The Filthy Billionaire - Samantha Andrews

The Filthy Billionaire A Secret Romance Novel By: Samantha Andrews

Chapter One Although I would later come to view the night of the gala in question as one that changed my life for the absolute best, my present feelings on attending the damn thing were about as negative and as lethargic as I thought it was possible to be. I really hated these things.... When you got right down to it, it was really just a bunch of spoiled rich people sitting around and jerking one another off (metaphorically, not literally, although that probably happened too in certain back rooms) laughing at dumb jokes, faking enthusiasm and friendship for one another, trying to make it seem as though they were all having a good time as they looked forward exclusively to figuring out who they would end up going home to screw at the end of the evening. And certainly, I'll grant you, at one point in my life I would have been overjoyed to be in attendance at one

of these parties. In a way, they were a sort of status symbol I suppose, as sure a sign as any that I'd made it in this industry. And to that end, I suppose they were worthwhile, but that alone was no longer an exciting enough prospect to get me to genuinely wish to be in attendance. As far as I was concerned, I would have been far happier just lazing at home in bed, scribbling out notes and song ideas for my next album, or else maybe just relaxing, closing my eyes, and turning in early for the evening. After all, now there was greater symbolism to the night in question, and I had far less motivation to give thought to what it meant for me than I might once have done.... It was more than fair to say that I'd had my time in the limelight, and I know to a lot of people, that was already far more than you could really hope to ask for. It

was a cut throat business, not for the faint of heart. I'd worked my ass off to climb my way up the charts, sang my heart out and made sacrifice after sacrifice to find myself in the lofty position in which I'd once held, for a relatively brief and shining moment. But it was the nature of this industry that that position never lasted for long. You didn't get to stay at the top for any extended period of time, and I didn't think a lot of people got into it with expectations short of anything but immortality. I knew I sure hadn't... It was strange, having a number one album, touring the world, and feeling that everyone loved you, like you were everyone's dearly beloved friend, and then, like nothing, fading back out of the spotlight again. Tumbling down that ladder several rungs, struggling to climb back up, but feeling incapable of seizing hold of any footing in the least.

Suffice it to say, it was a bit of a harrowing experience.... I hadn't been expecting it when I was on top, for all those saturated lights to start going grey and lose their vibrance. For the crowds at my performances to dwindle from what they'd once been. It was just so heartbreaking for me.... I mean, I felt like I hadn't changed a bit. I was still the same girl that the nation - no, the world - had fallen in love with as an eighteen year old. Even critics loved me and praised my music as exciting and innovative, my voice as beautiful and pure, essential to the time, in a way. It didn't seem to me that, if people could be as enthusiastic toward my work as they were at the time, they could ever really lose interest. And yet I knew, even then, that this was an industry for the young. That someone more vibrant and youthful, more full of energy

would always, inevitably, seize the throne from those who'd gone before them. Everyone knew that really. But not everyone accepted the fact that they wouldn't be young forever, and it was quite safe to say that I sure as hell didn't believe that. My status as beloved and cherished by millions made me think that it would last forever, that I would be immortal, and inevitably this led to me losing track of time in a very big way. It was all gone, the excitement of being the best, at least, before I even had a chance to notice, and I was left wondering, scratching my head as to just what had gone wrong. Nothing had gone wrong - I'd just gotten old, like everyone does.... And I should qualify this, here, as saying that I wasn't actually even old. Just twenty-six, and still as enthusiastic about my music as I'd ever been. It was just

that the rest of the world wasn't quite as enthusiastic about me as they'd once been, only a few years down the road. God damn it, I knew I was being ungrateful, spoiled, even, yet I couldn't stop myself…. People still came out to see me in droves, I could still sell out stadiums, even if those stadiums tended to be far smaller than the ones I'd once been capable of filling. But to give you an idea, the last album I'd released had been one of the most personal and intimate I'd ever released. The songs, I'd earnestly believed, had been some of my best. I'd tried new things musically, done things in a unique way, my own way, and crafted an album that was as true to my artistic vision as anything I'd ever done.

And that album, reviewed well by critics and praised by several, sold about a tenth the amount of copies of my two bestselling albums in their first weeks alone and didn't generate one single that even made it onto the charts. So yes, I was still in a better place than most musicians ever found themselves, financially and careerwise, but I was left feeling empty and inferior, with my best days all but behind me. And from there, more than anything, sprang my trepidation at the prospect of going to the evening's upcoming gala. The party, as I understood it, was in honor of some new and upcoming pop star, some nineteen year old who'd soared to the top of the pop charts within the past few months, much as I'd done long ago, so much longer ago than it seemed should have been remotely possible.

