Gambling For The Virgin:A Dark Billionaire Romance(92)

Proud of what I just did, I smile at him, opening my mouth and showing him his own cum.

"You look lovely like that," he says, leaning forward. His lips touch  mine and, before I even know what I'm doing, I'm pushing my tongue  inside his mouth, opening my mouth wide and swapping cum with him.  Remember when I told you that the kinkier the better? This was what I  was talking about: never in my life did I think I'd find a man with whom  I'd be doing this …  And damn, it feels just so damn fine!

When our kiss ends, I open my eyes and lock them on his; I lick my lips  wantonly, scooping whatever cum I can, and just swallow it. He looks at  me as if he were entranced, the expression on his face one of pure  delight.

When I'm done, I simply collapse on the mattress, spreading my legs and  arms to the side, exhaustion suddenly filling every fiber of my being.  And this time, there's no fighting it; the moment I feel the softness of  his sheets against my back, I close my eyes and I'm out.         

     



 



What time is it? Oh God, I fell asleep in Arsen's apartment. I look to  my side and there he is, his naked body still pressed tight against  mine, the warmness of his skin seeping through mine.

It pains me to leave him. I wouldn't mind closing my eyes and going back  to sleep, my naked body against his …  But there's a whisper inside my  head: I've got work to do. "King Henry," my new client, is going to call  me at noon, and I want to be home by the time I get the call. Oh, who  am I kidding? It's not even about work …  I just want to talk with him  again.

And so, with a perfect naked man lying by my side, I get up and get  dressed. I could reschedule the call, I know that-but somehow there's  something inside of me that's aching to hear that voice on the other end  of the line. I leave the apartment on my tiptoes, wondering why the  hell I'm caring so damn much about a man I've never even met.





72





Arsen





I don't know why I'm so fucking excited to talk to Ashley when she was  just here a couple of hours ago. But regardless of the fucking reason, I  shower, shave, go work out, and get some food at the gym, and by the  time I'm sitting down in front of my computer, I have nervous excitement  going through me like I'm 16 and in high school all over again.

What the fuck is going on? I'm about to call a phone sex operator.  Regardless of whether I had showered or shaved or whatever, she'd be  looking to get me off. This is a sure fucking thing. It's nothing to get  excited about. It's nothing to revolve my day around.

But that's exactly what I'm fucking doing. You're probably laughing at  me right now. I seem like that fucking 40-year-old virgin if you ever  saw the movie where Steve Carrell puts on the candles and shit before  putting on the fucking porno so he could jack off. Hell, chances are  Dad's company produced that porno in the first place. And now I wonder  how much the old man is turning over in his grave when he sees his only  fucking son getting a fucking hard on getting ready to pay money to talk  dirty with one of his own phone sex operators.

Jesus fucking Christ. I gotta calm the fuck own.

I turn on the computer at my desk and scan through my emails. There's  nothing major going on in the world of sex today that's interfering with  my trying to divest out of this shit. I pull up the research on the  Morozov family of companies that I had asked Gerard to do. That man is  worth his fucking weight in gold. Not only did breaking up the company  into chunks to sell give us who Luca Giannoni was working for, but it  gives me a chance to dig a bit deeper and see just who I'm selling to.

But wait, it's already noon. And that means Ashley's waiting for me to call her.

Actually, let me fucking rephrase that. She's waiting for "King Henry" to call her.

Whatever, don't look at me right now like that, ok? Until I met her, I  used to be a normal, well-adjusted asshole. Sure, I used to fuck women  left and right, but I never fucking lied to them. But with her, I'm  living a double fucking life.

"Hi this is Misty, who am I talking to?" she purrs into the phone and my heart skips a beat at hearing her voice all over again.

"It's King Henry, Kitten," I say with the affected gravelly voice. I'm  not using the coat anymore, and despite the computer showing me that  emails are arriving; my mind and concentration are completely focused on  the line.

"I've been waiting for you, sir," Ashley says with a purr.

"Have you now?" I say to her while my cock stiffens at her submissive tone. "I'm not sure I believe you Kitten."

