Wicked Billionaire Page 7

  Looking down at Bailey, I let my fingers work at the foil wrapper. She holds still with me deep in her mouth, waiting with an impatient look on her face as I free the condom.

  I hold it up, leer down at her. “Safety first.”

  When she grunts, I feel it vibrate down my entire length. Apparently, she takes the rubber as a sign the blow job is over. With an exaggerated suck that nearly makes my knees buckle, she releases me with a pop, then has the audacity to smirk as she daintily wipes the corner of her mouth with a fingertip.

  Fuck, I’d love to bend her over my lap, spank the shit out of her for that, but I only have so much restraint left. Instead, I remove my pants until I’m completely naked, then order, “Ditch the thong, but keep the bra on.”

  Bailey cocks an eyebrow, so I admit with a grin, “It makes your tits look fantastic.”

  I almost laugh as she looks down at them thoughtfully before hooking her thumbs into the lacy waistband and shimmies them down.

  And it’s at this moment, I realize something.

  Tipping my head to the side as she steps out of the thong and tosses it on the chaise, I ask her, “What’s going through your mind, Miss Robbins?”

  Her lips curve upward slightly, but she just shakes her head.

  “Tell me,” I order.

  She gives a careless shrug before admitting, “I thought I’d be more embarrassed.”

  When I glance around the room, I understand. Some people are watching, while others are too busy fucking. But I get what she’s saying.

  I settle my eyes on her. “It’s the atmosphere. While I’ve never done drugs, some liken this to the rush of heroin or cocaine. It sort of takes you out of yourself. Makes you a different person.”

  “Or maybe I’m the same person, but just haven’t been able to express myself properly,” she replies cryptically.

  As I study her, I contemplate how much—and how varied—her sexual experience has been. I took her to be a strait-laced woman, but maybe I’ve misjudged her.

  Regardless, she’s here now, nearly naked and wet. I don’t need to know more.

  I hand her the condom. She takes it, flipping it between her fingers, considering it as if it’s been a while since she’s seen one. Her gaze moves to my cock, which juts out from my body—demanding attention. She grips the base of my shaft, then rolls the condom on slowly, seductively, ending with a gentle squeeze. An effort that’s not needed within these walls, since me fucking her is a given.

  With my dick still in her grasp, I take her by the nape of her neck and pull her in close. Her head tips back, her eyes glazing as I stare at her mouth before bending to it. I brush my lips against hers, feeling her breath stuttering as her body relaxes until I’m all but holding her upright. Sinking my teeth down into her lower lip, I feel her body jerk, then I slant my mouth over hers for a consuming kiss.

  Her hands settle on my hips while mine moves to her cheek as the kiss deepens, turning wild and tumultuous. I shift her backward, the chaise only a foot behind us. Her calves hit the cushioned edge, and I lower her. Somehow, we manage to scoot onto it until we’re in the middle without once breaking our kiss. Bailey’s legs part, knees bending, and I settle against her lithe frame.

  Every one of my senses demand I claim her quickly. It’s the nature of the club, as foreplay starts the minute members walk in the door. Slow lovemaking is meant for people at home in their beds with soft lighting and gentle music. The hard and fast fucking surrounding us in The Orgy Room demands I do the same.

  And yet, I take a few seconds to rear back, pulling the edge of her lacy bra cup down to let one breast pop free. I’m not sure if it’s the lacy friction or the vibe of this place, but her nipple is a hard nub just begging for attention. Lowering my head, I draw it into my mouth and suck.

  Bailey cries out, clasps the back of my head, and arches to push deeper into my mouth. Christ, she’s responsive. I need to know if other parts of her are the same. Her neck? Inner thigh? Collarbone?

  One place I know for sure will produce a reaction, and I let my hand drift between her legs as I scrape my teeth over her nipple. I gentle my fingers through her wet folds, which makes her pant. She bows her back as I thrust in knuckle deep.

  “Declan,” she mumbles. Bemused, I lift my head. It’s the first time she has ever used my name.