God, how time flew…. And I had no interest whatsoever in reminding myself of that, of subjecting myself to the bratty, entitled company of what was essentially my replacement in the industry. The girl, as I understood, was really a little whiny dweeb, her attitude volatile and sometimes cruel, the sort of personality that's all too common in pop music, that seems to think the world literally revolved around her. I suppose, to some extent, it was hard not to let all the glamor of the lifestyle get to you, and overestimate your worth on a number of levels. I know I certainly wasn't guilt free in that regard, and that in my time I'd been a bit unreasonable in more than a few ways. But I'd changed. I'd matured. For the most part, I considered myself a pretty reasonable person, with a good head on my shoulders, and at least a modicum of humility to my name. It was true, I was feeling a bit pissy about having

been booted from the throne, so to speak, but even there the rational part of me knew that all good things had to come to an end sooner or later. That didn't mean I should necessarily be chomping at the bits to go and usher in a quicker end to my reign, or go out and celebrate it. What made things worse was that, I think to some extent, certain people around me wanted me to go and take this girl under my wings, give her advice, tell her how to handle all the sudden success, having been there myself once upon a time. I had no intentions of doing anything of the sort…. That girl seemed more insufferable to be around on her best day than I ever got on my worst back at the pinnacle of my success, and I didn't think I could put up with five minutes of the seemingly routine bullshit she

appeared to indulge in every second of the day, based on what I'd seen of her in the news. God, I was getting bitter about all this.... I just couldn't take all the emotional stress of it, and I tried my best not to let it get to me. About an hour before it was time for us to leave for the Gala, I was still laying curled up in bed, praying for a miracle or a tragedy to strike, anything at all to excuse me from attending the damn thing, and to allow me to continue sitting here and scribbling out new lyrics, many of which reflected my current state of mind. It was my boyfriend, Phil ,who eventually took away any hope I might have had of getting out of attending, rapping on my door with his knuckle and then coming in before I'd given him permission to do so. I glared at him for the intrusion, clearly pissed, but he seemed not to notice.

He flipped off his sunglasses, which he didn't need in the house anyway and which he wore almost constantly, much to my annoyance. “Kelly…. What the hell? You aren't ready yet, or at the very least getting ready? You do know we leave in an hour, right babe?” He added the “babe” part at the end of that sentence just to appease me, I knew, because my nostrils were flaring, and it was likely all too apparent by my expression how much I lacked the enthusiasm for all this. “I guess I'm just tired,” I said, shrugging it off, as if this solved everything - really, it solved nothing. He looked at me, annoyed, like I wasn't getting that it was more or less an obligation that we be there. “Um…. So.... What does that mean?” he asked, completely blind to how I was feeling, or else just really not caring. Almost certainly, it was the latter.

“It doesn't mean anything.” I sighed, knowing that resisting him was a lost cause, and I slowly peeled my body up from the bed, trying to force my limbs into motion, and to go about the seemingly herculean task of picking out an outfit. I shimmied out of my tanktop and sweat pants, down to my bra and panties, and sauntered over to my closet, looking for something to wear. Phil kept standing at the door, gawking over at me, staring at my ass as the lace of my panties hugged it, surely a nice view for any man with a libido. “Do you mind?” I asked, annoyed, and he smiled at me, looking like the smug bastard that he was. “It's nothing I've never seen before, sweetheart,” he said, and it was all I could do not to reach over and slap him. I put a hand to his chest and shoved him toward the door of my room, closing him out into the hallway.

