A FEAST FOR BILLIONAIRES

By Grace McCabe

A FEAST FOR BILLIONAIRES

Grace McCabe

Copyright 2014 Grace McCabe

Smashwords Edition

Driving through the Hamptons, Alicia always had the feeling of being a interloper in the land of New York’s upper-class and moneyed elite. The fact that her fifteen-year-old Toyota--with its dented fenders and cracked windshield--stood out like a Quaker at an orgy among the shiny BMWs and Jaguars only added to her sense that she didn’t quite belong here.

She was traveling East on NY-27, and a quick glance at her watch told her she was running late. Alicia worked as a banquet server for Clarkson Catering, and her boss, Tom Clarkson, was a prick to work for under the best of circumstances. If Alicia showed up at the job late he would be even harder to deal with, and she would end up hating the entire evening from start to finish.

Part of Alicia want to say fuck it and go home. She only worked the catering job because the economy had tanked at the same time she was graduating with a degree in architecture. As luck would have it, architects were among the hardest hit professions during the Great Recession, and nobody was hiring college grads when thousands of experienced architects were collecting unemployment.

So here she was, four years later and still prepping food and waiting tables for rich assholes, most of whom had never worked an honest day in their lives. The fact that Alicia had broken up with her musician boyfriend several months before only added to her disenchantment, along with the fact that most of the losers she dated had never worked an honest day in their lives, either.

The Westhampton Beach exit sign came into view, and she steered the Toyota into the right lane. She glanced at the post-it note on the passenger seat, which told here to take a left on Old Country Road, which would eventually turn into Mill Road. The catering job was at home of Jason Ballard, a billionaire hedge fund manage who was having a get-together for a few of his super rich and super-stuck-up friends.

“Jason Fucking Ballard?!” Alicia’s friend Susan had shrieked upon hearing the news. Susan worked for a brokerage firm, and she was Alicia’s oldest friend in the City. “He’s like one of the richest dudes on Wall Street! And word is he’s not even married.”

“He’s probably fat and bald,” Alicia had assured her. “Men like that are single for a reason...”

And women like me are single for a reason, she thought as she pressed on the accelerator and steered the Toyota around a lumbering truck. Ten minutes later she saw a sign indicating that she was now on Mill Road and heading into the heart of Westhampton Beach. A quick glance at her watch told her that she was indeed running late. Maybe I can sneak in a side entrance, she told herself, a knot of fear tightening in her stomach. Maybe Tom Clarkson won’t notice.

She drove past a large stone synagogue that was mentioned in her directions, then the town’s post office came into view. She took a left on Main Street, then a few blocks later turned right onto Seafield Lane. She was near the ocean now, and the huge waterfront mansions lining the street took her breath away.

A short time later she pulled up to a gate marked “616 Seafield Lane.” The security guard on duty checked her name on the clipboard he was holding, checked her ID, then waved her onto the property. The house was a sprawling Mediterranean-style stucco with at least ten bedrooms, she guessed, and had a motor court and attached garage with six separate doors.

She spotted two Clarkson Catering vans in the driveway, along with a larger truck that had a Long Island construction company logo on the side. Alicia parked alongside several other cars, checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, then climbed out of the Toyota.

The black tuxedo uniform they’d given her to wear had a skirt that was way too short to work in, in Alicia’s opinion, and she tugged it down as she stepped up the cobblestone path to the rear entrance. Not that she was embarrassed to show off her shapely, muscular legs, which she regarded as were one of her stronger features.

The back door opened into a mud room that was right off the kitchen. Alicia took a moment to gather herself. She could hear voices in the kitchen, including Tom’s booming baritone as he barked orders to the staff. The knot in stomach was more like a fist now. She took a deep breath, straightened her tuxedo shirt, and then stepped into the kitchen.

The kitchen was gigantic, like something out of a modern Manhattan restaurant. Commercial-grade Sub-Zero appliances, stone floors, a massive stainless-steel gas stove, and not one but two islands, both topped in granite. Tony and Martin were there, two of her co-workers, both of them feverishly prepping food as Tom Clarkson stood behind them.

“Alicia!” Tom said. “So glad you could join us!”

“I got lost,” she lied. “I’ll stay late to make up for it.”

She was expecting an angry or sarcastic comment, but Tom just looked at her grimly and said, “Let’s get to work. Tricia is over in the billiard room setting up, so why don’t you go down there and help her out.”

