Page 28 of My Cruel Billionaire

I took it like a shot, and then savored the somewhat spicy-sweet flavor. Whatever was in it, my throat did feel as if I’d taken a shot of throat spray. Plus I had a pleasant warmth in my belly, though I was far from drunk or even buzzed.

“Thank you,” I said, setting the empty glass on the bar. “That helped.”

He nodded.

“I’ve given enough press conferences to know your throat can get tired in a hurry.”

It downright made me nervous the way that he was being so thoughtful. It was as if I cringed the whole time waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Eventually, though, I relaxed and just tried to enjoy myself. Michael played his role to perfection, but to my surprise most of the people wanted to talk to me. I guessed it was because I had literally come out of nowhere. Unlike Evan or Michael, I was not well-known to the financial sector because I worked behind the scenes for the company.

Apparently, that had changed.

The night wore on, and I started to grow weary of all the tumult. Parties are great unless you’re the one hosting them.

At one point, I’m not sure when, but the party was in full swing, Michael took my arm and gently pulled me aside into a small adjacent room to the conference hall. It looked to be a modest meeting room, decorated nice enough but with room only for a dozen people or so.

He pushed the door without thinking about it, and it didn’t quite shut all the way. Sounds of the party still filtered in through the crack.

“Here,” Michael said, guiding me to a rolling chair. I settled into it and found that the Mercury hotel did not skimp on their furniture budget. It felt solid but the leather upholstery cupped my body and supported it well. I made a mental note to check what brand it was.

“Drink this,” he said, pushing a glass of something cold into my hand.

“What is it?”

“Just ice water. You know, you made the right call today. Pretending to cause the leak and putting a spin on the whole thing. Well done.”

I was glad of the praise, but the cold way he delivered it kind of took some of the pleasure out of hearing it.

“Not bad for a glorified secretary, eh?” I asked with a chuckle as his fingers reached down and caressed my neck. “What are you doing—oooh, never mind, don’t stop.”

Michael was a large man who kept himself in top-notch shape. His hands were powerful indeed, and he utilized that strength to give some of the best neck massages in the world. Today was no exception. His fingers worked their magic, soothing every knot of tension he could find into limp submission.

“I’d forgotten how good you are with your hands,” I said. I don’t know why I said it, but I did.

“Some things are to be delegated, and some things are better taken care of… hands-on.”

He slid his hand up my neck, fingers like velvet cat’s paws, until he cradled my chin in his hand. Gently yet firmly. Our eyes met. My pulse pounded in my ears like the rumble of war drums. I could see his desire dancing in his eyes, just as I am sure he could see the same in my own gaze.

Michael kissed me, softly at first. His lips smacked into my own like the landing of a butterfly. I opened my mouth and kissed him back. His tongue wormed its way into my mouth, and I lashed my own against it.

The door stood partly open. Literally anyone might happen by at any moment, but I didn’t want him to stop.

His hand slid down to my blouse. Michael’s nimble fingers undid the top button, then glided beneath the silken fabric. I moaned as he fondled my breast, moving fingers under my bra cup.

He kissed me hard, taking charge just like he used to. Michael let go of my breasts and gently rubbed my pussy through the thin wall of my panties. The skirt I wore had ridden up to mid-thigh, making the task easy. Now I regretted wearing my silken bloomer ‘granny panties’ but if he cared, he didn’t make any mention.

Michael stopped kissing me, pulling away from me. I chased after him, trying to continue to feel his lips on my own but he held me pinned to the chair with the hand between my legs.

“You know, Jenna,” he said, crouching down in front of me, eyes locked on my panty-clad pussy. “If we’re all about being honest with each other, I must admit that I miss the smell of your body.”

I cried out, sharply, as a wave of contractions traveled through me. He ran his fingers through the groove between my swollen outer labia, occasionally brushing his thumb on my clit at the end of a stroke.

“You know what I loved even more than that?” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

I couldn’t reply. All I could do was gasp, pant, and moan. He really was good with his hands. Once at the opera, during the crescendo of Barber, he used his fingers to make me cum so hard he had to pay for the chair I’d been sitting in. He told them I spilled wine on it, but I think we all knew the truth.

“I loved the taste of your sweet pussy.”

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