God, I was getting tired of Phil.... He'd been my producer for quite a while now, and about two and a half years ago we started having sex. Gradually it had turned into what we tried to say with a straight face was a relationship, but honestly, I think more often than not we were at a loss for why the hell we'd even bothered. At first, I guess, he'd sweet talked me into it, made me feel special when things were starting to go south with my career. Plus, I couldn't deny that he was pretty good in bed, and he always managed to cheer me up physically even when my emotional state was a little bit less than ideal. What was more, I think to some extent we'd allowed ourselves to get swept up by the tabloid culture, which loved any union of even remotely high profile individuals such as ourselves. If the world loved us, then

surely it was the right thing for us to be together, based on nothing but the democratic consensus. And that was precisely what I hated about this culture that I'd managed to find my way stupidly into. The lifestyle that I'd once pined for so desperately, that I'd let myself believe was what I wanted in lieu of a normal, simple life in a small town. Up close, it wasn't nearly as good as it seemed from a distance, and although I couldn't complain about how well I'd been treated financially, and I liked feeling secure and independent in that regard, I just couldn't stand the extent to which everyone linked to the industry, in even a tertiary capacity, seemed to be simply faking a personality. Nearly every single person I'd met in the years of building up my career had had little more than a sham of a personality, putting on an act, and it was getting so

hard for me to be around that. I'd tried, so hard, to make it through to this point with my soul intact, but I was rapidly beginning to realize what a foolish and naïve goal that could really be. For instance, if I'd wanted to, I could probably have found my way to wriggle back up to the top of the charts. I could have tried to imitate the bullshit that routinely passes for new music these days, completely changed my style, my image, kissed a girl for publicity, maybe, and worked my way back into the public eye. But I refused to do that. I refused to sacrifice my principles for the sake of the public any more than I already had - and I did, indeed, have principles. I had standards, too, of quality for myself, and the music I released. I genuinely believed that my songs were more substantive and significant than they'd ever been, thanks to a deeper understanding of music that I'd managed to

cobble together in my years as a musician. Because of this, I could no longer settle for less from myself. I could no longer compromise my artistic integrity and continue pumping out drivel without meaning, that people could listen to for a week and then get tired of. But, then again, it was pretty easy to see exactly where that headstrong stubbornness had gotten me in recent years…. Absolutely nowhere. In many ways, Phil was one of the last remaining vestiges of that old way of existing. I just couldn't seem to let him go, for some reason. As miserable as we tended to be with one another anywhere outside the bedroom, as little as he respected me, as much as we fought, and as certain as I was that he was cheating on me (probably, almost certainly, in fact, with more than one other woman) I still couldn't help but hold onto him with an intense emotional dependence. He was a symbol

of continuity for me in some ways I suppose, a line I could draw from the good times to the bad, and his being in my life gave me that last bit of slim hope that things could somehow pick up again. I don't know if I actually believed things would get better, but I needed to hold onto that promise, regardless of whether or not it ever actually came true. I just needed something, anything, really, that I could depend on…. After some rummaging around in my closet, I managed to slip into a dazzling black dress. It was more or less skin tight, hugging my body quite snugly, pushing out my hips in a way that was sexy, and making my boobs look nice and ripe. That was the one good things I could possibly think of about these parties - you always got to dress up and

look nice for all the people you didn't give a rat's ass about. With minimal effort to make my hair look presentable, I took a last long look in the mirror, scarcely able to tell whether the hell or not I put up a decent front in my present state of mind. Then I sighed deeply and opened the bedroom door, ready to go to this damn gala with only five minutes to spare before it was time to depart.

Chapter Two In some ways, it would be fair to say that I'd largely built this whole affair up in my mind as being far worse than it genuinely was. I mean, it was bad, at least at first, but I could bear it if I tried hard enough. For one thing, Phil left my side almost the instant we stepped through the door, as was his way. He was always flitting around from person to person, rubbing elbows with the big wigs, gossiping and flirting shamelessly despite the fact of his girlfriend being in his presence. And when he was in that zone, it was like I was next to invisible to him, and I could just disappear unnoticed. Which was, naturally, precisely what I did. When I last saw him, he was sitting in the center of a group of sexy young women of various races, one white and blonde, a brunette, a black woman, and one with dark skin and of Asian descent, all of them looking like

absolute bombshells. He was chatting them up big time, telling them stories and causing them all to burst out periodically with those loud, exaggerated guffaws of theirs, so loud that it was immediately clear that they were one hundred percent artificial. I glowered at him for a moment, but then made my hasty retreat from the rest of the party, seeking the waiter with the drinks. I found him easily enough, and took two cocktail glasses full of alcohol in my hands, under the pretense that I was taking one back to somebody else. Once he was out of my sight, though, I downed one of the glasses in one smooth gulp, shuddering as it sizzled down my throat, the tipsy effect a welcome one as I sat the glass down on a nearby table. Then, with the other glass in hand, sipping it lightly this time, I retreated into a corner where I could peer around the events of the party undisturbed.

