Boxed Set: Dominated by a Billionaire - Part 10-12: Irresistible Billionaire (12 page)

"Are you going to talk this time?" my King says, threatening to switch on the other shower jet, located just over our heads.

"Yes…" I whisper, out of breath. "Yes, I surrender."

That damn smile of his reappears, his playful eyes dazzle me with their brightness and I run my hands through his soaked hair. Then I tackle his skin. I kiss, lick and nibble it, drawing an imaginary line from his chin to his shoulder, then I slip down between his pecs, tease his nipples, come back and bite his Adam’s apple. Vadim sighs as I start a slow back and forth movement, detaining his cock in my hand. The sensation makes me shiver. The contact electrifies me. I am consumed by desire for this concrete-hard column of flesh that points proudly skywards. My lover groans several times and I gloat a little more each time.

"You really think I’m going to let you play with me like that?" he exclaims, giving me the most arrogant of his killer looks.

Everything happens very fast. His muscular arms lock around me, grabbing me under my butt and a half-second later, I am a yard away – my handsome hunk has me pinned against the rough wall. My spread thighs make entering me child’s play. Which he does, then pulls out, then goes back in, then pulls out again and again, before finally ramming in deeper in a single thrust. He doesn’t take his triumphant eyes off of me for a single second, I moan violently, with no other escape route.

"That’s more like it…" he grumbles.

Stirred by his ramming, I still manage to slip a hand behind his neck. I grab a handful of hair and pull hard. He shudders, giggles happily, aware that I deserve to be punished for my act of disobedience.

Hmm…

The pace picks up. My soaked private parts clamor for more, deeper, harder. The mosaic tiles burn my skin slightly. My Apollo gives his all, never showing any sign of slowing down. He holds me up and enters me effortlessly, kissing me at the same time, biting my shoulder, tasting my skin scented with orange blossom.

My climax isn’t far-off, all my nerve endings are about to implode, I have a hard time breathing, the heat in my belly grows, my muscles contract and, totally holding my breath, I take off in the confines of pleasure, screaming my lover’s name hoarsely. My pussy is still experiencing the vibrations of those waves of pleasure when Vadim slips into me one last time and comes, our eyes intimately connected, the gray of his spreading into the green of mine.

My feet come back into contact with the floor. We catch our breath, sprawled against each other, still leaning against the wall that tortured me for several exquisite minutes.

"I don’t think we’ve ever used this shower before," my King pants.

"The life of a billionaire..." I say, too shaken to attempt a better repartee. "One couple, five bathrooms."

"I’m sure Alistair and Kali would be thrilled to…"

"Vadim, I absolutely forbid you to finish that sentence!" I interrupt him, bursting out laughing.

Comfortably settled on the imposing couch in our garden, Vadim and I enjoy the cool breeze on our rooftop terrace. It’s the end of June and temperatures are especially high for the start of our Parisian summer.

How fitting…

It’s close to midnight and over our heads, the night sky is subtly lit by twinkling stars. I’m admiring them, my head tilted back on my King’s shoulder, when he decides to break the silence:

"Seventeen days, Alma…"

Our wedding day.

"Aren’t you going to engrave the date on your chest, this time?" I smile sweetly, brushing across the elastic band of his boxer shorts.

"No, but I have another idea…" He sets his greedy eyes on me.

"Rehearse the vows you’re going to say in front of five hundred guests? Swearing that you’ll love me, cherish me, protect me, desire only me, until death do us part?" I suggest in a playful voice.

"Maybe not the vows tonight," he laughs softly. "But we could rehearse the honeymoon…"

"Not in your dreams!" I scoff. "Not so long as you haven’t made a respectable woman out of me!"

"Am I your King, yes or no? Make up your mind," he says, pushing me over on the couch.

I fight back, giggling, rolling every which way. I try to push him back, but his strength is like a dictator's and his determination… like an emperor's. In the end, I let him lie me on my back, warning him:

"If you are my king, I expect you to treat me like a queen…"

"Hmm… For the time being, you are just my bride-to-be, and don’t forget it," he sneers, lifting up my nightie.

"A bride-to-be doesn’t give herself up to her future husband so easily," I answer back, pulling down on the fabric. "A bride-to-be has principles!"

