Billionaire Games (7 page)

S
imeon waited
for the elevator doors to close, and when they did, he finally felt like he could breathe. The ride down to the garage passed in a haze, one that was pleasure-filled and agonizing in equal measure.

That was Claire, what she did to him, and as much as he hated to admit it, as much as he wanted to deny it, it was still the same, even now.

He walked to his car slowly, halfway hoping that his unhurried, casual steps would allow him to undo some of the excitement and anxiousness that wormed through him, the desire that had him wanting to turn back around.

Simeon wouldn’t run from her, wouldn’t let her chase him out of his own house, for fuck’s sake, but he kept marching toward the car, knowing that he couldn’t go back.

It wasn’t the sex that had him this on edge.

That had been phenomenal, beyond phenomenal. Sex with Claire had made the countless interludes between the time that he had had her last and today meaningless, even more so than they had been before. The things that drove him crazy about her, her curves, her sweetness, that streak of innocent kindness that never seemed to go away even as she took his cock like she had been made for him, those weren’t it either.

He’d expected that, planned for it, and had been pleased when he had discovered it. She had been beautiful before, but was even more so now, had blossomed into a sweet, sinful woman that he could, and would, spend countless hours learning.

But that didn’t account for his reaction, nor did it make up for his utter blindness when it came to her.

He’d kept his clothes on intentionally, had liked the idea of her feeling vulnerable, had liked the idea of keeping some distance. But Claire, fucking Claire, had turned the tables on him.

She always had, and that was something that didn’t seem to have changed. Just when he thought he had the upper hand, when he thought he was getting somewhere, she’d asked that question, asked for his help, her expression defiant, prideful, honest, so much so that his desire for her had spiked.

He’d taken her from behind, thinking that maybe if he didn’t see her face he could keep himself detached, another lie and impossibility, for even though he hadn’t seen her, he’d heard her moans, so expressive, heard the hitch in her breath as he had stroked himself inside her, saw the way she had clenched at the glass, her small fingers working at it as if she needed to do something to stay inside herself.

But even that wasn’t the full story.

He suspected, hoped, he could’ve withstood all of that, but when she had curled against him as he’d carried her, the smallest smile on her face, the need to hold her against him, take her again and again—the need to keep her forever—had sent him scurrying away.

The entire purpose behind all of this was to get Claire out of his system, not to bury her in deeper, and the way he felt in that moment, like he was home, like what they had had been real, and could be real again, had sent him away.

He speed out of the garage, headed for his house.

The penthouse had been a special purchase. Simeon had bought the place specifically for her, instinct telling him a hotel would be wrong for their time together, but that inviting her into his home would be deadly. And as he approached his second penthouse, he knew he’d been right.

As he walked into his building, one of the nicest and most expensive in the city, he realized how he could never allow her here. His pride at ascending to this height, the satisfaction, however hollow, of looking down on all of those who had tossed him away, would seem like nothing in the face of Claire’s presence there.

So he couldn’t have her here, couldn’t withstand memories of her in yet another place.

Yet hours later, he restlessly prowled, not able to relax. His cock was relentlessly hard and only getting harder, the small taste of her that he’d had nowhere near enough to satiate him.

He should stay where he was, try to keep his equilibrium. That would be the smart thing to do.

Simeon was back in his car and headed to Claire in before he had the chance to again make himself see reason.

It was quiet when he arrived, and he heard the shower in the distance.

He walked toward the sound, his need increasing with each step that brought him closer. He pushed open the partially closed bathroom door, heading to Claire without pause.

When she noticed him, she inhaled with surprise but then relaxed when she recognized him.

As he got closer, he stripped out of his clothing, and when he stepped inside the shower he looked down at her, her hair darkened by the pouring water.

“I’m back, Claire. Are you ready for me?”

T
he next morning
, Simeon stood in the same spot he had the night before, emotions still swirling, more intense if that was even possible. He’d been standing there for what seemed like hours and was no closer to unraveling the conundrum that was Claire or the way she was making him feel.

Last night, he’d fucked her twice more, taking her with a desperation and need that only intensified each time. She’d finally fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep, and as he’d lain next to her, he’d fought with himself, told himself to leave.

But doing so had been impossible, so he’d stayed. And with each moment he had lain next to her, the urge to pull her closer, curl his body around hers, and fall into what he knew would be his first restful sleep since he’d had her in his bed last had beat at him, demanded that he hold her, bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair, and drift away.

Somehow, he couldn’t say exactly how, though, he’d resisted that urge and had instead gone to the living room and folded his body onto the love seat that was far too small for him and slept. He had homes all over the world, beds that he had never actually slept in, but the discomfort was nothing, not when Claire was in the next room.