God, these people, I kept thinking bitterly./.. I mean, in some ways I was as disgusted with myself as I was with them, for letting the bile I felt consume me so, but I just couldn't help it. They were all just so ridiculous, so airheaded and obnoxious, and I found myself losing my self-restraint with the drink in my hand. I was drinking more and more of it without meaning to, the glass halfway empty before I caught myself, my head suddenly going very light, making me dizzy. And that was when a voice called out to me: “Excuse me….” and I just about spit my drink out in alarm, swallowing it down instead, and choking a little bit in the process. “Oh my God! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you....” said the voice.

I still couldn't see just yet through tears, but I could tell a hand was being lifted to assist me, and I brushed it away, trying my best to still myself as quickly as possible. Finally my throat stopped burning, and I was certain at this point that I'd made a terrible first impression on whoever the hell it was that had been trying to get my attention. However, when I opened my eyes, I was floored at the sight of the man I saw standing there, a face that I recognized, but that wasn't at all what I'd been expecting to see hovering there before me. He was white, but with dark features, dark brown hair, a handsome face. His eyes were gorgeous, mesmerizing, and his eyebrows were cocked in a very particular way. Perhaps just a little bit overconfident, but in a concerned way.... I wasn’t exactly sure how else to put it besides that.

Then there was his body.... Christ, that man cut a figure. He was dressed up pristinely in a suit, his shoulders squared, his body angular. Yet underneath it was beyond clear he sported a set of bulging muscles, fierce and sculpted, the physique of a man who obviously went to great pains when it came to taking care of himself. This man, who I'd never met before in person, was a billionaire, and a man whom I'd admired from afar for some time now. “You're…. You're that developer.... William, um….” I knew his name, of course, but I was so damn stunned at seeing him here that I had a most embarrassing brain fart in that moment. He smiled at me, clearly flattered at the recognition, and extended a hand, relieving me. “Carver. William Carver.”

I smiled at him, trying to keep my composure, after having already lost it completely. His grip was firm and warm, confident and reassuring on some level that I couldn't fully explain. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Carver.” “Oh, please, call me Will.” “Oh okay... Will….” I said, feeling a little bit shy, like a teenager. Then I added, “I'm Kelly.” “Oh - no, believe me, I certainly know who you are. And it's a pleasure, an honor really, to meet you. I'm actually a really big fan of your music, which is why I came over here. Before I got you halfway choking to death on your drink, I mean.... I'm sorry again for that, it was totally an accident on my part.” “No no, please, it's fine. I was just sort of lost in thought I guess, not paying attention. You just caught me offguard, is all,” I said, smiling a dimpled smile, one that

I felt certain in retrospect went a long way in giving him an impression of just how badly I was swooning for him right there and then. I stared into my drink for a moment, before recalling that he'd just finished complimenting me on my music. “Oh, and um…. Thank you - about the music, I mean.” “Oh, it's my pleasure,” he said, beaming. “You just have such an amazing voice - I wouldn't even hesitate to call it angelic. And your lyrics, too.... I can tell they're very meaningful to you, or at least I would imagine they are.” “Oh - well yes,” I said, taking this in. I seldom got compliments that were this direct and specific nowadays. “Yeah, I... I definitely write from the heart, I suppose. I know a lot of singers like to have other people write their songs for them, and that's fine. It's easier to know what

will sell that way. But the songwriting process has always been so personal to me, and….” I paused for a moment, and then started to feel I was running the risk of rambling. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to go on about it. I feel like I'm answering an interview question, or something.” “Oh no, you can go ahead. I'm actually fascinated. I don't have a creative bone in my body, and I've always kind of admired people who are in touch with that side of themselves.” “Oh, well okay then,” I said, feeling gratified and warm toward this man. I tried to get myself back on the track where I'd left off - I hadn't really come to this thing expecting to have to engage in any genuine conversation with anyone, and I had to say I welcomed the surprise. “I was just going to say, the songwriting process is a personal one to me. Like an outlet, almost. I know a lot