"You
high society
women, you don’t know what you’re missing! Let me show you, you little wild virgin, you!" he says, pulling off his boxer shorts.

I burst out laughing, trying to keep on the little bit of clothing I’m wearing. A nightie and a thong, which, after a verbal and physical struggle, mixed with laughter, threats and moans, end up landing on the grass.

"I’m going to teach you a thing or two, Ms. Lancaster, so that you’ll be able to satisfy your husband when the time comes," Vadim whispers between my lips as he lies down on top of me.

"You don’t know him, but he’s a vile man and…"

"Naughty little girl!" He bursts out laughing, before quietening me the best way there is.

A King-ly kiss…

In a fraction of a second, his slender body moves, his head drops between my open legs and I leave the earth and start orbiting. His tongue circles my clitoris, his lips pinch it, first gently, then more ferociously. I pant, trying to get back some kind of balance by hanging onto his shoulders, onto his hair, onto any and every part of him within my reach. Then his tongue – heavenly, warm and incredibly quick – goes farther down and slips inside me, sending delicious electroshocks all along my backbone. I moan and shudder longingly, Vadim calls me to attention by blocking my thighs and thrusting himself a little deeper down inside.

Ecstasy…

This little enchanting game – for adults only – lasts a heavenly eternity, until my lover decides to torture me more by putting a stop to everything, less than a second before I climax. I groan, protest and swear at him, which only serves to make him even more proud of himself.

"The king isn’t done with you yet," he hisses, pulling me by the arm to sit me up.

I let myself be handled and land straddling his lap. This time, I’m the one who takes the reins and, without leaving him the time to give me the next order, I slip his stiff cock into me. His naughty smile disappears in a flash, then returns, more flamboyant than ever.

"So, what happened to those principles?" he teases me, watching me go up and down on him.

"Shut up and let me come," I say, having a hard time articulating as I place my hand over his mouth.

I speed up the pace, wiggle at will, arch to feel him better. His manliness grows a little more inside me with each back-and-forth movement and my lover’s gaze becomes unavoidably blurred. Vadim makes no more attempts at wit, no longer tries to rattle or tease me. He is overcome, like me, by the diabolical spiral.

I kiss him slyly, gently marking his lips with my teeth. I dig my hands into his hair, then pull it, shoving myself down more roughly onto his cock. He seems to enjoy my boldness, and groans ferociously when I slow the pace down. I take off on the last lap, the one that will take us both to our climax. I ride him in a desperate frenzy, letting out long moans and shrieks. Then my ideas become confused, my mind leaves my body, the heat turns into fire and I completely stop moving, digging my nails into his flesh, as the orgasm drains us completely.

"Anything else, Mr. King?" I whisper into his ear a few minutes later, running my fingers over his prominent muscles.

"Alma Lancaster, the best decision of my whole life will be to marry you…" he murmurs as he closes his eyes, visibly worn out.

Butterflies!

First goal of the day: choose our wedding cake. Since Vadim isn’t available – I feel like I'm about to marry a ghost – I decided to requisition my two favorite tasters: my little sister and my best friend. For the occasion, the redhead accepted to leave her newborn at home. Clarence has been told: zero mistakes allowed…

The pastry chef – whose gorgeous creations are posted on every wall of the shop and whose prices reach astronomical heights – warns us: a wedding cake isn’t chosen at random. It has to go with the state of mind, the theme and the design of the celebration. And symbolize the bride and groom’s union, based on their favorite flavors and perfumes.

Musk and orange blossom… An intoxicating, provocative mix, but not very tasty.

How about cherry-almond – Intense, sweet and decadent: that sums us up well.

I’m about to ask the question that’s burning my lips: ask Clémentine and Lily to be my maids of honor. For almost an hour now, they’ve been giving me side glances, tasting the pastries with the tip of their spoons, sipping their tea, unable to hold back their awkward smiles. I’ve managed to get them rattled. My longstanding sidekicks know perfectly well why they are here. They are politely waiting for me to give them the news, not daring to bring it up first. The ultimate challenge for the two most impatient people I know! It’s mean but I love torturing them. I delight in the suspense far more than all the sweet, creamy cake parading by before my eyes.

