How to Seduce a Billionaire (7 page)

Yet apart from his age – thirty-six – and some academic stuff and more notable business achievements, there was tantalisingly little personal information to be found on Ellis himself. Just snippets in news archives.

Clearly, even in these times of celebrity exposés and phone-tapping, if you were rich enough, you could still fly pretty much beneath the radar. She couldn’t even discover what the name of this supposedly local house of his was, or the specifics of its location.

But there were one or two brief news pieces on the death of his wife. A horrible tragedy that the press had found so juicy they just had to pursue the details.

Billionaire’s Bride gunned down in Mall … McKenna’s little angels slain.

It’d happened five years ago, in a popular, newly opened shopping mall. Ellis’s wife Julie had been out for the day, with their two daughters, Annie and Lily, when a gunman, believed to be high on drugs, had run amok, mowing down a dozen or more shoppers in a rain of bullets, including the McKennas. The two little girls had been just five and seven at the time.

Icy horror gripped Jess, just from reading the piece. It must have been devastating beyond belief. With a history like that it was no wonder Ellis was a bit strange. And no wonder he hadn’t offered any detail beyond the fact he was a widower.

I should have been nicer to him. Poor man.

Jess picked up the card. Should she call him? No, it was silly. If he could make a pass at a random virgin like her, he probably had a whole little black book full of much more experienced girlfriends who could offer him the solace of physical pleasure. The brief oblivion of the flesh that would momentarily dull the pain of his loss.

Hmm … the glass she’d been randomly sipping from was empty. As was the bottle.

Thinking about the loss of loved ones would make her maudlin, and that wouldn’t do anybody any good. Not her. Not this strange, beautiful, arousing man she’d never meet again. Time to put a positive spin on her peculiar day.

Time to draw. And perhaps do other things.

She flipped open the drawing pad, and shuffled to sit up against the pillows with it resting on her knees. Reaching for one of her good graphite pencils, she set to work.

Sometimes, Jess had a knack of being able to draw from memory, or from a combination of memory and pure imagination. Tonight those skills seemed a bit addled, surprise, surprise.

She worked on an eye, crinkled at the corner, as if he was grinning or laughing. She laboured over a mouth, curved, playful and sensual.

She made a mess of his nose, making it too straight and sharp, rubbing out several times.

But damn it, she couldn’t seem to put the whole face together.

Maybe I should call you after all, and ask you to pose for me, you aggravating man!

Shaking her head, she tossed the card away across the bed. That way madness lay.

Her drawing wasn’t working for her tonight. Time to try something else. Rising from the bed, she went and turned the light off, relying only on the silent flickering from the television for illumination.

Then she returned to the bed, shoved her stuff aside and smiled to herself. Dream Lover had a face now, at least, so why not enjoy him? Use her strange day and her encounter with a billionaire, rather than let it go to waste, and just fade away?

Shooting a quick glance at the drawer in her bedroom cabinet, she wondered about the cheap and cheerful vibrator and a small tube of lubricant she kept in there. Why not, she had the house to herself and no worries about being overheard?

But even so, she didn’t fancy the noise the rather basic toy made. The sound was like another presence in the room, and she only wanted it to be her and Dream Lover.

Her and Ellis.

What would it be like? Being with him? Because of who and what he was, a deluxe experience, no doubt. No coupling in an ordinary suburban bedroom like this one, no way.

Unfastening her pyjama top, she formed a picture of a gorgeous hotel room, acres of space and a huge, white bed made up with immaculate, luxurious linen. She switched perspective, seeing the room from the aspect of the sumptuous bed itself, with herself at its centre, clad in equally sumptuous lingerie: an ivory silk camisole, fastened up the front with delicate pearl buttons, worn with the tiniest matching thong, and white hold-up stockings with a thick welt of intricate lace.

Bloody hell, I look fab!

She’d never fantasised in quite this detail before, but somehow it was easy. But what about her lover, her dream … Ellis McKenna?

Both in the fantasy and in reality, she looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes. Would he come to her naked, or clothed in something? Well, initially … She imagined him bare-chested but wearing silk pyjama bottoms. Never having seen his unclothed chest, she imagined it smooth. Or maybe just a little bit of dark fuzz, to match the hair on his head, and that sexy designer stubble he wore.