of times people can struggle with their lyrics, and I do sometimes. I don't mean to sound like it doesn't happen. But it's more like I have to write the things that come to me, in a way. Like I said, an outlet... I don't know if that makes sense, but....” “Certainly, certainly…. I think I get what you're saying.” He smiled, then added, “That last album you released, honestly, is one of my favorite records ever. Like from anyone. I'm not sure what it was about it, other than, of course, your obvious talent. But I mean it just stuck out to me in an obvious way, the lyrics all struck a chord... .I don't mean to try to read to much into your lyrics on your behalf, but….” I waited on edge, wanting to hear what he would say next. As I’d mentioned earlier, my most recent album had been ignored on the whole by so many people, and so it was instantly encouraging in a big way to hear that

the work that had meant the most to me had struck a cord with him as well. He cut himself short, though, much as I'd done, smiling as he looked away from me. “Ah, never mind.... I don't want to sound pretentious, or presumptuous or anything.” “No, you can go ahead,” I said, smiling to encourage him. “I'm actually really curious about what you were going to say. There's not really any right or wrong way to interpret my songs' meanings, it's sort of a personal thing for someone to decide themselves. It's always interesting for me, too, seeing what other people think my songs mean, compared to what I had in mind when I originally wrote them.” He smiled. “Well, I just don't want to put words in your mouth or anything, or get myself in trouble either, really…. But okay....” Even this, saying that he didn't

want to put words in my mouth, struck a chord for me. Because Phil, the man who supposedly loved me, had no problem whatsoever in putting words into my mouth for me, and did so on a routine basis. Interrupting me, talking on my behalf, not allowing me to speak my mind around other people. At any rate, though, William continued, “To me, personally, I got the feeling on at least a couple of songs that you were sort of.... Not exactly lamenting, but…. Exploring the prices of success in a way. It seemed like there was a sort of discontent present to a few of the tracks, like you were indicting the people at the top for their behavior now that you'd had a chance to see it all up close. There was almost, like, wisdom to it, I guess you could say…. Which I don't quite mean in an insulting way at all - I just mean that's something you don't find a lot of in pop music.”

I was a little bit stunned at his interpretation, that this business savvy billionaire could correctly read into my lyrics the exact things that had been going through my mind while writing them. Even Phil had been oblivious to a lot of what I'd been writing about, and he was both the producer of the songs and the subject of at least three, to varying degrees. I was clearly in awe of his insight, my mouth hanging open just a bit, but I quickly tried to control myself, playing coy, and letting a smile spread across my lips. “I see.... And that's something you can relate to, you say?” He smiled back at me. “Well, like I said…. I'm not wanting to get myself into any trouble here…. But yeah, definitely…. It's lonely at the top, as they say. Everyone trying to nibble at your heels and get into your good graces…. Which I can understand, to an extent. I've been

there myself.” I briefly reflected that William, like myself, was reported to have started off very poor in life, and was one of the few people to work his way up to the status of a billionaire through honest, hard work. It occurred to me, then, that gaining wealth after having been born into poverty might have been the factor that distinguished us so sharply from all of the other empty headed

aristocrats

babbling

on

around

us,

and

something about that caused an intimacy that had been forming fast between Will and I to grow even warmer. “It's just,” he continued, “It gets tiresome, after a while…. Not knowing who you can trust…. Not feeling like anyone cares about you except in as much as they care about your money....” “Going to swanky little parties like this one,” I added teasingly, hoping that he felt the same contempt for the gala as I did. He rolled his eyes, and I took that as

a good sign that he did, in fact, wish he was elsewhere right now like myself. “I suppose you could add that, yeah….” he said, and I chortled. “I was actually sort of wondering what a man like yourself was doing here.... I'm even a fellow musician, and I'd prefer not to come anywhere within a mile wide radius of the hostess.” He smiled, and I suddenly hoped his connection to the diva in question was no more than a tenuous one. Thankfully, he relieved my fears, by saying, “Trust me.... It's not exactly my ideal way to spend a Saturday night, or anything like that. I'm just here to support a friend of a friend of a friend, mostly, and they've since sort of gotten swept up in the crowd and forgotten about me. People want me at these things because I'm rich, and technically, I fit the bill of who should be at them. But

beyond that, I'm really not all that entertaining…. I blend into the walls pretty easily….” “Yeah.... Same here I guess,” I said, beaming into his eyes, seeing my reflection in them peering back at me, and feeling, somehow, that an intense fondness for me was beginning to well up behind them. Just then, the loudest, fakest laugh yet of the night burst out from the opposite side of the room, and William and I both turned to scowl at the partygoers. Then we turned back to one another, and both of us cracked up at our own contempt and resentment for their good time. “Hey, I tell ya what.... Why don't I grab us a couple of drinks, and we can go out on the balcony for a while, get some fresh air?” I bit my lip, considering the prospect, feeling hopeful yet guilty, all at the same time. I looked across