  Something about it somehow seems far more intimate than her naked underneath me while in a sex club with my finger deep inside her pussy.

  Something about it turns me way the fuck on, and I don’t understand why.

  I only know I want to hear my name on her lips again.

  Dipping my head toward her, I give her a hard kiss, which causes her to scrunch her brow. Smirking, I slide down her body. As I use my mouth to map her skin, I note her ribs are slightly ticklish, her abs contract when I lick just under her belly button, and she’s sensitive when my tongue finds the inside of her thigh.

  When I press my face into her pussy, I lick straight up her slit. Immediately, I’m rewarded.

  “Declan,” she exclaims. Her hands latch onto my head. She attempts to push me away, but only for a moment. As I find her clit, her actions change. Her fingers slip into my hair, curling and gripping tightly enough to make my scalp tingle.

  Using my hands, I lift her legs up and over my shoulders, then attack her pussy. My goal is simple—hearing my name and getting her to come furiously fast.

  I suck, lick, flutter, and jab my tongue in a storm of purpose. Bailey’s heels dig into my back, her hips driving upward to demand more—I fucking love a greedy girl—and in mere seconds, she’s exploding. My ears ring as her legs slam against the side of my head, her entire body shuddering as she climaxes. When I suck hard on her clit, she cries out and then my name comes out of her mouth again, this time soft and prayer-like. “Declan…”

  It’s perfect, yet simultaneously too much. It bothers me that I’m as moved as I am by her reaction, but my body doesn’t care about my sensibilities. I surge up, putting my arm under her lower back to heave her farther up the chaise. With rough movements, I spread her legs and lean forward until my cock rests against her opening. Leaning to the side, I press an elbow into the cushion beside her shoulder, then cup her cheek.

  Just as I crush my mouth onto hers, I surge forward and claim her pussy in one deep stroke. Again, she arches, moaning into my mouth as she takes the crude invasion of my cock.

  But fuck if she doesn’t stretch beautifully, conforming and contracting around me. She raises her legs, spreading them wide, and gripping my ass. Nails digging in, she silently urges me to give her more.

  Lovemaking is for sissies, and my assistant wants to be fucked. I draw back, my length gliding through the slick heat to the tip before pounding back in. Bailey grunts, an amusing sound I’d laugh at if I were in a more jovial mood.

  But my mood is dark and needy. I need to come, and I need to make sure I wreck her at the same time. I jerk my mouth from hers, rearing up as I glide my hands to the backs of her thighs. Raising her legs, I split them open, holding her suspended… contorted a bit uncomfortably… and I fuck her hard.

  Bailey groans, chest heaving. She grips onto my forearms, eyes glazed as she disappears into a faraway place filled with lust and unyielding pleasure. She seems entirely lost right now, so I’m stunned when I hear her quiet plea. “More.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter, leaning into her as I drop her calves to my shoulders. I press my hands into the cushion, lean harder until she’s practically bent in half, then drill my cock into her over and over again.

  My balls ache with the need to release. As I look down at Bailey… comparing her face, which is contorted with pleasure, and how she looked with her mouth full of my cock, to my purely professional assistant, I feel like I’ve fucking conquered her.

  That knowledge tears my orgasm free, and I growl as I unload into her. I grind my cock into her, milking my pleasure for a few more strokes before I let her legs fall from my shoulders, where they drop limply
to the chaise.

  “Christ,” I murmur roughly, dropping my head onto her shoulder as I suck in air. My heart is hammering so hard my vision is a bit blurred. Fuck, that was a mind-bending orgasm, and every bit of control I felt before I came seems stripped away.

  And I realize, without a doubt, this woman is unlike any other I’ve been with. She’s dangerous.

  I lift my head, gazing down at her. She’s completely blissed out, eyes at half-mast as she smiles blearily. Fuck… it pains my cold dark heart when I settle on the only solution.

  I’m going to have to fire her.

  CHAPTER 10

  Bailey

  Declan’s deep voice carries as he makes his way through the front portion of the executive suite. He’s down near Alexander’s office, the head chef, and my hands nervously sweat as I wait for him in his office.

