure who I am yet, a prude or a perv,
brilliant or ordinary, a princess or a peasant. So I can't tell you
what I'm made of because I don't know myself."

"Very interesting, Ms.
Cobb."

Violet rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah,
you're so deep. I bet you're a cutter." Violet raised her voice an
octave higher. "I'm so lost and confused." She batted her eyes. "I
don't know who I am. My rich daddy hasn't told me who I'm to marry
yet."

While most of the class laughed, Mr.
Forrester was not impressed. "Ms. Silvetti, please leave my
classroom, and don't come back until you've learned how to treat
your classmates with respect."

Violet snatched up her bag and stomped
from the room with a huff, slamming the door behind her. The rest
of the class quieted down and straightened in their seats. Mr.
Forrester assigned some reading and dismissed the class.

Emma couldn't have imagined her day
coming to a more tragic start. She didn't want to go to the rest of
her classes. All she really wanted to do was curl up next to Dylan
and forget about this whole college thing. Was that who she was?
No. She resolved herself to do better the rest of the day, she
wouldn’t lay her hands on another spillable drink except at lunch
time and she'd do her best to seem competent, not whiney or
spoiled, in the rest of her classes. A task made much easier with
the loss of Violet. There would be no one standing there and
mocking her anymore.

Dylan had been working a lot lately.
She knew he wouldn't be there when she got home, and all she wanted
was for him to make her forget. The way he did with every glance,
every kiss. He made the world seem insignificant. Part of the
reason he'd been working so much was because how far behind he fell
when she first moved in. She promised herself she wouldn't disturb
him, but she couldn't help herself. What was wrong with a little
text? It wouldn't even take minute to read. She pulled out her
phone and messaged him, "Missing you so much."

He texted back, "How's
school?"

"Dreadful. I can't wait for it to be
over."

"Want me to take a long lunch and meet
you at campus?"

As much as she wanted to let him work,
she also wanted to see him. A lunch date would make her feel better
and help her get through the rest of the day. "Sure. My next class
ends at 1."

"See you then."

Emma hugged the phone to her chest.
She was so glad to have Dylan.

She headed off to her next class.
Intro to Philosophy went by uneventfully and Emma spent most of the
class watching the clock. After class, Emma headed to the parking
lot near the quad and spotted Dylan's car right away, a luxury
sedan with tinted windows that he usually used when he was driving
himself instead of Jamal driving.

Emma opened the door and climbed in.
She leaned over the divider and kissed Dylan.

"So, what do you want for
lunch?"

Emma was so wound up, the last thing
she wanted to do was sit at some expensive restaurant pretending to
be prim and proper. "Anything with a drive-thru, I don't want to
get out the car."

Dylan quirked a brow but then said,
"If that's what you want."

Thirty minutes later they were parked
on top of a cliff overlooking the city eating burgers and drinking
milkshakes. Emma relayed the entire Art room saga, noticing his
frown from the corner of her eye when she got to the part about not
being anything yet.

"I'm sorry. I asked Clay to let you in
the class because I thought you'd enjoy it. If it's making you feel
that bad, you should just drop it."

Emma shook her head. "You don't get
it. I can't drop it. People like me don't get chances like that.
And if I just toss it away, it seems downright ungrateful, don't
it?"

They had finished their food. Dylan
reached over and pulled Emma into his lap. "I don't know. I just
want you to be happy. What would make you happy?"

"If I could make it through the rest
of the day without making a damn fool of myself."

"Your problem is you're overthinking
everything. You're too worried and that's what's tripping you up.
What you need is a distraction. Something to focus on so you can
relax and enjoy school."

Emma rubbed her thighs together as
heat built between them. "And what kind of distraction would you
suggest?"

Dylan cupped her face and leaned in to
kiss her. "Give me a minute I'm sure I can come up with
something."

Dylan’s kisses were heavenly. The
passion in his eyes, the skill of his hands and the clean scent of
his aftershave all worked together to send Emma into a
tizzy.

She undid his belt and pants with one
hand. She’d gotten quite good at undressing him. By the time she’d
worked her hand into his boxers to grasp him, he was already hard
for her. She pulled his cock out, and then slid off his lap so she
could run her tongue teasingly across the tip. With his seat all
the way back, she fit easily between his legs. Dylan let out a
small sound which Emma could only describe as a whimper. His hips
thrust, shoving his engorged member in her face. She gave him
another teasing lick and then grinned at him.

Dylan slid his fingers under her
layers of chestnut curls, running them across her scalp in a way
that felt too good for words. Then he made a fist, grabbing her
hair at the base. The other hand he wrapped around his cock and
made sure it found its way into her wide open mouth.