Alicia nodded. She had no idea where the billiard room was, but she didn’t want to piss Tom off by asking for directions, so she grabbed some tablecloths and an ice bucket and walked out of the kitchen. She found herself in a large formal dining room that was being set up for at least forty to fifty dinner guests.

Wandering out of the dining room, she walked through a smaller breakfast room and then stepped into a large marble entrance hall with two flights of spiral staircases leading up to the second floor. She heard voices outside, and a moment later three men walked through the front door. They were all dressed in work overalls, and two of them wore leather tool belts bristling with tools. All three of them were covered in a layer of white powder that Alicia recognized as drywall dust.

“Well hello,” one of the men said to Alicia. She was used to being hit on by men, and she was also good at ignoring it.

“Lost?” another man asked, turning to face her. He was the one without any tools, and his overalls were blue instead of green like the other two. Alicia guessed he was the supervisor of the crew.

“Yeah, I need to find the billiard room.”

“I’ll take you there,” he replied. Now that she had a better look at him, Alicia noticed that this thirty-something man was quite handsome, even with a coating of drywall dust. He had a square jaw and pouty lips beneath a slightly crooked nose, and his turquoise blue eyes sent a shiver down between her legs.

“All right,” she said. “Thanks.”

“You guys go on back,” he told the other two men. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The workers nodded and then disappeared into the breakfast room. “Follow me,” the man said to Alicia. “I’m Jay, by the way.” He reached out his hand, saw how dirty it was, then pulled it back. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she told him. “I’m Alicia. I’m here with the catering company.”

“I guessed that,” he said with a smile. Dimples. He had dimples, and Alicia felt that tingle between her legs all over again.

Jay turned and led her through a high-ceilinged ballroom that was larger than her entire Brooklyn apartment and then some. Even with his loose-fitting overalls, she could tell he was broad-shouldered and muscular, and she admired the way his ass moved as he walked. I’ll have to get the number for this construction company, she told herself, and schedule some drywall work of my own.

She didn’t miss her ex-boyfriend so much as what he did for her, the morning quickies and the back rubs and the urgent sex at three o’clock in the morning when he got home from a gig. Musicians made lousy marriage material, but they were damn good in bed--at least from her experience–-and it had been way too long since Alicia had had a hot horny man between her legs.

From the ballroom they entered a library filled with leather bound books, then went through a bright rotunda and finally into the billiard room. It was oversized like all the other rooms in the house, and had a pair of pool tables, a well-stocked bar, and enough sofas and wingback chairs to seat several dozen people.

To Alicia’s dismay, Tricia was nowhere to be found, and the only sign she’d ever been there was an unopened case of champagne on the bar.

“Well, here we are,” Jay said. “Quite a place, huh?”

Alicia shrugged. “It’s okay I guess...”

“You sound less than impressed.”

“I mean at first glance it’s big and wonderful,” she told him, eager to show off her architectural knowledge. “But it’s got a choppy room configuration, if you ask me. I mean look how far I had to walk from the kitchen to the billiard room. And this theme decorating looks like something straight out of Better Homes and Gardens. To spend this much money on a place and show absolutely no imagination is astonishing to me.”

He nodded and said nothing. She detected a subtle change in his mood, and his body language reflected it.

“You don’t sound like a caterer,” he said finally.

“I’m an architect by trade,” she said. “I’m just taking a break while the economy recovers.”

He nodded, and then looked at her with those piercing blue eyes. “So I get that you’re not crazy about the house,” he said. “Do you think it’s excessive? Do you think it’s a waste to spend so much on a place to live?”

She had the feeling that she should shut up, that she’d said too much already. But she was nervous, and once she got started on a subject, she had a hard time finding the brakes.

“I think rich people waste their money on a lot of things,” she told him. “I mean who really needs their own jet, or a yacht, or five sports cars? Why not build a school instead, or a homeless shelter? Take the owner of this place for example. I heard he’s single and lives alone, so does he really need a waterfront mega-mansion just so he can entertain a few of his stockbroker buddies?”

“Probably not,” he said, and something flashed across his face. Alicia had the feeling that he was attracted to her, that he wanted to ask her out, but was holding back for some reason. Then the moment passed, and he glanced at his watch. “Hey, I should get back to work. Good luck with the party.”

“Okay,” she replied awkwardly. “Thanks for the help.”