"It's true, I came home just so I could take your call," she insists.

"What are you wearing, Misty?" I ask, taking charge of the conversation. "Tell me."

I lean back as Ashley starts to describe what she's wearing. "I have on a  purple lace thong with purple stockings and garters," she says. "And a  light purple matching lace bra."

I close my eyes, imagining the beautiful Goddess who was with me just a  few hours ago and how she's lounging in sexy lingerie now to talk to me.

A part of my brain tells me this is wrong. This is fucking crazy. That I have plenty of work to do today.

Fuck, I even look toward the computer. There's an urgent email that just came through from Gerard.

But the reptilian part of my brain tells me that Ashley wasn't wearing  any purple lingerie when she left here this morning. She must have  changed. Or she's making this whole thing up.

"Did you just put it on?" I ask into the phone. "Was that what you were wearing before? Be honest with me, Misty."

There's a pause on the line and I know she's debating how far to go into  this conversation. Because I've just blurred the edges of fantasy and  reality now and if she plays along then she's walking into fucking  wonderland with me.

"I changed into this just for you," she tells me slowly. "I put it on after I showered once I got home."

"Did you come from somewhere else?" I ask. Fuck, don't look at me okay. I  don't know why I'm asking this. I know perfectly well where she was.

There's another pause.

"Yes," she says on the phone.

"Yes, what?" I ask harshly.

"Yes, sir," she corrects herself. Good, she's listening.

"A man?" I ask with another question almost immediately.

"Yes, sir."

Fuck. My cock is twitching in my pants for some reason. I glance at the  computer at the email from Gerard. It reads simply: URGENT. MOZOROV IS  PRESSING HARD FOR COMPLETE BUYOUT.

Whatever. I can't give it the time it needs right now because my next question to Ashley is just, "Did you fuck him?"

She's either going to hang up, or she's going to go along with what I'm saying.

I decide to take it further and tell her, "I'm buying you right now,  Misty. That means I own you. That means you do whatever I tell you to  do. Tell me you understand."

Another pause. Has she hung up? Has she put me on mute?

"I understand, sir," comes her response. Her voice is soft. It's not so sultry. It's more real.

"Good," I say, unbuckling my pants and pushing them down. "Now, tell me the truth. Did you fuck him?"

"Yes, sir," she replies. "Yes, I fucked him."

"Did you cum?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," I say, not sure why I'm getting off to this, but I'm unwilling to fucking stop. "Are you touching yourself now?"

Again, she responds without shame. "Yes, sir."

"I want you to stop, Misty," I say to her. I hear a whimper on the other  end of the line. It sounds of disappointment. But I'm too far gone. My  mind is in a haze of lust and it's not controlling anything I say or do  at this point.

"Look south, towards downtown, Misty," I tell her.

"I am, sir," she replies. "My apartment faces downtown."

"Do you see the spires of the city?" I ask. "Imagine the biggest one is  my cock. Imagine my giant cock going inside of you. In and out. Fucking  you."

I hear her moan.

"Can I touch myself, sir?" she asks, a bit breathlessly.

Jesus fuck. My cock is rock hard as I say, "No, not yet. Are you staring downtown?"

"Yes, sir. Why am I staring out the window?" she asks.

"Because what you see outside your window represents the highlight of  human achievement, Misty," I say to her. I'm not fucking lying, but I'm  not sure why I'm telling her this. "When I was a kid in the city, my Dad  would take me every Sunday to the Empire State Building so we could  look out on the skyline. He would tell me that as long as I was willing  to work hard, those buildings represented the idea that I could do  anything."

"That's sweet," Misty says.

Fuck. Her name is Ashley. I can't forget that. I'm starting to think of her as Misty …  as my Kitten. This is fucking dangerous.

"Fuck sweet," I tell her harshly, scared at how much I've given away. "I want you to picture my cock, Kitten."

"Yes, master," she says and now I'm just completely hooked. Where the  fuck did she get that in her head to call me master? "Is it hard, sir?"