Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (104 page)

“It’s not that old, but
The Notebook
was a
good one. I saw the movie and then read the book. It’s the same
story, but they’re told very differently. I think Nicholas Sparks is a
wonderful author.”

“Have you seen
Dear John
?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, giving him a funny
look. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen it? The powerful Asher
Landseer, CEO and billionaire, with a soft spot for dramatic romances?”

“Amanda Seyfried,” he said, as if this was
an excuse. “That’s what I tell people, anyways. She
is
beautiful, but I enjoyed the movie, too. It’s interesting. Very
different from what you’d expect.” Out of the blue, he glanced at me
and added, “You look a little like her, you know? Your eyes. I
mean, I’m not trying to…” He trailed off, realizing what he’d just
said.

Flirting, admiring me, playful banter. I drank
it all in, absolutely adored it, and yet I knew it made him uncomfortable(and
for good reason). “Right,” I said, laughing, rolling my
eyes. “There is no way I look anything like Amanda Seyfried.”

“Maybe not, but I think so,” he said.
He changed the subject. “How was the pizza? Alright?”

“Phenomenal!” I said. “I really
liked it.”

The credits of the movie finished and Asher clicked
some buttons on the remote to switch the projector off. We sat there,
talking, telling each other a million little things about ourselves. What
did I like to do when I had a day off? Where did he like to go, what was
his favorite place in the city? What did I think of the restaurant the
other day? What kind of music did he like to listen to? Did I like
coffee? He knew a great, quiet coffee shop in a quaint town nearby.
Maybe we could go there sometime; they had local author readings, poetry, and
trivia events.

Evening settled into dusk, which turned into
night. The tinted windows looked pitch black, the darkness outside
wearing away their usefulness. Asher had dimmed the lights when he
started the movie(another one of his secret switches), and his guest home
transformed into a quiet, relaxing place. It was almost as if it were
anywhere else, as if we weren’t sitting on a couch at his multi-million dollar
estate and instead were somewhere far off and regular.

We dozed, talking, but responding less and less
often. I leaned against him, my eyes closed, never wanting this night to
end but knowing I’d fall asleep soon. And, without warning, it happened.

…

I awoke in the dead of night. Asher must have
stayed awake longer than me, since the lights were dimmed even lower now,
almost nonexistent. I could see enough of the living room to notice he’d
covered us with blankets and changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants.
On the coffee table, folded and in a pile, he’d left me a pair of nightclothes,
too. I stretched, gently pushed the blankets off of me, and stood
up. I needed to use the bathroom, so I figured I’d change into the
pajamas while I was at it.

They must be his wife’s, but they fit me pretty
well. Or, had he bought them for me specifically? I couldn’t
imagine anyone ordering a pair of pajamas for delivery in the middle of the
night, but then again I never could have imagined spending the night with
someone like Asher Landseer before now, either. I thought about that,
wondering, as I made my way back to the living room and the blankets. I
suppose I could have went upstairs to one of the beds, but I liked the idea of
sleeping with Asher. Just close, right? Nothing more than that,
nothing more than what we’d already done.

I slipped under the blankets, careful not to disturb
him, and eased towards him again. He lay on his back on the couch, but
the seat cushions were big enough that if I wanted to I could inch up and lay
next to him. A tight fit if I did that, but not too bad. Or, at
least, I wouldn’t fall off the couch unless we both moved around a lot in our
sleep.

I didn’t go that far, but I leaned against his feet,
resting my upper body against the back of the couch. My arm fidgeted,
pulling the blankets over me. In the dark, I couldn’t see much, and my
hand moved beneath the blankets, trying to figure out where one of them stopped
and the other began. It wasn’t that easy, though. While we slept,
our blankets must have gotten mixed up a bit. I had a part of his and he
had a part of mine and…

My hand brushed against his thigh accidentally.
Upwards, I pulled at his pajamas bottoms, thinking they were a part of the
blanket. Nothing happened, so I pulled a little more, but was careful in
case I woke him. When I realized what I had a hold of, which was
definitely not the blankets, I blushed. Whoops! And then, when I
realized there was something else beneath my hand, I blushed even more.