the room for Phil, though, and in the distance I could see that the gaggle of women around him had only increased since I'd last checked - plus, he had his right hand up one of their dresses while he spoke to the crowd, squeezing her buttocks in his fingers. And there went the guilt.... “Yeah.... Yeah, that sounds nice, actually,” I said, and he went to get the drinks. We stood outside on the balcony for some time after that, laughing and talking, genuinely enjoying one another's company - more than could be said for any other coupling of individuals at that entire party. We talked about growing up and discovered we had a lot more in common than we might ever have imagined. We made jokes, we mocked all the pretentious things that people around us tended to do on a regular basis to get on our good sides. He talked about his

business, how he'd gotten to where I was, and I tried my best to follow along, his jargon a bit more complicated than anything I generally dealt with in terms of business. Then I talked about my musical career, and my rise to and fall from fame. He tried to encourage me, saying that trends come and go, but real, true musicians, like he believed that I was, stood the test of time. And then, there was a long silence, the two of us staring into one another's eyes, until at last he said, in a low, gentle whisper, “God.... You're so beautiful….” And then we kissed. In the space of an instant, our mouths were together, lips melting to a single unit, our heads swimming as much from bliss as from the alcohol, his hand cradling the side of my face. It was the best kiss I'd had in years now, perhaps the best one ever - the kind of kiss that a girl like me wrote songs about.

I got lost in that moment, utterly swept up. I leaned my body into him, wishing I could just slip right out of my dress there on the balcony an merge with him, the two of us becoming one…. But then, something changed…. In a fraction of an instant, I suddenly came to my senses - what the hell was I doing? I wanted this, so, so badly, yet it was so terrifying…. So daunting.... I was setting foot into the unknown, sailing into uncharted territory. I couldn't even say with certainty why I felt this way, but I felt, nonetheless, like I was risking everything with my recklessness. That infidelity would sever the cord with Phil once and for all, regardless of how many times I'd been cheated on by him, and I couldn't yet accept resigning myself to the fate of leaving my old life, the one I wanted, behind in the dust.

I pulled away from Will, gasping, peering into his eyes. He was smiling at me, happy at how things had gone, but then the smile faded quickly as he detected whatever problem might be lurking beneath my surface. “What's wrong?” he asked, and I shook my head, staring vaguely out into space. “I'm sorry, it's…. I didn't mean, I - I'm sorry....” I said, and shook my head, turning away. “I'm sorry.... I'm sorry....” I began to run from the balcony, tripping on my heel but catching myself, then storming into the house with William calling after me: “Kelly - Kelly, wait!” But I was already gone.

Chapter Three It all seemed like a dream in hindsight. Like something I'd imagined, but that couldn't possibly have happened in reality.... Could it have? I'd gone home that evening with Phil, who was drunk as a skunk and horny. It had taken a great deal of effort to get it through his thick skull that I wasn't going to have sex with him that evening, and he'd gone to his room pissy and swearing, probably to whip out his laptop and masturbate. I was left alone with my thoughts, with the taste of William's tongue in my mouth. God, I was so stupid.... No matter which way you looked at it, I had been such a damn idiot. I'd either been stupid for kissing him to begin with, letting my feelings get the best of me, or else I was an idiot for pulling away, for running, from what had been the happiest moment

I'd enjoyed now in at least several months…. Probably in years. I cried myself to sleep. Over the next several days, I tried to put the night of the gala out of my mind. Now I thought of it with a very different sort of dread than I'd felt anticipating it. It was the dread of thinking that I would never get to experience that which I craved, that I would never break free from Phil, that I would never have the nerve or good sense to embrace the unknown, to take the plunge as I might once have been able to. I tried so hard to put William out of my mind, but it proved next to impossible for me to do. I would sit down to write a song, and I would find that the lyrics I pinned crept of their own volition into the form of a tune about William, about my secret, illicit feelings for him. On a couple of occasions, the words I wrote were some of

the best I'd ever come up with, but I ended up balling them up and throwing them in the trash once I realized who I'd been writing about in my subconscious. And it didn't help matters either that I occasionally came across magazine covers, news reports mentioning him, featuring him in videos and photos, making me sick to my stomach. I felt so trapped, so conflicted…. So in love, and yet so badly in denial of that love. There seemed to be nowhere at all that I could turn. It was the middle of the night when I decided, at last, things needed to change. I'd been trying to sleep for hours, my mind wandering as I tossed and turned in bed, and the morning seeming nowhere in sight.