He’d slept well enough, but only briefly, and just a few hours later, he was awake and dressed as Claire still slept away.

Another difference between them.

Claire had always slept solidly, peacefully, given herself to the vulnerability that sleep brought as only a person who was untroubled could. She was one of the people who didn’t worry about what might face them in their dreams.

Simeon did, though, and he knew that the past he always fought to forget was just a dream away, so his sleep had always been fitful, fleeting. Except when he had been with her.

There was a knock at the door, and Simeon was grateful for the distraction. He knew he wouldn’t have left of his own volition, so at the second quiet knock, he turned away abruptly and strode toward the door. He was always intoxicated by the view, but he kept his gaze straight ahead. Looking at it was a bad idea, anyway.

Simeon had had his assistant select several potential properties, but when he’d walked into this unit and seen the view, he’d known Claire would love it. That shouldn’t have mattered, but Simeon had bought it on the spot.

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself.

He had to admit, though, that the expression on her face when she’d first glimpsed the harbor might have been worth it. She’d always loved the water, and seeing her there, staring out into the harbor, had also felt right. That rightness was a part of what had him so wound up.

When he reached the door, he pulled it open.

“Good morning, Mr. Hayes. Your breakfast is here. May we enter?” the building’s concierge asked.

“Good morning. Yeah, come in. You can put it there,” he said, nodding toward the dining area.

The concierge nodded and then entered, followed by another member of the building’s staff who rolled in a heavily laden cart. After they’d wheeled the cart to the empty dining area, the two men left as quickly and efficiently as they had arrived.

And then Simeon waited.

He should go, should have been gone hours ago, but he stayed, waiting for Claire to wake.

A half hour later, he heard her stir, and then a few minutes after that, Claire emerged, again dressed in her demure skirt and blouse, her hair neatly arranged, though there was nothing she could do to dampen the glow in her cheeks, or the loose, easy way she walked.

One look at her and he would know how she’d spent her night, even if he hadn’t been a firsthand witness and eager, anxious participant.

“Morning, Simeon,” she said, smiling at him shyly.

He then returned the greeting and said, “Food is here.”

She seemed to notice the tray and then looked at him and back to it, her brows lifted with question, a slight, questioning frown on her face. She walked toward it, and when she reached the tray, she lifted one of the silver domes, laughed under her breath, and then looked up at him.

“You remembered I like oatmeal?” she asked.

As if he could forget. That she liked oatmeal, that her favorite color was purple, that she rarely bought anything that wasn’t on sale. As if he could forget anything about her.

He couldn’t say that, though, so he said nothing.

“There’s only one bowl,” she said. Then she looked to him again. “You still don’t eat breakfast?”

She grabbed the bowl and then inclined her head toward the love seat. At his nod, she padded over to it, her bare feet thumping softly against the floor. After she’d sat, she folded her left leg under her and looked to him.

“I can share,” she said, lifting he bowl toward him.

He shook his head, and after a moment, she began to eat.

No, Simeon almost never ate breakfast. It hadn’t been an option when he was growing up, and he hadn’t picked up the habit as an adult.

Actually, lack of breakfast was probably why he had done so well in school. He’d had perfect attendance, and had never, not once, missed a day. At least at school he could always count on lunch, and his body had gotten used to not being hungry until then. Claire had tried to encourage him to break that habit and would often prepare him elaborate meals, telling him how breakfast was important to start a day.

Stop this shit, Simeon!
he scolded himself.

He glared at Claire, who seemed perfectly content as she ate her oatmeal.

How did she do this to him? Make him think of his past, of how she was the only good thing in it, with no effort at all?

He hated this, hated her for doing it to him.

“Finish your breakfast, Claire,” he said.

Claire looked up at him quickly and swallowed, her eyes wide. He stared back at her, and though he couldn’t see his own face, he knew her expression as intense. It couldn’t be anything else, not when he was fighting with his ever-present desire for her and trying to deny how deeply she moved him.

She set her bowl down and then met his eyes again. “I’m finished, Simeon,” she said.

Her voice had dropped low, deepened with sensual need, and as he watched her, he saw her eyes darken and noticed the way her breath came out faster.

“Come here,” he whispered.

Claire swallowed again and then stood and began to walk toward him. As she came toward him, her breasts moved under her prim white blouse, and Simeon realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. It was his turn to swallow as he watched her come toward him. His cock thickened, throbbing insistently against his pants, but he again drew on his patience and self-control and waited until she stood directly in front of him.

He wanted to kiss her, claim her lips and then her body, but he didn’t. If he kissed her, he didn’t know if he would be able to keep that self-control, and he didn’t know what the touch might reveal. Besides, a kiss meant something, was far too reminiscent of those earlier times when Claire had given him the only love he’d ever known. He couldn’t go back there, couldn’t let himself remember that.