A fact of life, I knew, and nothing he could control
in his sleep, but Asher was hard and ready beneath the blankets. The side
of my hand pressed against his crotch and his manhood when I’d tried to pull
the blankets(or his pants) away. He must have felt it, would wake up and
look at me and… but no, he remained asleep. I pulled my hand away then,
brought it above the blankets and put it in my lap. Bad hand, I thought
to it. Don’t do bad things like that.

Asher continued to lay there, oblivious. On his
back, with his legs spread slightly, blanket covering most of his body.
The side of my thigh touched against the soles of his feet. I should go
to sleep, I told myself. Yes, definitely, except I suddenly didn’t want to.
I suddenly wanted to do something that I knew I should definitely not do.

Bad, awful thoughts. What happened if Asher woke
up? Well, he’d be upset, obviously. If I did this, then there was
no knowing what he’d do in return. We’d made amends, somewhat, and while
it involved him bringing me to a rough climax with his mouth and his hands,
he’d made it relatively clear that the act was not to be reciprocated.
Except, why not?

The more I thought about it, the more I convinced
myself that I should. Because, really, if he brought me to orgasm, then
he deserved the same, right? It made sense, strictly speaking.
Besides the fact that I absolutely relished the idea, and wanted to do it
without a doubt, it had a certain amount of sound logic backing it. An
eye for an eye, an orgasm for an orgasm? It was just the right thing to
do.

I carefully moved aside the blankets. Not
entirely, but enough that I could see where I was going. Sneaking across
the couch, creeping carefully, I settled in between Asher’s legs. He
remained sleeping the entire time, calm, shallow breathing. I propped
myself up on my elbows and looked at what I had to work with.

Asher was erect, that much was obvious. And, to
my good fortune, he wore a typical style of men’s pajama pants. A single
button in the center of a loose, slitted opening in the middle of the pajama
pants crotch area gave me all the access I needed to fulfill my task. A
task, I told myself, over and over. I shouldn’t enjoy it, because it was
something I should do. Like work, a job.

Except, honestly? No, I would enjoy this very
much.

I stretched a finger out, prodding at the
button. With barely any effort, it came loose. I slowly put my hand
into his pants and pulled out his throbbing shaft, setting it free from its
pajama prison. Asher’s cock greeted me with a hearty hello, looking happy
to see me. I grinned at the image of that.

Still, I didn’t have a lot of room with how things
were currently set up. I shifted to the side, trying to ease him into
widening his legs a little more. Careful, inch by inch, I managed to give
myself more room without waking him up. The cool air in the room, quite
different from the warmth of his core and his pajamas, seemed to harden his
shaft’s resolve. I stared at it, watching it flex and twitch inadvertently
as Asher slept, blissfully unaware.

Careful, barely anything at all, I touched the sides
of his cock. Immediately it twitched between my fingers, stretching
upwards. I held it in my hand, feeling the wicked warmth of him,
delighting in it. He felt radiant, like a blazing furnace in the middle
of winter. I got a more firm grip on his shaft, holding it in place so
that when he twitched I didn’t risk losing him. My hand stroked him
downwards, towards his pajama pants and the center of his body, then ever so
slowly upwards, to the head of his cock.

This was not enough, though. Not nearly
enough. I squeezed closer still, until my head was just above his
crotch. I admired his manhood as I stroked it, taking in every twitch and
strain. Whenever he flexed his cock while he slept, I could see the veins
pushing out. I squeezed them beneath my fingers, stroking him up and
down, slow so as not to wake him.

I lowered my head and opened my mouth, engulfing his
cockhead between my lips. Immediately he tensed and I thought this was
it. He was going to wake up, realize what was going on, and I’d be in
horrible trouble. He’d kick me out of his guest home, throw me out onto
the streets, and who knew what. Except, no, he tensed, but nothing
more. His breathing remained calm, though a bit more ragged than before,
not as shallow.