  I have his coffee perched on his desk, afraid I might spill it because my hands are shaking. The department reports from yesterday are clutched tightly in my fist, probably now damp from sweat.

  A quick glance down at my outfit—a repeat I’ve worn once before—a navy pinstripe suit with wing-tipped heels reassures me I look fine, yet I don’t feel like I belong here.

  I know I don’t.

  Seeing as how he’d informed me that I was fired when he dropped me off at my house last night.

  He didn’t say it quite as bluntly, although he hadn’t sugarcoated it either. It was an awkwardly silent ride in his Porsche Boxster to my low-income neighborhood, the heat and sexuality of The Wicked Horse Vegas long forgotten. My orgasms had cooled and the recriminations had set in, apparently on both sides.

  When he pulled to the curb in front of my house, he’d put the car in park and turned to me, addressing me so formally. “I’m extremely sorry, Miss Robbins, but the line we crossed can’t be uncrossed. Because of that, I don’t think it’s wise to continue our working relationship.”

  I’d gaped, blindsided, never having considered this might be the outcome. He’d never warned losing my job would be a consequence, because if he had, I damn well would have kept my legs closed.

  “I thought it was just a one-time thing,” I’d said, trying to keep a leash on my anger. “Nothing should change.”

  His blank expression hadn’t offered a single hint as to what he was genuinely thinking. No remorse, no second thoughts. He merely offered, “Your housekeeping position is still yours if you like. If not, I’ll give you a severance package to help tide you over if you choose to find employment elsewhere.”

  The confident woman inside of me… the one who was able to step into this job and exceed his expectations was incensed. The fragile woman whose husband left her for someone else immediately suspected our time together in The Orgy Room wasn’t as great as I had thought it to be and chose not to respond.

  Instead, I merely growled, “You’re an asshole, Dicklan.”

  I then made a graceful exit punctuated with a hard slam of his car door behind me. I had no illusion he’d come after me, with perhaps even an apology. Dicklan Blackwood didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.

  Fury drove me into my house, and I paced back and forth through my small box of a living room several times, trying to figure out what to do. The job he gave me was a brand-new lease on my life. The money was a saving grace to me, and I was actually doing something that I excelled at. And there was no way in hell I was going to be able to go back to housekeeping, a complete and utter disaster of a fall from the top.

  Before I gave up for the night without coming up with a single worthwhile plan, I made sure to lock my doors. When I looked out the small pane of dirty glass on the front door, I’d been surprised to see Declan’s Porsche still out by the curb. Was he having second thoughts? Regrets? Or perhaps he’d just been answering texts and emails on his phone before he took off?

  I had no clue, and it only infuriated me more to see him out there. Pivoting on my heel, I’d gone straight to my bathroom to take a hot shower and wash away his smell. As the soap circled the drain, I used it as a metaphor of sorts to rinse the amazing, transcendental, and orgasmic experience from my memory.

  I was done with him.

  Or so I thought.

  I woke up this morning, and inspiration hit. I decided that I was not about to let him cut me from a job that I had rightfully earned and had done nothing wrong for which I should be fired. So I showered again, did my hair, applied my makeup, and chose one of the insanely expensive outfits he had bought for me. I made my way into work early, moving toward my desk with greetings to the other secretarial staff who were arriving. I ran the reports, made his coffee, and here I presently wait.

  The minute he steps into his office, my stomach rolls. I can’t tell if it’s dread for the confrontation we’re about to have, or a reaction to how devastatingly gorgeous he is. His head is bowed over his iPhone, but it snaps up the moment he realizes someone is standing in his office.

  There’s a moment where something strange and shadowed passes over his face. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I swear, it almost looks like relief. But then his eyes widen, dispelling whatever it was, before narrowing.

  “What are you doing here, Miss Robbins?” he clips out.

  That was the wrong greeting because my fury wells, the sweat on my palms drying.