Without another word he turned and walked out of the room. Wonderful, she told herself, he probably owns the construction company and is filthy rich himself. In fact he probably lives in the neighborhood, and I just rained on his parade.

There’s a reason girls like me are single.

* * *

The dinner was a black tie affair, with the forty or so guests all dressed in tuxedos and formal evening gowns. Alicia spent the pre-dinner hour helping the guys prepare appetizers, and Tom growled at her several times for sprinkling too much salt on the fried zucchini.

She filled a serving tray with baked brie and mushrooms and carried it into the dining room. The guests were all seated around the dining table, and boisterous talk and laughter filled the room. Alicia made her way around the table offering brie to each of the guests, until she came to the head of the table. She glanced up into the face of the man sitting there, and froze. It was Jay, from the construction crew. Jay as in Jason Ballard, she realized, and she wondered how she could have been so dumb. She felt her face heat up as she blushed despite her olive complexion.

“I’ll have one, thanks,” he said with a wry smile.

Asshole. He had baited her into insulting him, and had failed to tell her who he was, just so he could embarrass her later. This is why he’s single. But even through her anger she found him incredibly attractive, and that spot between her legs was becoming as hot as her face.

Scooping a slice of brie off the serving tray, she dropped it on his appetizer plate and then went back into the kitchen.

* * *

Several courses and ninety minutes later, the dinner portion of the party finally ended. Alicia was carrying dirty dinner plates back into the kitchen when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into the pantry.

“Shhh,” Jason said, taking the dishes from her and setting them on an empty shelf.

“What do you want?” she whispered, her pulse pounding in her ears. “I’m working, and I’m on thin ice with my boss as it is.”

“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I was wrong not to tell you who I was.”

She gazed up at him. In overalls he’d been hot, but in an expertly-tailored tuxedo, and without drywall dust in his hair, he was absolutely gorgeous. She wanted to drop her skirt and have at him right there, in the pantry, with people buzzing in the kitchen just a few feet away.

“You’re a jerk,” she said. “But I was a jerk, too. I get caught up in stereotypes sometimes.”

“No, you were right. The rich do have misplaced priorities.”

Alicia wondered about his priorities as he pressed her against the pantry wall. He was wearing cologne--no doubt a very expensive cologne--and the scent of it combined with the panty’s food smells created an intoxicating mixture in her nose. She could feel his body heat, and more than that as he moved his hips into her. He bent down to kiss her.

“You shouldn’t try to fuck the hired help,” she whispered.

He froze. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes,” she said. “No.”

He smiled. Those dimples again. She wasn’t a whore, she didn’t make a habit of picking up guys and jumping their bones on the spot, but this was different somehow. She wanted this man, and she didn’t care if it was right or wrong, or how she would feel about it later.

He was pressing into her again, his swelling erection grinding into her clit in a way that was clouding her mind and making her very wet at the same time. She felt his hands on her breasts, and she reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Outside the pantry came the booming voice of Tom Clarkson calling out to one of the other servers. Alicia twisted away from Ballard and straightened her skirt. Her pulse was racing, and she fought to slow her breathing and compose herself. She half expected Tom to come storming into the pantry, an angry scowl on his face and pick slip in hand.

“I’m at work,” she whispered. “I have to go.”

“Have you been a naughty girl?” he asked, and something about the way he said it sent a shiver down her legs. He kissed her on the forehead, straightened out his tuxedo jacket, and slipped out of the pantry without another word.

* * *

After dinner the guests separated by gender, with the women retiring to the drawing room, and the men gathering in the billiard room for cigars and cocktails. Alicia was assigned to the latter group, much to her chagrin, as she couldn’t stand the smell of cigars in a confined space.

Fortunately this particular billiard room had a very good ventilation system, and she was able to breath without choking as she carried trays of drinks between the bar and the clusters of tuxedoed men.

“I asked you to hold the olive,” one of the men said, frowning at his martini glass.

“I’ll eat it,” the man beside him said with a grin.

“Are you on the menu?” another man asked Alicia. He was old enough to be her father, and had a huge nose and jowls that threatened to engulf his collar.

“Not the last time I checked,” she said, and carried the empty tray back to the bar. Getting hit on by customers was an occupational hazard in this line of business, but it didn’t mean she liked it. Her encounter with Jason Ballard was still fresh in her mind, and she was having a hard time focusing on the task at hand. She wondered how man women he’d been with, and if he made a habit of bushwhacking catering girls in the pantry of his oversized mansion.