I stroked downwards and lowered my head at the same
time, taking more of him into my mouth. He tasted a little sweet,
with a hint of salt, but not too much. It was nice and I liked it.
Somewhat like a chocolate covered pretzel, salty and sweet. That was the
best way I could think to explain it, at least.

My head bobbed up and down and I took a risk and went
a little faster. From my vantage point I could see his testicles tightening
in his pants. My free hand snuck into the unbuttoned slit in the crotch
of his pajamas and gently squeezed his balls between my fingers. I rolled
them around, stroked him, pressed my lips tightly around his shaft and moved my
head up and down.

I heard a whisper. “Jessika…”

I froze mid stroke, lips wrapped around his cock and
my hand holding his balls. Nothing more, though, just the quiet
whisper. He lay there, unmoving, and I realized he must be
dreaming. Still asleep, relaxed, but dreaming and faintly whispering my
name. Did he dream of me? The idea excited me.

I returned to what I was doing, focusing on him
entirely. He tensed and flexed in my grip while his legs twitched
slightly every so often. I thought he would surely wake up, but I didn’t
care. I would do this thing, finish it off, and then act as if nothing
had happened. There were sleep walkers, right? Maybe this is what I
did in my sleep. It was a medical problem, I would tell him. He
couldn’t hold it against me if I said that, right?

He was close. I could feel it, feel his balls
tightening and moving closer to the center of his body. His cock
tightened even more. His heartbeat pounded through his stiff rod,
radiating bright heat. I grew sloppy in my haste. I stroked him quicker,
trying to urge him towards climax, but still careful so that I didn’t wake
him. This was, I reaffirmed, a terrible idea, but a necessity, too.
I needed this so badly, and by the looks of it, Asher did, also.

Asher’s cock jerked in my hand and in my mouth and in
a matter of seconds he came. Strong, urgent jets of cum splashed against
the back of my throat. Over and over, nearly nonstop, and he didn’t seem
like he was going to soften any time soon. I continued to stroke him.
He squirmed on the couch, clearly feeling it, but still in some lucid state of
dreaming.

Once he finished his climax, I realized I hadn’t quite
prepared for this. What exactly was I supposed to do now? Stop, of
course, and ease his softening cock back into his pants and redo the button,
but then what? What did I do with the cum in my mouth? I’d never
swallowed before, and I hadn’t even given many men a blowjob either, but I
didn’t have much choice now, did I? I could get up, hope I didn’t wake
him, and spit it out, or swallow it and lay here like nothing ever happened.

I decided to swallow. Asher was moving around
now, somewhat restless, and I thought if I got up he’d realize his dream was a
little more than that and he would do something. My random idea that I
could play it off as part of a sleeping issue now seemed ridiculous and
absurd. Who would ever believe that? Did I really think I could
fool anyone with that line? Especially someone like Asher Landseer?

No, probably not, so I swallowed his seed and fixed
his pants and scooted up so I lay right next to him. Quiet, nervous, I
lay there and waited to see if he would wake up. A minute passed, and
another. Maybe more, maybe an hour, but I continued to lay there,
thinking I’d give myself away at any moment and he’d punish me(and not in a
good way).

He never did, though. He moved, yes, but only to
wrap his arm around me in his sleep. No conscious effort to it, I
thought, just something he did. I nestled against his chest, smelling
him. He smelled faintly of citrus, like a glass of water with a wedge of
lemon, and a hint of baby powder. Closing my eyes, I took in his scent,
finding it relaxing. His strong arm held me tight. I put my own arm
across his stomach and closed my eyes.

…

When I woke up in the morning, Asher was staring at
me. He had this strange, curious look in his eyes like he didn’t know
what to do with me. I lay there, contented, with his arm wrapped around
me and my arm draped over his chest. I yawned and blinked and rubbed my
eyes and then I realized where I was and what exactly I was doing.