Free BILLIONAIRE (Part 5) by Juliette Jones Page B

was not being dutifully attended to.
    I slid my fingers through his.  “No ‘please’?  Do you always speak to people like that?”
    He looked down at me like a black-maned lion assessing its prey.  “I only say please to you.”
    “Well, I think you’re rude,” I told him.
    “You don’t know the half of how rude I am,” he said, spinning the word to sound filthy, and his lips curved in a smile that promised as much as I could handle.  “Come with me.”
    He led me through the lobby of L’Etoile, which was even more exquisite that the façade, tasteful but still over-the-top with its pink and gold décor.  “Monsieur Wolfe,” a well-dressed man greeted us.   “Mademoiselle …”
    “Carmichael,” Alexander said.  “My guest for the duration of our visit.  Lila, meet Monsieur Dumas. He’s the manager of the hotel.”
    “ Bienvenue ,” the man said, taking my hand and kissing the back of my knuckles.  “ Enchanté .”
    Oh, God, I loved this place.  Everything was just so perfectly French .
    I was led into the small elevator.  Alexander punched the button for the top floor.  “He seems nice,” I commented, running my fingers along the pink velvet cladding of the elevator car.
    “He does a good job,” Alexander replied, much more interested in the textures of my skin than the topic we were discussing.  His hands skimmed under my skirt, grasping the rounded curve of my ass.  His fingers roved, touching everywhere, lightly kneading the fleshy, swelling lips of my pussy, claiming me once again as his own.  The effects of his playful-yet-commanding contact funneled deeper, moistening me, infusing me with the honey he so easily inspired.  “I hired him last year.”
    “You hired him?”
    “I own the hotel.”
    I shouldn’t have been surprised, of course.  He might have owned the Eiffel Tower, too, as well as the London Bridge, the Empire State Building and the goddamn pyramids of Egypt.
    I felt so completely happy I could hardly stand it.  I flitted out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, knowing full well that Alexander’s suite would not only be the penthouse, if Europe even did penthouses, but also that it would be divine.  Like everything else in his world.
    And I was not disappointed.
    Entering the suite, I wandered, aghast, and couldn’t help marveling at the incredible extravagance of it.  There was a large sitting room, with plush-looking couches, chairs and loveseats.  Open double French doors led to a balcony with a table and chairs that looked over the picturesque scene of the river and its lively banks.  On the other side of the river I could see Notre Dame.  The bedroom had a huge king-sized bed, mountains of pillows and duvets and another balcony, this one affording a view of the Eiffel Tower itself.  The bathroom had two toilets, an enormous clawfoot bath and a state-of-the-art shower enclave.  And throughout, the furnishings and decorative touches were the most romantic and at the same time most luxurious than any I had ever seen.
    Wow.
    A man had uncorked the chilling champagne and was pouring it into two glasses, placing them on the table.  Alexander pulled a roll of American dollars from his pocket and handed the young man a hundred-dollar bill.  Then he handed the rest of the cash to the wide-eyed bellboy and said, “Change the rest of this into francs and leave it at the front desk.  I’ll pick it up later.”
    “ Oui , Monsieur Wolfe,” the man said, almost bowing.  He hastily left the room, closing the door behind him.  Which Alexander proceeded to lock.  He picked up the champagne flutes and handed me one.
    “I have never, ever seen any place as beautiful as this,” I said.  “Thank you for bringing me here.”
    He clinked his glass against mine.  “Thank you for coming with me.  It is my pleasure to give you anything and everything you want.  I like having you in Paris with me.  Paris is my sanctuary.”
    Something passed