And where was the bachelor billionaire, anyway? She hadn’t seen him since her shift started in the billiard room. What kind of host avoided his male guests after dinner? Was he allergic to cigar smoke, or was he off in another part of the house, maybe entertaining the ladies in the drawing room?

“There you go,” Marty, the bartender, told her. He had filled Alicia’s tray with cocktails, and she lifted it off the bar and waded back into the room full of boisterous, chortling men. As she was making her way around one of the pool tables, someone reached out and pinched her hard on the thigh.

“What the fuck?” she hissed, turning and nearly spilling her tray. A thin, middle-aged man with sunken eyes and grey teeth was leering at her.

“You got her attention,” another man said with a chuckle.

Under normal circumstances, Alicia would have forced a smile, taken a deep breath, and walked away. But she couldn’t get Jason out of her mind, the way he’d made her feel, and she was in no mood to be groped by a bunch of rich, snobbish men.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, loud enough so that everyone in the room could hear. “I’m not on the fucking menu, asshole. And maybe you should be fingering your wife instead of girls young enough to be your daughter.”

“Whoa, little lady,” the man with the sunken eyes said, his voice gruff and angry. “Remember who’s paying your salary.”

“You can stick my salary up your ass,” she told him. She dropped her tray on the pool table, sending the cocktails tumbling. The spilled liquor ran across the green felt like thin dark fingers.

There was a moment of awkward silence as everyone stared at the table in shock. Marty came over and tried to grab her arm, but she pulled away and stormed out of the room.

* * *

“Are you fucking crazy?” Tom Clarkson looked astonished, puzzled, and furious all at the same time. “You did what in the billiard room?”

“I lost my temper,” Alicia said. They were standing in the kitchen. Several of the other caterers were washing dishes and packing up the dinner ware, and she could tell they were eavesdropping even as they worked. “That man had no right to touch me.”

“You’re a cocktail waitress, it’s part of the job” Tom said. “First you’re late getting here, then you butcher the zucchini, and now you’ve insulted one of the guests. I think maybe you should start looking for another line of work.”

I’d love to, Alicia thought angrily. Anything would be better than this. But at the same time she knew she needed this job, needed the income. She had student loans to pay, rent on her apartment, credit card bills. Her alternative was moving back in with her parents, which was something she swore she would never do.

“I’ll apologize to him,” she said.

“It’s too late for that,” Tom said, waving his arm. “I can’t have this kind of crap happening on big job like this. I can’t have it on any job for that matter. You can help the guys pack up, then stop by the office in the morning and hand in your uniform.”

“You can’t fire her,” said a voice from the back of the kitchen, and Jason Ballard stepped into view. He’d removed his tuxedo and tie, and the sleeves of his white shirt had been rolled halfway up his forearms.

“Mr. Ballard,” Tom said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I just spoke with Martin, your bartender,” Jason said. “He told me what happened in the billiard room. It sounds like my guest was way out of line, and this young lady had a right to be upset.” He nodded in Alicia’s direction.

“Yes, of course,” Tom said. “We were just discussing the situation--”

“Well you have a strange way of discussing things,” Jason said. “But I want you to assure me that this young lady can keep her job.”

Tom frowned, and Alicia knew that her boss didn’t like to be told what to do. He’d been the owner of his own company too long for that. But Tom was also smart enough not to go against the wishes of a client, especially one with as many influential friends as Jason Ballard.

“We’ll let it go with a warning this time,” he said finally. “As long as it doesn’t happen again, and she apologizes to the man.”

“No apologies,” Jason said. “She doesn’t have anything to apologize for.”

Again Tom frowned, but he bit his lip and nodded. He shot Alicia a dirty look, then went to help one of the chefs at the sink.

Alicia turned to Jason, but his face was stern and unreadable. She saw another side of him then, the billionaire hedge fund manager side. This was a man who made tough decisions without blinking, who wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger on risky trades even when thousands of people’s life savings depended on getting it right almost every time.

Here was an alpha male if there ever was one, and she found herself wanting him desperately, even as she knew he was in a different social and economic class and always would be....

* * *

Alicia helped pack up the last Clarkson Catering van and watched as it pulled out of the wide circle driveway. Tom hadn’t said a word to her since Jason confronted him in the kitchen, and she knew he was more than a little pissed off at her, but she didn’t care. Either he’d get over it, or he’d do his best to make her life miserable, and she’d deal with that scenario if and when it happened. Right now she was bone tired, and she had a long drive back to Brooklyn ahead of her.

