Page 1 of Dirty Filthy Billionaire: Part 2

Mia

This doesn’t make you nervous, does it?” Weston asks once he’s locked the door.

I shake my head no, even though my body quivers with anticipation. There’s a million things he could do to me right now, all of them enticing.

“You still want to move forward?” he asks, taking slow steps toward me as I try not to squirm in the chair across from his desk. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know, as long as you never question me. You’re agreeing to this, correct?”

I swallow hard, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. Am I crazy to get into a physical relationship with Weston Bridges, so hot, so rich, and so totally the owner of this whole publishing and media empire?

Yes, I am crazy. So crazy that I can’t help myself. I’m curious and I’m more than attracted to him. He leans back on his desk, standing right in front of me.

I look up at him, his smooth face and hard jaw, his eyes never hesitant when he looks at me. I know I’ll never get last night out of my mind; I need more.

“I agree,” I say.

“We’ll see about that. Mia, tell me: have you ever had a man’s tongue on your pussy?”

I almost gasp—in fact, I think I do make a shocked little sound.

“You can’t be shy with me,” Weston says. “Only honest. Have you?”

“No,” I manage to say. I want to bury my face in my hands from embarrassment. Instead I slip them under my thighs, my body stiff with nerves. This is heading in a direction I won’t be able to turn back from.

“Then it looks like I’m about to be the first,” he says.

His words sail through me, filling me with excitement and anxiety all rolled into one.

He stands from the desk, and I think he’s going to lean down to kiss me. Instead he walks away. “Come stand over here,” he says. He’s in front of the giant glass wall, the view out over Manhattan grand enough to give anyone a mild case of vertigo.

I go to him and stand facing him, feeling a little like a soldier ready for inspection—especially when he circles me, shamelessly looking me up and down. I can feel my palms sweating, and I shift on my heels to keep from falling over from nerves. I’m wearing a skirt that’s not as short as the one I wore last night to the BDSM club Weston took me to under the guise of doing research. The skirt may be longer but it’s possibly tighter, hugging all my curves. My heels are as high as any long-time city girl can wear, and this time I carried them in my bag here and wore flats on the subway ride in from my apartment.

Weston moves away from me to take a chair from the corner and drag it over to where I’m standing. He parks it five feet from me and sits down like he’s about to settle in to watch the game on a Sunday afternoon.

“Now,” he says. “Strip.”

“I’m sorry?” I ask, even though I heard him perfectly clear.

“Everything,” he says. “Off. Now.”

I look around the office, and toward his door. I know he locked it but…it’s the middle of the day. Light is streaming in through the big windows, and even though we’re high up—sixty-five floors high, to be exact—I feel like others in buildings a few blocks away might be able to see inside.

“Right here?” I ask. I’m standing in the middle of the room with nowhere to hide, not even a chair to stand behind.

“Right here, right now. Mia,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “Do not make me tell you twice.”

With my heart hammering in my chest I reach up to unbutton my blouse. I know I’m going slowly, but it’s not to try to tease Weston—it’s because I’m so nervous. I’ve never been naked in front of a man in my life.

I take off my blouse and drop it to the floor beside me. Then I unzip my skirt and step out of it. I can’t quite look at Weston, now that I’m practically naked. I want to keep going, but it’s not an easy thing to be asked to stand naked before the country’s most eligible billionaire bachelor.

I reach behind me to unhook my bra when Weston says, “Wait. Stop.”

He walks to me, and even though I’m nervous to shaking I’m also clenching in my panties, my body wet with desire. I think of last night outside the club, when he used his finger to send me into the throes of orgasm. I want him to touch me like that again—with his fingers, his dick…his mouth. I can hardly breath picturing it, wanting it.

Weston stands frustratingly close to me. He’s looking down at my cleavage, pressed up nicely in my lacy bra. Of course today, my panties match, since I got dressed knowing I’d see him. But that was a fantasy—I certainly didn’t expect this.

Weston clasps his hands behind his back and walks around me. He stops behind me; I shift to face him but he says, “I didn’t tell you to move. Face forward.” I do as he says, waiting eagerly for him to touch me. But he doesn’t. “Now the rest.”

I know he means to take off the tiny remaining bits of clothing—my bra and panties. He’s behind me, and it feels a bit easier to undress when he’s back there, not seeing my front. I drop my bra to the floor with the rest of my clothes, and then I carefully lower my panties and step out of them. I start to take off my shoes but he says, “No. They stay.”

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