I was forced to admit to myself, finally, that only one thing could cure what I was going through; only one thing could even come close to easing my pain. I was desperate.... And this was urgent…. I dressed as nicely as I could, trying to tell myself I looked beautiful even despite my lack of sleep and my clearly visible anxiety. Then I crept out the door, as silent as possible, without waking Phil - this was, as far as I was concerned, the defining end to our relationship.... I drove to William's mansion, and rang the bell at the gate, certain, almost, that at any moment security would be by to kick me out. God, what was I doing here? But then a buzzer rang, and the gates swung open, allowing me inside. I made my way sheepishly up the path, the knot in my stomach getting worse and worse as I drew closer and closer to his front porch.

He was standing before me when I got there, fully dressed, having apparently changed quickly once he'd seen me at his gate. I swallowed hard. “Kelly? What are you doing here?” he asked, hopeful, I think, but fearful, like I'd come here to cuss him out or tell him off or something, at 2:30 in the morning. “I - I'm sorry Will…. For the other night.... I don't know what... I mean, I don't know why... I shouldn't have run. It was just so much, all at once and, and....” “It's okay,” he said, trying to reassure me, because I was getting teary-eyed at this point. “It's okay....” But I was shaking my head, as though trying to buck away his words with my skull. “No.... No…. It's not okay…. I'm so tired of living that life. Of trying to please people who don't give a damn about me. I want something real. I want someone who's more than just....

Someone who....” And when I couldn't think of the words, I settled instead for, “I want you....” And I flung myself, wildly, into his arms. It took him a second too long to know how to react, but he quickly reached out to receive me after that, drawing me into him. This time, we made out like there was no tomorrow, lips dissolving together, tongues pushing into one another's mouths, our limbs entwined. There was no turning back this time around, no hesitation. We were jumping into whatever the hell this was head on, and I was allowing myself to be swept under the currents, trusting myself to fate, and to those strong, capable arms of his. He was pulling me against himself now, my body crushed against the front of his suit, my breasts pooling up against my chest as he squeezed all the air out of me like a balloon. He put his hand on my ass and let his

fingers sink into it through the dress, ravishing me, getting me hotter and hotter, wetter and wetter by the second. I could feel his erect penis beginning to throb, warm and hard, up against my leg, and I reached down between the two of us to seize hold of the bulge in his pants, needing him so badly just then, and needing him to know that I needed him. He groaned and hardened even more, then put his tongue so deep into my throat that I thought I might choke on the thing. He pulled his mouth back, back, back away from me, so that an almost painful suction formed as my tongue remained caught in his lips. Then at last we pulled away from one another, smiling, panting like animals. He took me by the hand. He led me through the front door of his mansion, and closed it behind us, guiding me through the

spacious, darkened interior of his sprawling front room. He brought me up the stairs, and we passed through his bedroom door, and at last we sealed ourselves inside. Once more, we were all over one another, locking lips, licking and lapping one another up, hands all over one another, and beginning the process of undressing, unable to get skin against skin fast enough for either of our likings. I loosened the tie from around his neck, and he peeled out of his suit jacket. He began to unbutton his shirt, then, but as I watched him working his way down, down, down, I grew far too impatient, and tore it apart down the middle, the buttons flying everywhere. He smiled at me, and I ran my hand across his broad, powerful chest, loving the beat of his heart up against the palm of my hand. I let it slip down, down, down along his body, and I grabbed his cock and balls,

squeezing him tightly, giving him a small sample of what was to come. Then I stepped slowly away from him and slid from my dress with some effort. I kicked off my heels, then, so that now I stood before him in nothing but my bra and panties, hugging my ebony skin and revealing more than they concealed. The straps of the bra began to slide out of place as I made my way down onto my knees, unzipping his fly, and pulling out his long, hard, jizzstained cock. I put him into my mouth, and I began to suck on him, pushing my face rhythmically back and forth, back and forth, back and forth along his shaft. Building up an immense suction, letting it release; rolling my tongue all around him, and then occasionally spitting him out, taking a few seconds to chew with my gums on the underside of his scrotum.