She turned and looked up at the mansion, its windows mostly dark except for a couple of lit rooms on the ground floor of the North wing. She opened the door of her Toyota and was climbing inside when a voice at the service entrance called her name.

“Ms. Thompson? Ms. Thompson? Do you have a moment please.”

Ms. Thompson? How did anyone in that house know her last name? She got out of the car and closed the door.

“What is it?” she asked. “Did I forget something?”

A thin man with wispy grey hair stepped out of the house and onto the cobblestone path. He was dressed in a dark business suit, not a tuxedo, and he had an serious look on his face.

“I’m glad I caught you,” he said. “I’m Mr. Ballard’s personal assistant, and he would very much like to speak to you before you leave.”

Okay, Alicia thought, take a deep breath and try not to freak out. Jason probably wanted to admonish her for making such a mess out of his dinner party, or perhaps the man with the sunken eyes was with him and was demanding an apology.

“Lead the way,” she said, a slight tremble in her voice.

His face relaxed and he nodded. She followed him back into the house, through the kitchen, and then up a narrow flight of stairs leading to the second floor of the mansion. Down a corridor dimly-lit by wall sconces, and then they stopped at a large set of double doors.

“Go on in,” the man told her, and turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Alicia took a moment to straighten her skirt and pat down her hair, then opened the door and walked into the dimly-lit room. It was a large study, with a wall of book cases to her left, and a wall of video monitors on the right, several of them displaying stock market information in lines of numbers and symbols. A massive oak desk was stationed at the rear of the study, and behind it sat the darkened form of Jason Ballard.

“You wanted to see me?” Alicia asked, her pulse quickening. Damn, I hardly know the guy, so why does he have that effect on me?

He got up out of the chair and walked around to her side of the desk. He was in the light of a torchiere now, his dark handsome features seeming to float above the white of his tuxedo shirt.

“Well Alicia, you’ve had quite an evening, haven’t you?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she said. “But I did want to thank you for sticking up for me earlier. That was...unexpected.”

“Why?” he asked, a bemused expression on his face. “Because I’m a rich arrogant jerk like the rest of those guys at the party?”

She didn’t answer him. She was trying to figure out what he wanted exactly, and what she wanted him to want. Although the pulse beating between her thighs was a pretty good indication on that last score.

“I didn’t call you up her so I could fuck you,” he said finally. “Although you look pretty damn good in that skirt, and I’d be lying if that wasn’t on my mind. But the main reason I wanted to talk to you is because I want to offer you a job.”

Now Alicia was really confused. “A job doing what? Being your maid, or your private serving girl? No thanks,” she said, turning to leave. “I’ve already got that job.”

“I want you to work for me as an architect.”

The words stopped her in her tracks. An architect, working for a wealthy hedge fund manager, who just happened to be a sexy bachelor at the same time. It sounded too good to be true, there had to be a catch, things like this just didn’t happen to Alicia Thompson.

“Why would you want that?” she asked. “I’m just a girl a couple years out of graduate school, with no real work experience. With your money you could hire the best architect in New York.”

“I see something in you,” he said. He took a few steps toward her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Talent is a terrible thing to waste, and seeing someone like you serving cocktails at a dinner party makes me sad.”

“I don’t want your pity,” she snapped, suddenly angry. “If I get an architectural job I want it to be because I’ve earned it. And not on the bosses couch, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” he told her, with a look that said he’d been on a few couches with a few female employees in his time. “But the job offer is a real one, and if you’ll be given every chance to succeed or fail just like anyone else who works for me. I believe in giving people chances, Alicia. Someone gave me a chance when I was your age and just out of school, and I try to return the favor whenever I can.”

He seemed sincere enough, and this certainly was the kind of opportunity she’d been dreaming of most of her adult life.

“What kind of job are we talking about?”

He stepped over to a mini-bar beside the bookcases and poured himself a brandy. “Do you want a drink?” he asked her.

“Yes, please,” she said. With the evening she was having a drink was definitely in order.

“I own a twenty-acre lot in the mountains just outside of Aspen,” he said, handing her a glass of brandy. “I want to build a vacation home there. I need someone to design it for me.”