The time has come…

"Lily, Clémentine, what are you doing two weeks from now?"

"Hey duh, what do you think?" my sister replies. "We’ll be weeping at your wedding!"

"Oh, so you’re already busy. Too bad, I’ll find someone else."

"Come on, Alma, stop keeping us waiting and just say it!" Clémentine giggles, her mouth full.

"I’ll need you more than ever," I say, looking at them one at a time. "To keep me from hyperventilating before I walk down the aisle. To keep me from falling on my face if I step on the train of my gown. To make speeches that will show to what extent I am a gift from above. To set the dance floor on fire!"

I pause, as they gaze at me, a little disconcerted, with shiny eyes. Then I go on:

"I’m forgetting something, but what? Oh, right! To sign the registry at City Hall!"

"Do you understand what she’s going on about?" Clem asks my sister, in a rasping voice.

"Not really… She wants us to organize activities at her wedding, is that it?" Lily answers, playing along, enjoying this little game.

"Come on, you smartasses, do you want to be my maids of honor or not?" I finally say, sniggering.

"Yes!" they scream in unison, throwing themselves at me.

Three-way hug.

Second goal: tick!

The first two were nothing compared to the third and last goal of my marathon day. Find my wedding gown. Ultimate stress. In two weeks, in this outfit – that I imagine chic and flowing, elegant and perfect, unique and refined to the utmost – I’ll say “I do” to the man of my life. Vadim King, who will be even more breathtaking than ever in his three-piece suit that matches his eyes.

This is the gown I’ll also be photographed in a billion times, including by the press if security doesn’t manage to keep the news from leaking. Daphné warned me in her haughtiest voice: “That’s highly likely to happen, my dear. So you’ll have to be absolutely flawless.”

If she weren’t preparing the wedding of the century for me, I’d get a kick out of rolling her hair extensions into a bun and shoving them down her throat…

Vera Wang. A legend. The celebrity in person and her three advisors – straight as arrows, with slightly frozen smiles – greet us at the entrance of the Parisian atelier. My mother and Pippa have joined us and the five of us go into this outstanding, and perfectly secret place.

As the future Mrs. King, doors open for me everywhere…

Only a handful of people have had the chance of stepping foot in here, to delve into the private domain of one of the world’s greatest fashion designers. Her sign of distinction:
haute couture
, including bridal gowns. Behind me, my redhead, blonde and two-toned friends hold back from yelping like uncontrollable fans. I asked them to “behave” themselves. They promised. I’m not sure I trust them. Marie is the only one I totally trust.

Glasses of champagne are held out to us almost immediately. I have a short, friendly conversation with Vera, who quickly vanishes, leaving me in the hands of, and I quote, “my most talented magicians.” The oldest one begins to speak while the two others stand quietly, waiting their turn. I figure everything is a matter of hierarchy here.

The race is on – time flies by at a crazy speed. I try on a dozen gowns, am pulled by several pairs of arms, in one direction or another. The three worker bees marvel several times at my “hourglass” figure, which makes me blush – I'm not used to compliments. My four guests aren’t bored backstage, judging from the laughing I hear erupting again and again. Their eyes are damp every time I appear in a new gown and they change their minds at least a hundred times. Finally, the trips back and forth stop at the same time as the fittings. The cut of the gown is determined: classic, feminine and timeless. The time has come to talk fabric, effects, and dyes. There's only word that is not uttered:

"Comfort?" advisor number two says, wide-eyed. "Miss Lancaster, that word is not part of our vocabulary…"

"You have to suffer to be beautiful… and to marry your billionaire!" Pippa announces, raising her glass for a toast to no one in particular.

Go easy on the bubbles, Pip’s…

"Let’s focus on the fabric," advisor number three resumes, holding samples of cloth in her hand.

"I was thinking of wild silk," I say right away. "That’s the fabric my mother and grandmother picked for their wedding gowns."

"Yes, Vera recommends it. The silk is handspun and provides a 'chic wrinkled' look," number one explains.

"How about a little dab of lace for a more vintage look? Silky satin for softness? Or muslin for an airy effect?" number two suggests.