The Russian Billionaire’s Secret(114)

Our conversation dies when Jackson gets back on table. Jackson and Kurt converse and discuss matters I have no interest in so I continue downing wine. I have clearly had more than I should, but I neither want to sit here and listen to them talk, nor do I want to let Kurt out of my sight.

Kurt is sitting right across me, and I keep waiting for him to look at me, but he does not. Is he ignoring me on purpose, I wonder. Then, while Kurt and Jackson are still deep in conversation, I feel Kurt’s bare foot touch mine. He continues to converse with Jackson while softly caressing my foot with his. He starts going up slowly, up the knees, reaches my thighs, then starts to go in. He rubs his big toe on my freshly shaven *, and I close my thighs around his foot. He pulls back with a jerk. His dominance turns me on even more, but two can play at this game.

I sit for another few minutes and when he continues to ignore me, I announce that I am retiring to bed. Jackson says he is very tired as well, has had a long day, so he will be hitting the sack too. Then he asks me to show Kurt to the guest room and make sure everything is in order.

Much as I hate to, I walk straight to the guest room. I make the bed, set the pillows, get a blanket, close the curtains, check everything is available in the bathroom of the guest room. Then I take a last look at everything, content that everything is good and Kurt will have whatever he needs. I am about to leave, and as I turn around, I find Kurt in the doorway, barring my way.

Chapter 5

A Tour of the House, Please!

For a second I am unsure as he throws me off my game, but only for an instant. He clearly has something on his mind. I bounce right back into my game.

“Your room is all set,” I say chirpily. “Feel free to let me know if you need anything else.”

“Anything?” he says, staring at my boobs.

“Errr…you need something?” I ask, trying hard not to make the famous lame comment about my eyes being up here.

“Wait, let me see,” he says. He looks around the room, and then adds, “How about a tour of the house?”

“Right now?” I ask. “I thought you were too tired. How about tomorrow?”

“Ma’am, you do know I completed Basic Underwater Demolition Seal (BUDS). We are never tired,” he says, then adds in a seductive voice, “We have a lot of stamina. More than…” he trails off.

“More than…more than what? A clown fish?” I remark sarcastically.

“No, more than what women can usually handle.”

“A tour it is.” I say.

“That’s my girl,” he says.

“I am not your girl.”

“You can be.”

“Dream on.”

He puts his bag down in the room.

“Follow me,” I say.

“Wait, let me take a shower first.”

“Now?” I say, whining.

“Now,” he says, a grin spreading on his face.

I wait on the sofa as he goes in for a shower. He comes out after five minutes, wearing the same clothes, soaking wet. His shirt has become see through now, almost transparent.

“Couldn’t find the towel,” he says, grinning again.

“They were on the counter, next to the sink. A blind man could have found them in 2 seconds.”

“Wanna bet on that?”

“No, thanks.”

He puts his hands and covers his pectoral muscles, like a woman would, and says. “I’d be embarrassed right now if I were a girl. That would have been awkward.”

“Lucky you are not wearing see through panties,” I say sarcastically. I find him annoying, hate the way he is controlling me.

“I am not wearing any,” he says. “Just like you, wanna check?”

Blood rushes into my cheeks as he says that, suddenly turning me on again.

“Aww, you are blushing,” he coos.

He has me. Fuck, I should have said yes when he said, “wanna check?” Damn it!

“So, are you ready for the tour?” I ask.

“Hell, I am ready for anything. If you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Let’s go.”

“Oh yes, you do. Let’s go.”

I show him around the house, room by room. I show him everything, except Jackson’s room and my own. Jackson’s room is downstairs and mine is upstairs. When we finish the tour downstairs and are going up the stairs, we pass by his room (the guest room is also upstairs). When we get to his room, he takes off his shirt.

“Is it me or is it hot in here?” he says, tossing his shirt on his bed.

“Let me assure you, it is not you. Don’t worry, this summer is unreasonably hot.”

“Like you,” he says.

“All right then, thus ends our tour. Good night!” I say and turn around to leave. I take a step and he grabs me by the waist, inching closer to me, his shaved muscular chest against my back, brings his mouth close to my ears, and says, “What about the pink room?”

“What about the pink room?” I say.

“We have not seen your room. You have not shown me your pink room,” he whispers.

“Fine, I will show you my room. I do not have a pink room.”

“You do, if you know what I mean.”

“You know what, I do, I know what you mean. My bedroom is black, let’s go see it. But you are not going to get to see my pink room.”