The offer sounded fascinating to Alicia, and not just because of the healthy commission that would come with it. The idea of spending more time with this man, helping to plan and build his mountain vacation home, was exhilarating. Don’t be a pushover, she told herself. Don’t sound too eager.

“It sounds like an interesting project,” she said, and then took a long sip of her brandy. The sweet liquor burned down her throat. “I’ll do it.”

“Good, good,” he said, stepping closer. “Maybe you’re not such a naughty girl after all.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” She looked up into his eyes, which were turquoise again now that he was right in front of her. But Alicia knew the answer even as she asked the question. She had gone through a sexual experimentation phase during her first year in college, and had tried some fairly kinky stuff including role playing and the dominant/submissive BDSM thing.

“I don’t sleep with people I work with. Or work for,” she added. She drank the last of her brandy and set the glass down on a nearby end table. “It’s unprofessional, and usually leads down a dark, slippery road.”

Jason grinned with his perfect white teeth. She could feel his body heat, smell his masculinity, and that urge between her legs was building again. Mixed with the brandy, it made her light headed and trembling with sexual desire.

“You haven’t signed a contract yet,” he told her. “So technically I’m not your boss. I mean we haven’t even discussed your commission.”

He leaned down and kissed her then, with confidence, a man who was used to getting what he wanted. She kissed him back, hard, and pressed her hips into his. A part of her mind told her that this was wrong, she really was being a naughty girl, and if this went bad she would no doubt lose her first real architect job. But she pushed the thought aside. There would be plenty of time for regrets in the morning, but for now she was going to go with it, and take Jason Ballard for a ride she wouldn’t soon forget.

She twisted out of his grasp, dizzy with how wet she was getting, how much she wanted him inside her. She staggered over to the bar and poured herself another brandy.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked him.

“Nothing you don’t want to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m a bit of an eccentric, Alicia. I have sexual desires that most people wouldn’t consider...normal.

“You wanna tie me up and fuck me.” It wasn’t a question. She took a long gulp of brandy and gazed out the window, where the beach and ocean beyond it glistened in the soft moonlight.

“I want to empower you,” he said. “Submitting yourself sexually, giving up control, can be very arousing.”

“I’m not a prude,” she told him. “I’ve done the D/s thing. It didn’t do that much for me, to be honest.”

“Maybe you didn’t do it with the right person.” She could hear him moving around behind her. Her first instinct was to turn around and see what he was doing, but she didn’t. It was thrilling not to know. Then suddenly something black flashed over her eyes, and she felt a blindfold being tied behind her head.

“Whoa!” she cried out, disoriented in the total darkness. The brandy in her stomach wasn’t helping, and she reached out to the bar to steady herself. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Blindfolding you,” he said. “You’ll have to trust me. And you’ll have to start calling me ‘Sir,’ and obey my commands.”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked.

“Of course you have a choice,” he said, sounding mildly irritated. “There won’t be a clause in your contract requiring you to fuck me, Alicia. The job is yours, no strings attached, even if you decide to walk out of here right now.”

But she didn’t want to leave. She was confused about a lot of things, and her head was spinning, but that much she was sure of.

“All right, sir,” she said, suppressing a smile. “What’s next? Handcuffs?”

“I don’t use handcuffs.”

“Well what then? Sir.”

“You can start by dropping down and getting on all fours.”

“Like a dog, Sir?”

“Yes, like a dog,” he said. “Like the naughty little puppy dog that you are.”

Alicia remembered from her college days that this was part of the ritual. Submission meant surrendering control and being humiliated to some degree. But unlike college, this time she found the experience electrifying, and the pulsing heat between her legs was increasing by the second.

She did like he said, and a moment later was on all fours in front of him. And just like a naughty dog, she wanted him to rip off her skirt and have at her right there, from behind, until he came grunting and moaning inside her.

“Good girl,” he said, and gave her a pat on the head. She could hear his breath quicken, and she knew he was getting as excited as she was. Then she felt him grab a fistful of her hair and then yank up, hard.

“On your feet,” he commanded. The pain surprised her at first, shocked her even, but all it did was heighten her arousal. Holy shit, it was never like this in college.

She was back on her feet now, swaying slightly, blind and very turned on. She could hear the muffled sounds of waves crashing outside, and her pulse pounding in her temples. She couldn’t tell where in the room Jason was exactly, or what he was doing, but the longer this went on the more she found herself trusting him. And wanting him.

“Take your clothes off,” he said finally. “All of them.”