After a while, he put his fingers through my hair, as though petting me, and he pushed me harder and harder, deeper and deeper, finally holding me so close against his body that I couldn't breathe - and I absolutely fucking loved it. He released me from his grip, his veiny shaft now coated with my fluids, and I licked my lips as I pulled away, loving the look of sincere gratification on his face. I brought myself up to him, and the two of us kissed some more, until gradually he brought me over to the bed and set me down on its surface. I took off my bra as I watched him slide out of his pants, his body entirely naked now, and his intentions clear by the burning lust in his eyes. He came up the bed and covered me like a blanket. Instantly he went for my breasts, taking each one in his mouth in turn and servicing whichever one was free

manually all the while. He put his lips around each nipple, suckling on me like an infant, and it felt like heaven on earth. He pushed his mouth back and forth, letting the sensations burn slowly, and God, it felt so wonderful…. He sank his teeth into me, stretching out each nipple, and causing them to harden, to glow, practically with nerves, and then he released, moving to whichever one was free. And as he licked my tits, his hands down below worked their way into my panties, rooting between my legs. He stroked my pussy tenderly, letting my fluids moisten his eager fingers as he put one of them inside me, then two, then three, then four…. I gasped and whimpered, and it was at this point that he slid the panties down from off of me and cast them to the floor.

He spread my thighs, and dipped down between my legs. He put my dark, wet pussy in his mouth, and slid his tongue into me, licking and lapping me up decadently, the sweetness of his sin causing my buttocks to clench and goosebumps to erupt across my flesh by the thousands. My fingers gripped the sheets as he pulled on the lips of my twat, his beautiful head bobbed, and my thighs began to crush in around him. And then, God help me, he pushed his fingers up against my clitoris, and I thought I might come close to bursting. Just when I thought I could take no more, he pulled his face gently away from my cunt, and rose up over me, sweating and crazed with depravity, taking complete control of my body in that moment. He leaned up and kissed me, and I tasted my pussy on his mouth as he mounted me, sliding his cock up in between my legs, slicing me apart. Inch by inch of that

long, veiny cock swept like liquid through my body, heating me up to my core, stretching out the floral folds of my cunt and making me burn with the friction. It felt absolutely wonderful as he began to thrust, to pump, to fuck me, his buttocks clenching and unclenching as he ground that massive boner of his deep up into my pussy. I savored the friction like some delectable morsel, the wetness and the heat, and I loved the grinding of his smooth, white skin against my supple, ebony flesh, the contrast to die for, and the mingling of our sweat, our moans of pleasure, beautiful beyond what words could describe. Harder and harder, faster and faster, he hurled himself into me, hitting depths that made me cry out with pleasure, that made my eyes sting that forced me to bite my lower lip in an effort to contain my ecstasy. His body pumped through the air as he smashed his way into

my pussy like a sledgehammer, our wet genitals smacking together, echoing through the night, KLAP KLAP KLAP KLAP KLAP! Moans of pleasure poured in streams from inside me as he pounded me to my core, “Oh God, oh God, fuck, fuck, yes, yes....” And every time I thought he'd driven me to my breaking point, that I could last no further and that the end was near, he just kept pushing faster, harder, deeper, grunting like an animal, evoking shrieks of passion from inside me with increasing desperation. And at last, with a last, powerful howl, he crushed me beneath his weight, slamming his cock so deep inside me that it drove me wild, and held steady. He poured his hot, molten cum into my body in thick streams, pulse after pulse of the stuff overwhelming me, and setting me over the edge.

My body rang with orgasm, seizing every nerve, making me want to cry, the sensations causing my toes to curl, my head to grow light, my spine arch up into him. It was the most satisfying climax I'd had in ages, and when at last he pulled out of me, the two of us sweaty and exhausted, I felt as though something tremendous and significant had at last changed in my life for the best. The two of us lay together until morning, wrapped in one another's arms, kissing, caressing, continuing to have sex deep into the night, and the night itself would remain forever in our minds as a memorable one. I couldn't know for sure what exactly the future may hold in store for me at this point. But I knew, most importantly of all, that I would be facing it alongside someone who was real, and who genuinely cared the world for me.

The End