Page 43 of The Billionaire

Maybe I could play that companion role. The listening ear role. But something told me about his demeanor he didn’t like to talk much. He was all about the action.

He took a few more sips of his drink.

A flicker of desire sparkled in his eyes.

He stroked the disgusting mustache once more.

“Why, you are a naughty one.” This excited him as he adjusted his pants and helped them lose around his ankles. His Johnson completely at attention through his boxer briefs.

Who would have guessed. I would have pegged him as a boxer guy, myself.

I slowly lowered down spreading my legs wide in my sexy squat, giving him full view of my almost bare queen V, sans the small black lace thong that still remained on.

I breathed in courage as I reached for his hardened member.

“Now . . . drink up deary. One of the tricks is, alcohol helps the feeling sustain.” I said in my absolute best draw.

He tilted the glass to drink the remaining half as he suddenly stopped at a sip. His eyes squinted and his tongue made loud tasting noises.

He reached for my breast with his free hand after placing the cigar back in his mouth.

“I just want to see those tits. Bare.” He mumbled.

Shit. I’m this close. He’ll see the small glass bottle. What would I say?

Act fast.

I freed his Johnson as fast as lightening and made slow pumping motions as I dropped my jaw, letting my tongue slowly peek out and rest on my bottom lip.

“Oh, you will. After I . . . ”

I lowered my mouth. I was now inches away. Just inches!

Shit. Drink that damn drink pronto! I subconsciously screamed as I mustered up all the control I had inside and tried not to toss my cookies. It was a forest down there!

I was now centimeters away from it, and oh my God, he didn’t smell rich like him.

I closed my eyes, inhaled, and pictured him. But that’s when I heard the clanging of the ice against the glass and heard a loud thud on the bed.

He was out cold.

I nearly fell over in surprise. I stood up quickly and inspected him.

He instantly began snoring.

Being the softy that Iwas, I reached for his cigar. But I didn’t want to wake him!

I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t want his bed to catch on fire. I didn’t want him to choke.

I slowly backed away, my heels loudly sounding on the wooden floor.

Shit. Now what?

I rubbed my forehead.

Do I alarm someone? Do I . . .

Then, finally, that cigar fell from his mouth and drool covered it as his snoring increased as I sighed the largest sigh of relief. I thanked my lucky stars.

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