Keeping silent, her skin tingling with arousal, Alicia stripped out of her tuxedo uniform. Next came her black bra, which she unhooked and let slide down her shoulders and onto the floor.

“You have lovely skin,” he whispered. She felt his fingers graze her shoulder, then move softly across her collarbone. The tenderness of it surprised her, and she ached to touch him back, to grab his swollen cock and give him what he wanted. What they both wanted.

“Now the panties.”

She wanted him to remove her panties, with his teeth, and then throw her down on the floor and end the suspense once and for all. But that wasn’t part of the game, apparently, and she was determined to go along for the ride, no matter where it took her.

“I’m waiting,” he said, an edge of command in his voice.

“Yes, Sir.” She yanked her damp panties down and let them fall to the floor, then she stepped out of them. The cool air on her pussy sent a ripple through her, and she felt goose bumps form on her arms and legs.

Again she felt his hand brush against her, down her side and then between her legs. She gasped as his finger slipped into the folds of her pussy, then across the nub of her clit. The sensation was extraordinary, and she felt herself teetering on the edge of climax.

“Do you want me?” he whispered into her ear.

“Absolutely,” she moaned. “Sir.”

“Good girl.”

She felt fingers fumbling behind her head, and then the blindfold fell away. Jason was standing in front of her, completely naked, a mischievous grin on his face. He’d turned out the lights, and the only illumination in the room was a thin shaft of moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Her eyes took in the lean and well-muscled billionaire, with his nicely-defined abs and a cock that wasn’t huge but was plenty big enough to get the job done. The latter was rock hard, and Alicia longed to reach out and touch that velvety muscle throbbing between his legs.

“I should give you a good spanking for being such a naughty girl.” He was looking her over appreciatively, and his grin turned into is eyes were taking in her naked form, and it was apparent he liked what he was seeing. “But I think you’ve been given enough discipline for one day. Now it’s time for your reward.”

Alicia wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. A spanking at the hands of Jason Ballard would probably be exhilarating, and certainly something she’d never forget. But at the same time all she really wanted was to have that cock of his rammed inside her once and for all.

“What now,” she asked him. “The couch?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said. Taking her by the wrist, he guided her around to the other side of the desk. With his other hand he pulled out the chair, a high-back leather office model without armrests. He sat down, his cock bobbing up between his legs

“Please, have a seat.”

“Yes, Sir!” Lifting her leg, she climbed up on the chair and straddled him, her hands on the seat back. She could feel the heat of him beneath her, and cock brushing against her thigh. He buried his face in her long brown hair. His palms made a pass down her naked back before stopping to cup her trembling buttocks.

“I’m letting you off easy,” he whispered.

“I don’t want you to,” she said. “I want you to be real hard on me. Real hard.”

She reached down between her legs and took hold of his cock, which seemed to burn in her hand. Then she guided him into position and slid down, a gasp escaping her lips as he pushed into her wet pussy. The sensation made her vision blur, the expensive oil painting on the wall behind them dissolving into a kaleidoscope of orange and blue.

“Good girl,” Jason moaned. His blue eyes were ablaze with passion. “Good, good girl.”

Alicia rode him, panting, her nails digging into the soft leather of the chair. His hands found her breasts, squeezing, then each nipple working in between his long fingers. His breath, hot and rapid, flooded over her skin, and he moved his hips in time with hers. Then her back arched as a climax thundered through her, a muffled cry escaping her lips as she bit into his shoulder. A couple more thrusts and he came too, his hands holding her hips down as he moaned and pulsed inside her.

Panting, he reached up and took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and sweet, and she thought that this was a tender side of him she hadn’t yet seen. But then he seemed to snap out of it. Clearing his throat, he climbed out from beneath her and then padded over to the sofa to retrieve his clothes. Alicia couldn’t help but admire his taut buttocks in the dim light from the window.

“That was great,” she said. She was more than a little tipsy from the sex and the brandy, and she sank down into the chair for a moment to catch her bearings. “So what now?”

“What now?” He sounded puzzled by the question. He climbed into his boxer shorts, then pulled on his trousers. “How are you feeling? Are you good to drive, or should I have Martin take you home?”

She guessed that Martin was the man who had met her in the driveway. She should have known that she wouldn’t be sleeping over, that Jason Ballard had had his fun and was going to let things get messy by waking up with a catering girl in his bed. Somehow she had expected this, had known in the back of her mind that this was how the evening would end, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“I should probably get a ride,” she said. “Thanks.”

