How to Seduce a Billionaire (11 page)

You are! You are excited!
Jess glanced downwards.
In every way …

There it was, the tell-tale bump in his perfectly tailored trousers. Had it been there before? Probably not. It hadn’t taken but a few seconds for him to get rampant.

With a struggle, she tore her attention away from Ellis’s crotch, and looked again to find him watching her, mischief dancing on his face because he’d caught her checking out his equipment. As if of its own accord, her hand snaked out, and cupped him.

‘Oh! Oh, yes!’ he gasped. The words were barely audible, little more than an exhalation, yet they echoed in Jess’s brain, a clarion of triumph, his, not hers. His hips bumped, pushing his body against the contact. His long lashes fluttered and he looked angelic, divinely suffering.

Was she hurting him? No, not that. But how could such a simple touch pleasure him so, a man as experienced as he was? Tentatively, she moved her palm against the hard knot, and he jerked again, rocking in synchrony. The beast itself twitched. It was so hot through his clothing, and seemed to have a life of its own, distinct from its owner.

‘Mm … that’s lovely, Jess. Lovely. You have a wonderful touch.’

Still she erred on the side of caution. She knew anatomy. She’d read erotic books. If she went in too heavily, she could hurt him. But still, she pressed lightly with her thumb, exploring the shape.

‘If we weren’t parked on a public thoroughfare, I’d ask you to unzip me, love.’ Ellis’s voice was husky, sultry. ‘But I think I’ll have to wait for that pleasure. I know it’ll be worth it.’

‘I hope so,’ Jess said, laughing nervously. This was crazy; any passing neighbour might look in, attention caught by the beautiful vintage car, and see what its occupants were doing. But she couldn’t take her hand away. It was as if the living bulge in Ellis’s trousers was magnetic and her fingers were metal.

‘I know so!’

When she withdrew her hand – reluctantly – Ellis drew it to his lips and kissed her palm, slowly and with intent.

‘Do we really have to drive all the way back to the hotel? What about your place?’ He nodded to the house, currently in darkness, save for one small lamp lit in the sitting room. They always left that one on when they were out. Cathy was clearly not yet home.

‘I suppose so.’ She hesitated. It seemed weird. She’d always imagined some hotel or other as the location where she’d eventually lose her virginity. Somewhere a bit nice, but unspecific. Just the act itself was the important thing. Her body, and the man’s.

‘Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself again,’ said Ellis, kissing her hand again. ‘Forget it. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. You’ve got me so crazy that I want you anywhere, but if you prefer neutral ground, I think I can keep myself in check long enough to drive to the hotel, or even to my place. It’s your choice, Jess. I just want you to feel at ease.’

It could all go pear shaped now. Hesitation could lead to postponement. Postponement could lead to, well, him changing his mind in the cooler light of day, and thinking,
What the hell was I doing? A nearly thirty year old virgin? Not really …

‘No, it’s okay. Cathy’s not home. My room might be a little bit untidy if you don’t mind slumming it … and I think I might actually feel more relaxed, in my own space. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Oh, you angel!’ Grabbing her by the shoulders, he kissed her hard and quickly. Then in a flash – perhaps before she could change her mind – he was out of the car, round to the passenger side, and handing her out into the night air. Within moments they were on the pavement, and hurrying inside.

Jess was self-conscious, aware that her cheeks were pink and blushing, and that any passer-by could read from that exactly what she’d been doing with Ellis and to Ellis in the car. He, on the other hand, appeared sublimely unconcerned, as cool and suave as ever. Jess daren’t look at his groin to see if he was still sporting his erection, but she didn’t doubt that he wouldn’t be embarrassed if he was.

But there was only one other person in the street. A middle-aged woman in a fleece and jeans, with her dog on a leash. The bumptious canine was bounding around, and his owner’s full attention was on him, rather than a pair of potential lovers thirty yards away on the other pavement.

Never before had her own front door seemed so daunting. She could still change her mind once she was inside, but somehow, it didn’t seem that way. The threshold to the house was like jumping off a cliff, like skydiving. Once she was in there was no return. Her fingers fumbled with the key, clattering against the lock. Ellis took it from her and manipulated it easily.

Key into lock. A simple act. But suddenly a metaphor.

