Page 11 of Owned By a Billionaire

“Gregory.” He leaned in, and his kiss lingered on my cheek. He must have been late forties, seriously handsome like Cary Grant. Tall and dark. And I now understood how he’d become Helmut’s object of desire.

“Nice to have you here.” Gregory’s eyes burned into mine, and I sensed that before long, his lips would be all over my nipples and beyond. Should I let him.

In private, I might, especially with the drug stroking my libido. But I didn’t enjoy being watched. Not in a room, at least. Anonymously, however, I rather liked the idea of being seen from a window.

His undressing eyes told me that before long, he’d at least try to touch me. A slight swelling ache flushed me with delicious, tingly warmth, and it wasn’t just my jacket I left behind on the hallway stand.

Never say never, my wicked alter ego whispered, taking over, as I pushed out my chest.

Helmut whispered, “See what I mean? Handsome. Yes?”

I stopped. “I can see why you want him. Yes.”

He giggled. “I think we’ll make good friends, you and I.”

He took my hand, and we strode in as a fake couple into a dark pink silk-wallpapered room with enough carved neo-classical detail to hold anyone’s attention.

A cauldron of smoke swirled through the air, containing marijuana, cigars, and a cocktail of colognes. In amongst that heady mix was also the unmistakable smell of lust.

There were around a dozen people in the room made up evenly of women and men. They turned, and upon seeing me there, their eyes lit up. I was by far the youngest, and they could probably guess I wasn’t Helmut’s wife.

Gregory moved about from one person to another, chatting away, and had I not known the nature of that gathering, I would have thought it was just a small, regular party involving excessive smoking, drinking, and drugs.

An orchestra of voices filled the air. The women’s giggles shrilled over the men’s deeper chuckles, and everyone seemed in party mode. Well oiled, as Rey would have said, after a few hours of drinking. That was when he did his best work, which often involved me hooking up with someone or other he needed to sign on a dotted line.

Duran Duran blared in the background, one couple dancing to "Girls on Film" and waving their arms in the air.

We sat on a bottle-green Chesterfield, sipping champagne, as Helmut leaned in and whispered, “That’s the wife.”

The woman he indicated might have been in her mid-sixties.

“Oh? And she doesn’t mind her husband…”

“Fucking others?” He smirked. “No, it seems. She likes women. Theirs is a special arrangement. Gregory’s a dark horse. And built like one too.” He giggled.

I watched as the red-haired woman performed her hostess role effortlessly, like a veteran actor who’d performed in the same play over many seasons. She chatted and laughed, and it might have been any normal Saturday night gathering.

Gregory must have sensed my gaze because his eyes landed on mine and lingered, leaving behind a burning sensation on my cheeks.

“I think Gregory’s got his sights on you, dear girl. Come on, undo a few buttons. That’s a nice silk camisole I can see poking through.”

I pushed away his hand. “I’m only here as your fake date. Remember our deal? And I’m expecting Reynard’s real name too.”

He bit his lip and looked sheepishly at me.

“Oh god, Helmut. You don’t know it, do you?” I puffed out a frustrated breath.

“Sorry, sweetie.”

“And don’t call me that,” I said, feeling seriously frustrated despite the euphoria-inducing pill sending waves of warmth through me. Or were Gregory’s dark bedroom eyes doing that?

“I am sorry. But we’re having fun, aren’t we?” He reminded me of a puppy dog, and my lips curled ever-so-slightly.

Before long, the drug and its “let’s make love not war” effect began tugging at my will, and the more Gregory’s gaze held mine, the weaker my resolve became.

“Even if I was interested in him, his wife’s here,” I said, as our host continued to undress me with his smoldering gaze.

“As I said, she’s into women. I wouldn’t worry.” Helmut held my stare. “How are you with threesomes?”

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