He didn’t speak, but he advanced towards her and lay down gracefully on the wide, white bed at her side. Astonishingly, she almost experienced the dip created by his body for real.

Cupping her breast, she replaced her own fingers with his. She knew his touch already. He had beautiful hands and he used them well. He was as much an artist as she was, in this at least. His thumb glided over her nipple, masked by the silk, strumming it in a way that was both arousing and frustrating. It made her want more. Silently directing the action, she willed him to undo the phantom silk ribbons and bare her.

‘Delightful.’

The sound of his voice was so real that it shook her from the fantasy for a moment. This was a first. Dream Lover had a voice now too, why hadn’t she expected that, knowing the real man who was the template had such an intriguing layering of accents within his basically English tones? A British education, enriched with time spent in other lands; Australia, America.

‘You’re beautiful, Jess.’ The words were like caresses in themselves, exciting her even more, as if the syllables played over her nipples … and her clit. She moved uneasily, plucking lightly at the former; wanting to rub the latter, but holding off. To make things last.

I’m not beautiful. Not really …

But in the fantasy it was easy to believe it. To feel powerful and seductive, and regard him with sultry amusement as he undressed her. Those eyes of his, so gorgeously coloured and mutable, they flared with heat as he teased open the notional ribbons and bared her breasts. She arched upwards as he swooped down, kissing her nipples, licking and sucking them. Dimly at the back of her mind she knew the pleasure came from her own hand, but what her imagination was creating for her was more real than ever before, painted in a thousand colours, informed by the actual experience of Ellis McKenna and his dazzling good looks.

Dream Jess dug her fingers into Dream Lover’s thick silky hair, compelling him to lavish her bosom with kisses.

But she wanted more, and because he was idealised, he knew what that was. Still plaguing her nipple with his tongue, he reached down, pushing his fingers beneath the tiny silk thong to find her centre. She imagined that she might be shaved down there, trimmed and groomed, and he zeroed in on her clitoris with no pause or hesitation.

‘Do you like that?’ he whispered. Jess didn’t hear her own voice, as she mouthed the words, just his.

‘Yes … yes I do. Give me more!’

The stroking, the circling, the rocking and rubbing, it became more. She made it so, but it felt like him. Strong fingers, deft fingers, perfectly precise.

‘Yes, that’s good,’ she cried, squirming about. There was nobody else in the house, so she could be loud. Nobody else in the vast, soundproofed hotel room, so she could even scream if she wanted to. ‘But I want you. I want you to fuck me. Now!’

So demanding. But this was her show. She was in charge.

‘Your wish is my command,’ Dream Ellis said, with that low devilish laugh, from the real world. Twisting his hand in the dream, he tore away her G-string, ooh wild! Then he reached down, unfastening his pyjama bottoms and moving forward, ready to cover her body with his own.

‘No! Let me see it first!’

If wasn’t as if Jess had never seen a cock before, even if this crazy scenario had been actually happening. Despite her lack of sexual experience, she was no prude, and she’d enjoyed images of naked men online and in magazines. And at her life drawing class, she’d seen her share of ‘equipment’, though never been especially impressed.

Now, she could be impressed. She could extrapolate. Make Ellis huge!

Dropping out of the dream for just a second, she thought,
Maybe his
is
huge!

What a whopper … towering, reddish, proud. Pointing at her.

I bet he really
is
big. He’s got that swagger. Primal. Potent.

She imagined how it might feel to her touch, and how warm and hard it would be. She squeezed, not sure whether he’d like that, but Dream Ellis groaned, pleasure not pain.

‘Okay then … I want it in me. Get to work, Mr McKenna.’

Not Dream Lover. No more kidding herself.

‘With pleasure.’ Dark-eyed, he resumed his approach, moving between her thighs, positioning himself. And this was fantasy again, no consequences, so no condom.