Hearing her gasp, Ellis glanced at Jess, and saw that she was on the same page. Good grief, she was blushing like a schoolgirl. Exactly like the virgin she was.

‘You’re adorable.’ Ellis touched her cheek, pressing his palm against the heat. ‘You’re beautiful. Don’t be anxious, Jess. I desire you … you desire me … We’ll have a wonderful time together.’

As she turned her face to kiss his hand, he tried the door, ready to push it open. Jess leapt away from him, as if there were a throng of people waiting inside, but he corralled her, his arm sliding around her waist.

‘Don’t worry,’ he reiterated, ‘it’ll be fine. Now, is there an alarm code we need to deal with?’

‘Yes, it’s 1812.’ She grinned, as if finding the nerve she’d momentarily lost. ‘And yes, I know, it’s pretty obvious.’

‘Only to a music lover or a history nut.’ Ellis winked at her. He needed her to relax, but he felt more apprehensive himself than he had done for a long time with a woman. Why did this feel like as big a step somehow as his first ever fuck after Julie?

Once inside, he silenced the beeping alarm, and returned Jess’s key to her, watching her lock up again and slip her key in her bag.

‘Cathy can get in with her own key. Wouldn’t want some slimy burglar to come in and nick things while we’re … um … While we’re busy.’

‘While we’re making love,’ Ellis corrected her. Again, he felt different. Normally he would have said
fucking
, but that was too crude and blatant a term to use at this critical moment. Not because she was a virgin, but because, well, she was Jess, and not like his usual women in almost every other way too. ‘Now, lead the way to paradise.’ He gave her a gentle little push on the rump, and suppressed a gasp. Just the lightest contact with her beautiful, rounded bottom made his aching cock jump hard.

Christ, it’s as if I’m the virgin here, not her.

He hoped to God he could stay in control of himself. What good to her would he be if he lost it and came before she was ready? This was all about her. Her pleasure. Her experience. It had to be wonderful, and the start of something even better.

But not in the long term. Not with me.

That shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did.

Jess’s whole body sizzled as she climbed the stairs, with Ellis just behind her. At least it felt that way.

He’s looking at my bottom. He must be. That’s why he’s here. For the sex. It’s not like he’s doing it for charity or therapy. He’s a man and he wants action.

Yet that was harsh. Ellis McKenna was arrogant and controlling, but he also seemed to have a gentler side. He could have been taking any one of dozens of sophisticated, cosmopolitan women to bed tonight, but he was here in a modest house, in a quiet road, on the outskirts of a small northern city, about to initiate a virgin.

‘This way,’ she said, opening the door to her room, her sanctum.

It wasn’t exactly a self-contained flat, but it’d formerly been occupied by an older relative of Cathy’s family who’d liked her own space and privacy. So the room was large, with a queen-sized bed at one end, and a sofa and low table at the other, facing her television. Some of the furniture was quite old, one or two pieces genuine Victorian, and the décor was warm oranges, reds and ochres, in soft prints, almost womb-like. But, in contrast, her little en suite was all modern, white and chrome.

On the walls she’d hung some prints, a bit crowded together in an eclectic mix: Pre-Raphaelite
Beata Beatrix
, Manet’s
A Bar at the Folies-Bergère
and Renoir’s
La Loge.
Impressionism was her favourite ‘ism’, she supposed, but she loved other kinds of works too. She had one of Klimt’s gilded ladies,
Adele Bloch-Bauer 1
, because she loved the unabashed opulence of it and the exquisite but strangely static expression. All her choices were the biggest hits of art, really, but she wasn’t ashamed of liking the popular, because things were usually popular for a damn good reason. Because they were great; because they were sublime. But, descending to what some might have classed as ridiculous, she’d hung some of her own work too, in a statement of self-belief. Not her life drawings though, just a couple of her golden oldies, a seascape painted on a rare and treasured art holiday, and a watercolour of a pretty local view.

Ellis studied her selection of greats with a thoughtful expression, and a nod here and there, as if their taste in art was aligned. Glancing from the Manet to the Renoir, he said, ‘These are in the Courtauld Gallery, aren’t they? Have you ever seen them in the flesh, so to speak?’

A regret nothing to do with her lack of a sex life swept through her. ‘No … no I haven’t. I suppose I should have, but somehow I never got around to it. Maybe one day though. How about you, have you seen them?’

