Free BILLIONAIRE (Part 5) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 5)
     
    Lila
     
    A car picked us up directly from the steps of Alexander’s jet.  Not a limousine, but an equally-plush slightly less ostentatious European version.  I had to take exactly twelve steps on the tarmac between the plane and car.  I counted.  And I knew that if I’d asked Alexander to carry me, he would have swept me into his burly arms without question or hesitation.
    There was something deliciously decadent about this new luxury of having my tycoon Adonis at my beck and call in every regard.   There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me.  I’d never had the experience of being so well attended to.  I loved that he was as needy as I was.  His dark eyes watched me all the time.  Studying the shape of my face, the curve of my mouth, my body language and my every movement.  He was reading me and learning me, and reacting to every new piece of myself I gave him.  And I was basking in the extravagance of it all. 
    Not only that, but I felt genuinely touched by his concern.  He was obsessive and obsessed; I knew this and I didn’t exactly mind.  But he was also unequivocally protective and it was this bodyguard mentality I was almost enjoying most of all.  That Alexander would do all in his power to pleasure me was obvious enough; our bodies had barely disengaged the entire time we had so far spent together.  Alexander would also move heaven and earth to protect me, and if I’d felt like dwelling on the extent of it, I might have been almost perturbed by how much I’d become addicted to this relative safety of him, and of being with him.  The Alexander experience was one that was swathed in a buffer of opulent, shielding affluence.  We were elevated, separated from the dreary and the commonplace, warm and safe.  I delighted in this cushion of ease, especially since it was occupied by the most gorgeous, compelling, caring and well-endowed beefcake I had ever seen or imagined.  And he was all mine.
    “We’ll see the sights soon enough,” he said.  “First, we’re going to the hotel.  You can sleep if you want to.  You didn’t get much sleep on the plane.”
    Not surprisingly.  It wasn’t just the excitement of the journey but the presence of Alexander’s gargantuan and perpetual hard-on inside me that might have prevented any particularly restorative REM.  Not that I minded.  Every orgasm Alexander bestowed imparted me with a inexplicable power.  A confidence.  A new sense of myself.  Like he was feeding me some kind of liquid invincibility with each gift, each flooding burst of his pleasure and his essence.
    I held his hand as we drove past the Eiffel Tower and he smiled at the look on my face, kissing my lips even as I stared up at the vast, superb reality of it.
    “I never dreamed I would ever see this place.”
    “I felt the same way the first time I came to Paris,” Alexander said, with his hands on my body.  “It was my first trip abroad, too, and I decided then and there that I needed to start a magazine here so I could come here whenever I wanted to.  Paris is where I indulge myself.”
    At this, I looked at his face.  I was almost daunted by the admission.  If he hadn’t been indulging himself so far and planned to start right now, I knew I was in for a time of it.  And I was more than up for the challenge.  He might have read my thoughts.  “Yes,” he murmured.  “I am dedicating this entire week to indulging myself.  But most of all I am dedicating this entire week to indulging you .”
    “I’m supposed to be starting my new job,” I reminded him.  “When do we start working?”  Even to my own ears my question didn’t sound all that urgent.  In fact I didn’t mind when or if we ever started working.  I was enjoying his company far too much.  Work would mean meetings and people and separations.
    “When we’re ready,” was all he said about that.
    “When’s the last time you took a week off to indulge yourself?” I