BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

I wanted to keep her all to myself.
    I’d already berated myself over the subject of my obsession and decided I was over being all conflicted about it.  Fuck it.  This obsessiveness was all about protection and pleasure.  The extremity of it would probably pass soon enough and I could return to my blasé ways.  But even as I mulled this thought over, I knew it was bullshit.  I couldn’t imagine not being obsessed with Lila.  I didn’t want to not be obsessed with Lila.  Sure, the whole overblown scenario was enough to piss me off.  But the only way through a problem was through it.  So I decided to indulge my addiction until it began to wear off, or at least until it began to mellow by a single degree.
    I’d detected the smallest edge of reservation in her tonight.  I’d pushed her, maybe, just a little too far.
    I could make it up to her by lavishing tender affection onto her and giving her everything s he had ever dreamed of.  I could prove to her that I was necessary.  That she couldn’t do without me.
    My offices had affiliates all over the world.  It wasn’t unusual for me to show up unexpected, to check on the state of my interests on a whim.  My employees had come to expect that of me and the results were, in general, positive.  It kept people on their toes.  Accountable.  I thought I had a scheduled meeting in Paris I could move forward.  And if I didn’t, I’d make one.
    Lila had never been abroad, she’d told me.
    By far the best introduction to world travel was the City of Light.
    I would take her to Paris, and as soon as possible.
    When I was sure she was deeply asleep, I tucked the blankets around her.  Very, ve ry softly, I kissed her mouth.
    Finding my tossed clothes, I dressed and shut the door firmly behind me.  Then I went downstairs to smooth away any rough edges, to make sure the boys knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lila was entirely off limits, and to finish my game of poker.
     

BILLIONAIRE (Part 4)
     
    Lila
     
    “Paris.”   I’d already said the word three times but couldn’t seem to get my head around the reality.
    “Yes,” Alexander said.  “It’s that city over in France with the big iron tower where everyone talks funny and eats a lot of bread.”
    I might have still in a half-catatonic state from the intensity of what had taken place last night.  I’d been taken in directions I had never, ever imagined.  I’d not only had, at that point in time, the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced or even imagined in a pile of money on a poker table as no less than six gorgeous, rich, virile men had put their hands and mouths all over me, but I’d then been made love to so thoroughly that I was still reeling from the effects of the remarkable, unbelievable, earth-shattering triple whammy.
    I felt like my soul had somehow shattered and been reassembled.  The fit of the pieces was new and unpredictable, and I was still adjusting.
    It was true that Alexander opened doors in me that had never been opened, not just literally but figuratively.  Each time he came inside me, it seemed he was filling me with himself not just physically but spiritually.  Like he was taking possession of me, redefining the chemistry of my body with his essence.  I’d wanted him in me, each and every time.  Voraciously.  I wanted him in me even now as we lay naked and sticky from our lavish, hedonistic ecstasies.  But there, as a tiny dark thread against a white field of longing and pleasure and satiation, was a barely-acknowledgeable sense of unease.  Possession.  Ownership.  Control.  There was no doubt that Alexander had gained all of this and more.  I was his and I wanted to be his.  But I also wanted to be mine.  And I could feel, at the outer periphery of what was happening here, that I was unsure about the distinction.  The power spectrum was unbalanced in some indefinable way.  I was being swept away by him and I could feel that.  But I had no idea how to