So instead, he focused on the one thing he knew he could handle.

“Do you know what I want to do right now, Claire?” he asked.

She blinked, and a blush bloomed across her cheeks. She did know, and her face gave her away.

“You want to…you want to have sex,” she said.

Simeon lifted his hands and began working at the buttons of her blouse, not taking his eyes from hers.

“No,” he said, watching the subtle change to her expression as he opened more and more buttons on her blouse.

When he pulled it open and down her shoulders, she breathed out and then lowered her eyes. But not out of embarrassment. It was desire, pure and simple, that had her gaze dropping low. He saw the telltale signs, the way she darted her tongue in and out of her mouth to swipe her bottom lip. The ragged edge that came into her breath. And even if those hadn’t given her away, her tightly puckered nipples would have.

Simeon filled his hands with her soft tits and then stroked his thumbs across her nipples.

“What do I want to do, Claire?” he asked again.

She lifted her eyes to his again, and Simeon thought he might come on the spot when he saw the burning passion in her eyes.

“You want to fuck me,” she said.

She stumbled over the “fuck” as he had known she would. Claire almost never swore, and when she did, her lack of facility with the words always gave her away. Simeon dropped his hand to the hem of her skirt and then began to move his fingers her the silky skin of her soft thigh. He stopped, and his cock twitched, when he realized she wore no panties, her sex bare under the almost-severe black skirt.

Claire breathed a little harder and Simeon began to move again until his hand was pressed against her core. He slid a finger along her puffy lips and found them slick and wet. Claire didn’t swear, but she’d always gone off when Simeon had her say all the things he was going to do to her out loud.

Her soaking pussy told him that hadn’t changed.

Simeon worked his fingers against her slit as he whispered, “And what do you want to do now?”

She arched her back and moved closer to him, an answer of sorts, but not the one he sought. He wanted the words, and wouldn’t give either of them the release they sought until he had them.

“I want… I want you to fuck me,” she said, her voice thick and heavy with desire.

“Tell me how,” he said casually, though he wanted to bury himself so deep inside her he could barely keep himself still. But he held out, knowing that hearing her would be worth it, knowing that each moment he waited would only make their eventual coming together that much better.

She reached for him and curled her fingers against his chest. Then she lifted her eyes to his and met his gaze without wavering. As she stared at him, she moved her hands down his chest and wrapped her fingers around his cloth-covered erection.

“I want your cock in my pussy,” she said without stuttering.

Her blush deepened and her sex got even slicker, another sign of her desire, a desire that he decided he would fulfill.

“Take out my cock, Claire,” Simeon said, his own voice far rougher than hers.

He’d initiated this game, but he was rapidly losing control and was near a frenzy as he wrenched her skirt up around her waist, unwilling to take the time to bother with removing it from her body.

Claire’s own clumsy movements mirrored his desire as she worked at his belt buckle and hurriedly opened his pants. His breath hitched when Claire wrapped her fingers around his cock and pulled it from his pants. He looked down and at the sight of his shaft in Claire’s hand, Simeon hardened more and a clear pearl of precum leaked from the tip of his cockhead.

Simeon pushed her hand away and then wrapped his arms around her waist. When he lifted her, she hooked her legs around his hips almost automatically. Eyes locked with hers, he thrust his hips shallowly, teasing at her entrance first before he began to enter her.

He pushed slowly, letting her heat and wetness coat him inch by inch. When he was completely inside her, he paused and closed his eyes against the intensity of again being inside her. She shifted in his arms, and he opened his eyes to meet hers. Her face was twisted with pleasure and she gripped his shirt tight, the desperation in her hold and in the way she moved making him move.

Simeon turned so that Claire’s back was against the wall and then he thrust inside her over and over. All that he gave, she took, and then Claire put her arms around his shoulders and laid her face against his neck. Her warm breath blew against his skin and her tight pussy gripped his cock tight, and with each thrust, he knew he took her higher. He knew the exact moment that she reached her peak, and that feeling, together with the weight of Claire’s soft body in his arms, proved to be too much.

He came and emptied himself as he continued to thrust, feeling wild and free and alive in a way he only did with her. He continued to thrust as long as he could, not wanting to break the connection with her, wanting to hold it as long as he could. Minutes passed, and it was only when Claire began to lower her legs that Simeon let her go.

She lowered her feet to the floor and Simeon stepped back, missing the connection between them. And that was how he knew he had to go. He’d stayed too long already, and he wouldn’t risk staying another moment.

He looked her over from head to toe one last time, pausing on her face to take in her soft, satisfied expression.

“Be ready when I come back,” he said.

And though he wanted to hold her close, and never, ever let her go, he left.