She got up and retrieved her clothes. She dressed silently, her eyes staring out the window at the ocean below.

“I’d like to see you again, Alicia,” he said behind her. “I meant what I said before, about everything. But my life is...complicated. I’ve been married twice, I’ve had more girlfriends than I can remember. My only real mistress is my hedge fund, and there are only so many hours in the day, and so many directions I can be pulled in.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to pull you off course.” Don’t do this. She’d just had one of the most amazing sensual experiences of her young life, and she didn’t want to ruin it by going sappy and trying to make him feel guilty. He hadn’t promised her a relationship, after all, and the chasm between their two worlds was as wide as it had ever been.

“I’ll have Martin drive you home in your car. He can catch a taxi back. And make sure you give him your contact information so I’ll be able to call you about the architect job.”

“Yes,” she said. “Okay” She almost added a ‘Sir’ but she wasn’t sure how he would take it. On her way to the door she paused to shake his hand, and he surprised her by giving her a brief hug instead. She fought back the urge to wrap her arms around him until he begged her to stay. Instead she gazed into his eyes one last time, whispered a goodbye and then walked out the door.

* * *

Alicia finished her breakfast and then carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen of her small Brooklyn apartment. As she rinsed the dishes off in the sink, she gazed absently out the window as a pigeon landed on the ledge outside, bobbed its head, and then flew away.

It had been almost a week since her encounter with Jason Ballard, and she hadn’t heard a word from him. Before dropping her off at her apartment that night, Martin, Ballard’s assistant, had taken down her address and phone number and told her that Jason would be in touch shortly....

Alicia finished loading the dishwasher, locked the door and pressed the “quick wash” button. She was beginning to think that whole evening at the mansion had been a ploy just to get into her panties, like an elaborate parlor game that wealthy men played in order to bed young women and then avoid any responsibility later. The fact that she’d enjoyed it didn’t make it any easier, and in fact it just made her long for another taste of him, another walk on the wild side. He had probably spoiled her in that sense, she thought, and she wondered if she’d ever enjoy “normal” sex with a man again.

With the dishwasher humming in the kitchen, she got dressed for work, and was applying her makeup in the bathroom when the doorbell rang. Probably Susan, she thought. Susan, her downstairs neighbor, was without a car for the moment, and she occasionally asked Alicia for a ride into Manhattan.

But when Alicia cracked open the door the face of a stranger stared back at her. He was a young man in his mid-twenties, she guessed, with short-cropped brown hair and pleasant features.

“Hi, I’m Dave,” he said. “From 316. I found this in my mailbox.”

He held a Priority Mail envelope up in her line of sight. It had Alicia’s name and address on it, and the return address said “Ballard Capitol Mgmt.”

“Wow, thanks,” she said, opening the door the rest of the way. Now that she had a better look at him, she realized that Dave from 316 was sort of cute in a Joe Jonas sort of way. He handed her the envelope. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, and turned to leave.

“I’d like that,” she told him. “I’m Alicia, by the way,”

“I guessed that.” He flashed her a smile. No dimples, but Alicia was beginning to think that dimples were overrated. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, after all.

When he was gone Alicia locked the door and then carried the Priority Mail envelope over to the kitchen table. She had never been one to prolong suspense, so she tore open the tab and removed the contents. Inside was a typewritten contract, several pages long, with her name and address at the top. There was a handwritten note attached to the front of the contract.

“Hello Alicia,” the note said. “I had my lawyer draw up a contract for the design of my vacation home in Aspen. Look it over and let me know if you want any changes. Also I’ve included a couple of drawings of what I’m looking for regarding the house. Let me know, and as soon as I have a signed contract I’ll send over a check for half your commission as an advance. I look forward to working with you. Regards, Jason.”

She stood there staring at the note for a long moment. Holy shit was the only thought occupying her mind. An architecture contract. Holy shit. She rifled through the papers and found the artist renderings of the vacation home. A giant — style house perched on the side of a forested mountain. It would be an amazing home, with spectacular views of the valley below. Holy shit!

She put the papers down on the kitchen table and reached for her phone. She wondered if she should tell that jerk Tom Clarkson that she wouldn’t be in today, or that she wouldn’t be in to work at Clarkson Catering ever again.

Table of Contents

A Feast For Billionaires (Billionaire Erotic Romance)

Midpoint