A stricken look descended upon his handsome face. ‘No, me neither. I’ve never been to the Courtauld. It was on our family to do list, next time we visited London.’

‘Oh …’ What to say? There must be a million wonderful things he’d planned to share with his wife and girls.

Ellis’s jaw tensed, then it was as if he mentally shook himself, pushing that ever present grief to the back of his thoughts. As if to distract both her and himself, he zeroed straight in on the sore thumbs in her little gallery.

‘Your work?’

‘Yes, they’re nothing special. But I do love doing larger works. Sometimes. Haven’t really had the opportunity lately. I should make the effort though.’

‘You must,’ he said firmly, turning from the art, and coming to her. ‘You’re very good. And I’m not just saying that. I’m not a major connoisseur but I know what I like and what I believe is worthwhile.’

Am I going to be worthwhile?

He stood, looking down into her eyes, and there was a glow in his that gave her hope. They’d moved on from art now … or perhaps to another kind of art. Plucking her bag from her shoulder, he tossed it lightly onto the settee behind them, then slid her pashmina off her shoulders, dispensing with that too.

‘Don’t be anxious, Jess. You’ll enjoy yourself. You’re a beautiful woman, and a sensual one, I can tell. It’ll be like falling off a log, believe me.’

‘Last time I fell off a log I grazed my elbow, banged my hip, and got a mild concussion.’

Ellis laughed softly. ‘I always was one for pathetic figures of speech.’

He took her mouth then, in another of his long, sweet, probing kisses. She tensed at first, but the stroke and rhythm of his tongue, moving in her mouth, and the way his hands swept over her back and buttocks in a smooth possessive glide was almost hypnotic. Within moments, her tongue pushed back, twirling with his, and her hands went on a journey of their own.

His body was hard-muscled, electric with energy beneath his clothes. He rocked against her touch, making rough little sounds of appreciation against her lips. What she was doing must be right. Either that, or he was a very good actor. Maybe a bit of both?

But not even the best actors could get erections to order. Unless he’d taken a little blue pill when he’d excused himself briefly back at the hotel. He was rampant against her, rocking his hard shape against her belly, circling and circling.

‘Mm, you feel good, Jess Lockhart, really good,’ he growled, tracking his kiss across her cheek and hair-line, ‘So inviting …’ He cupped her bottom to hold her tighter against him, belly to belly, pelvis to pelvis.

You’re the one that’s inviting. You’re bloody well irresistible.

It was true, so true. She’d travelled further and faster with him, and in less time, than she’d achieved with any of her very few attempted boyfriends. This handling, this fondling and exploring; it’d made her freeze before. Not quite to the stage of flesh-crawling, but definitely a shudder or two, not of the good sort.

Now she wanted more, more, more, and deeper, more daring.

Ellis’s fingers were on the little covered buttons at the back of her top now, popping them with the consummate ease of the frequent seducer. He eased back from her, and before she could stop him – not that she wanted to – he’d grasped the hem of her silky top and was easing it up. As if she’d undressed for men since she was a teenager, she lifted her arms and let him slide it off over her head, ruffling her hair as he went. When he’d tossed away the garment, he smoothed the dark strands out of her eyes, running his fingers over her brow, almost reverently.

The urge to cross her arms across her chest was hard to quell, but she resisted. She didn’t know what to do with her hands though.

‘Lovely,’ he whispered, then quickly shrugged out of his jacket, flinging it away after her top. After unbuttoning his waistcoat, he took both her hands in both of his, and placed them flat on his chest. ‘I’m just a man. I won’t bite. Well, not unless you want a little love-nibble here and there.’

‘I … I know. But I can’t help being nervous.’ His heart was thudding beneath her fingertips, its beat scarily steady. But then he was used to all this. ‘Would you mind if I took a moment? Powder my nose and all that.’ She needed the bathroom, but she needed a moment away from the intensity of him more.

‘No worries. Take all the time you need.’ He gave a funny little shrug. ‘Just don’t jump out of the window and flee from me, eh?’

She let out an edgy little laugh. ‘There is no window. It’s a new bathroom. Sort of squeezed in. I’m trapped with you, whether I like it or not.’ He took his hands from hers, releasing her, and she almost darted away.