  “Miss Robbins?” I hiss, taking a step in his direction. “Miss Robbins? Not less than ten hours ago, you had your cock pounding away in between my legs, Declan. I think we can dispense with formalities.”

  Declan’s jaw tightens, his glare intimidating. He steps all the way into his office, then shuts the door behind him. “Mind keeping it down? I’d prefer not everyone knows our business.”

  “Business?” I ask in exaggerated surprise, sarcasm dripping from my words. “If what we did last night is business, then why did you fire me? Huh? Was my performance not up to your standards?”

  “Your performance exceeded my standards,” he grits between clenched teeth. “And last night had nothing to do with business, and you damn well know it.”

  A warm flush sweeps through me, pointing out that I had been harboring massive insecurity about whether or not last night was any good for him. It eases the anger and levels me out slightly.

  I take in a breath and let it out.

  “Look,” I say in a conciliatory tone. “I get we crossed a line. It was bad judgment. But I do not see why we can’t hold to what we originally said, that it would be a one and done type of thing. I don’t understand why I have to lose my job.”

  “It’s complicated—”

  “No, it’s really not,” I cut in over him. His eyebrows rise, showing evident surprise at my nerve, and screw him and his sense of humor… his lips then curve upward because I amuse him.

  “Miss Robbins,” he says as if I’m becoming a mild annoyance.

  “Don’t Miss Robbins me again, Declan,” I growl. “After last night, we are on a first-name basis.”

  “Declan?” he muses, his words sounding like silk and dark chocolate. “I thought it was Dicklan last night.”

  “That was well deserved,” I admit primly. “But the fact of the matter is, I’m good at my job. I’ve been a good employee… better than any you’ve had in a long time. This job is important to me, and I can’t begin to tell you how much I need it.”

  “Why do you need it?” he queries, and that stops me in my tracks. Because it’s frankly none of his business why. In fact, I’m fairly sure it’s against labor laws for him to ask me such things.

  Granted, I’m sure it’s against some labor laws him fucking my brains out too, but I digress.

  Another deep breath, and as I let it out, I straighten my spine. “I’m not letting you fire me. I don’t deserve it. But I will gladly continue my job, and I’ll give you a hundred and ten percent as always. And we can both agree to forget about last night, and we can both damn well forget a line was crossed. We’ll reset back to the way things were.”

  I brace myself, wai
ting for him to perhaps pick me up and toss me bodily from his office. Instead, he asks, “And if I refuse to give you your job back?”

  I lean toward him, baring my teeth. “I dare you to try it. You don’t want to know what a really pissed off Bailey Robbins looks like.”

  Fire flames in Declan’s eyes, and it’s clear I’ve pissed him off. It’s punctuated with a deep rumble from his chest.

  And yet, he remains stoically silent.

  I take this opportunity to assume he’s consented, and I take one more step toward him, close enough I can shove the reports into his chest. “Those are the department notes from last night. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

  Pivoting quickly, I march to the door, my head held high, and a silent prayer on my lips that I don’t do a clumsy stumble or something equally stupid to lose my cool points right now. I wait for him to say something, to order me to leave the property and never return, but he doesn’t say a word.

  I make it to the door, open it, and finally let out a sigh of relief as I cross the threshold.

  My job is intact.

  For now.

  CHAPTER 11

  Declan

  “Miss Robbins,” I call out, my voice not overly loud but with enough force to carry out my office door and across to Bailey’s cubicle where she’s been diligently working all day without even taking time out for lunch.

  Her body immediately pops up out of her chair, and she grabs her iPad with its Bluetooth pen. As she hustles into my office, I take a moment to admire her.

  Physically, of course. That’s all I have at this moment… an appreciation of the way she rocks the mustard-yellow pantsuit. The crisscross swath of silk that wraps around her upper body does lovely things to her tits, and I realize I’m quite the pig to be thinking about her this way.

  But fuck… can’t seem to stop thinking about her in that way. It’s why I knew us crossing the line would be a bad idea; because, deep down, I knew she would never fade into the background of my memories.