Again, she was in the realm of conjecture, with nothing but tampon use and unsatisfactory and abortive exploration with her vibrator as a guide. And the latter hadn’t worked out well, had it? Doubts threatened to pull her out of the dream, but she shook her head against the pillows, as if to banish them. The real first time would, no doubt, be uncomfortable; this fantasy was idealised, so all possible pain was banished.

Surrendering again, she soared, the pleasure from her own fingertip ministrations transmuted by the power of imagination. Becoming more and different sensations.

Her dream lover billionaire entered her, and she welcomed him, in both worlds drawing up her knees to cradle his body, his lean, powerful, pumping hips. The rhythmic impact of him knocking against her, again and again, juddering her clit in sweet, percussive jolts of pure sensation.

And the kisses. The wicked words. Rude, delicious things he said about her body, her heat, her tightness. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Jess knew she’d laugh her head off afterwards about the absurdity of her own inner dialogue, but right now, when it mattered, it excited her more.

Just as her inner voice had become his, the relentless massage of her fingers became his thrusting, and the combination, persistently applied, could have just one outcome. Her back arched, her legs waved, and her pussy flexed and clenched as she hit her climax.

It was deep and shattering, a harder coming than she’d ever reached before, and she wailed out, coherent yet incoherent, ‘Ellis! Ellis! Ellis!’

Afterwards, she wasn’t sure whether she’d passed out or not. She probably hadn’t, but it almost felt that way. It was as if the spirit of Ellis McKenna had not only fucked her senseless, but turned into a tornado that had swept her up and dashed her against the wall, again and again.

‘Bloody hell,’ Jess whispered as she sat up again, aware that she’d been shouting and yelling, perhaps even screaming, during her orgasm. Her whole body still seemed to be thrumming, especially her sex, the sensation far finer and more affecting than anything either of the cheap vibrators she’d tried could ever have produced.

‘Bloody hell …’ She righted her pyjamas, still panting for breath, still tornadoed-out.

Would the real thing be like that? Would it be like that with
him
?

But with a man there would be so many other variables. What
he
wanted. His staying power. His preferences. His physicality.

She’d no doubt that in purely physical terms bedroom-Ellis was as gorgeous and as aesthetically pleasing as boardroom-Ellis. But realistically, he was only ever going to be her fantasy, wasn’t he? And other men would as surely have their foibles and quirks and imperfections, just as she had hers.

But why
can’t
he be more than fantasy
, a sly, subversive voice whispered. The card was there on her bedside table. She could ring him.

Don’t be daft. He didn’t mean it. He was just amusing himself, and ringing him would only lead to total embarrassment. He certainly wouldn’t ring
her
, and that was for sure.

Yes, better this way. It’d just been a crazy thing that had happened, and she had to look on it with a laugh, rather than a what-might-have been.

But she would do something about it. Make it work for her. All this sitting around waiting for a man to desire was pointless and cowardly. She had to give men a chance. More of a chance. Billionaires that looked like beach-bum angels were a rare and special case. With everyday men, you probably had to give yourself more of a chance to know them before lightning struck and you realised you
wanted
them.

Finally, she’d got her breath back. And now she needed a drink, perhaps a midnight snack, and a wash, to clear the sweaty, sexy grunginess from her body.

Thank you, Ellis McKenna. You’re a beautiful fantasy object, and you’ve made me get my act together. We’ll never meet again, but our ‘moment’ was well worthwhile.

Rising from her bed, she headed for the bathroom door, full of resolution. And confidence.

And a little touch of wistfulness as the sight of the card caught her eye …

In his apartment overlooking the Thames, Ellis McKenna twirled the business card between his fingers and stared out across the river. He saw no lights from late night river-craft. He saw no familiar night-time skyline. He saw no 24/7 bustle of the busy sprawling metropolis.

‘Jess,’ he said to himself, enjoying the name on his lips, short and sweet.

Well, it hadn’t been the usual way he met women for brief, sexual friendships, had it? With hindsight, he realised he’d never actually seduced an employee of any of the many McKenna-owned companies. And he probably shouldn’t start doing it now. It was bad form. Exploitative …

And I’m not even sure you’re the sort of woman who’ll be satisfied with my ‘parameters’, Jess, and one of my three or four week only relationships? You deserve something real, not a shallow fling.