The Billionaire's Escort

Lucy Ajibade adjusted the strap of her skimpy adire dress, keeping her posture balanced. Tonight, she was Darlene, getting paid $10,000 for four hours of absolute discretion.

James Bill-Gard didn't bother to turn around. He just played with his fingers around the fine glass of whiskey; he had broad shoulders and an incredible physique, all dressed in an expensive, custom-made suit. He was an American who owned major businesses in Lagos and around the world.

"You're late," he said, sounding like a man accustomed to being obeyed.

"Traffic from Victoria Island was unpredictable tonight," she said unapologetically. 

She set her small purse on the side table and looked around the penthouse. He finally turned to her. His eyes assessed her the same way a man might assess an expensive watch he was buying.

"And what are the rules?"

"No feelings, no continuity. What happens in your penthouse stays here." She walked closer. "Also, it’s cash up front."

He gestured toward a black briefcase sitting on a glass table. "Open it."

She worked the combination locks seamlessly, and inside, she saw bundles of crisp American dollars. Her expression didn't change. She snapped it shut.

"For four hours."

"The clock's ticking," he said but made no move toward her. He took a sip of his whiskey and continued to watch her.

She wasn't used to being watched. Rather, she was used to being the one doing the watching, calculating, and maintaining control. She walked to the window, her back turned against him

"Beautiful view."

"Yes, Lagos is beautiful," he agreed, "if you know where to look." She felt him come up behind her, not touching her yet. "Do you know where to look, Darlene?"

"My job isn't to look. It's to be looked at."

He set his glass down on a nearby table. Then his hands were on her waist. His touch was firm and possessive, and his thumbs pressed into the dress, finding the skin beneath. 

"You seem tense," he murmured against her ear. "An expensive piece of work like you should be relaxed."

"I'm not a piece of work."

"Oh really?" His fingers slid up, tracing her ribs. "$10,000 says you are."

She turned into his arms, breaking contact but remaining close. "No, $10,000 says you're the one who must follow the rules."

"And what was the first rule?"

"No feelings." She met his gaze without a blink.

"Then we have a problem," he said, and before she could ask what, he kissed her. It wasn't gentle; it was possessive. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, tasting of expensive whiskey and total dominance. One hand moved from her waist to the back of her neck, with the fingers tangling in her hair, holding her in place.

She didn't resist. She kissed him back, matching the intensity, making it clear this was a battle she could win. Her hands went to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his suit and pressing her nails gently. He groaned into her mouth, a sound that sent a jolt straight to her core.

He pulled back, breathing heavily, eyes wide. "You're really good."

"It’s what you paid me to do," she corrected.

He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom, her dress reaching up her thighs. The kiss resumed, deeper this time and with far more urgency than the beginning. His control was slipping, and she could feel it in the way he held her, because of the subtle shakiness in his hands as he gripped her.

The bedroom was just as lavish as the rest of the penthouse, defined by a king-sized bed with white sheets. He dropped her onto it and stood over her while loosening his tie. His jacket and shirt came next. The body beneath was hard and magnificently sculpted.

She sat up, reaching for the edge of her dress. "Allow me."

He watched her as she slowly pulled the dress over her head, revealing matching black lace under it. She was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. She lay back on the bed, letting him look.

"Like what you see?"

He unfastened his belt. "I like what I paid for."

But his eyes were saying otherwise. They said he liked what he saw a lot, and it was not about the money.

He was now on top of her with raw masculinity. His hands began moving everywhere, mapping her body with a precision that showed experience. His fingers found the clasp on the back of her bra, and it came off with a snap. Then his mouth was on her breast, hot and demanding.

She arched into him, with her fingers entangled in the sheets. This wasn't supposed to happen. The client wasn't supposed to make her 'feel.' The rules were clear—no feelings. But her body was starting to betray her by responding to him in ways she hadn’t given it the permission to. There was a heat building between them, a tension that was almost painful in its intensity.

His name came to her lips, but she bit it back. Not James. Not the real name she'd learned from her discreet background check on him. To her, he was a client and a transaction, nothing more.

"That's it," she muttered instead, encouraging him, maintaining the illusion of control she was rapidly losing.

He raised his head, meeting her eyes. "What's my name?"

She hesitated for a second. "James."

It was a slip. A mistake. She cursed herself in the silence of her heart.

He bore a dangerous smile on his face. "So you do your homework." He pinned her under him. "And what else did you learn about me, Darlene?"

He was taunting her, pushing her boundaries, testing the rules she had so carefully established. She felt a flash of anger.

"I learned you pay on time and you like pricey things."

"Is that all?" He lowered his head, brushing his lips against her ear. "I think you learned more than that."

He pressed his hips against hers, making her gasp at the contact. He was hard and ready, and so was she, despite everything. The rules began falling apart around them.

"Rules are meant to be broken," he murmured, and she could hear the victory in his tone.

"No," she uttered, but her protest was weak. "You have to follow them. You must."

His fingers tightened into her panties, pulling them down with crippling sluggishness.

"Then follow this on—don't come until I say you can."

Her breathing became labored. This was something new, and it was a dangerous situation. It was the type of line she never crossed with her clients. But before she could rebel, his fingers found her, stroking, exploring, and revealing every secret she thought she'd kept hidden.

Her back arched off the bed, straining for release. 

"James," she said quietly, this time without thinking.

"Say it again," he demanded while his fingers worked their magic.

"James," she obliged, and the name felt right on her tongue.

He positioned himself between her legs, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. 

"Look at me," he commanded.

She forced her eyes open to meet his gaze. The connection between them was terrifying and electric. This wasn't just sex; it was something more and something she hadn't bargained for.

"James," she said again in a plea.

He entered her then, one gentle, powerful stroke that filled her completely. She cried out, her body consumed by the sensation. He began to move against her body, each thrust deliberate, precise, and intended to push her over the edge without allowing her to fall.

"Remember the rule," he reminded her.

She nodded. She was unable to speak, focusing all her energy on holding back the orgasm that was building.

"Please," she finally said, gasping. "James, please."

"Now, Lucy. Now."

And just like that, her orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of intense pleasure that left her breathless. He followed her over the edge; his own release was hot and forceful inside her.

For a long moment, they lay together. Then he moved, keeping an arm possessively over her waist.

"Lucy," he said softly, testing her real name on his tongue. "Pretty name."

Her eyes were wide open with panic "How do you know that name?"

He didn't answer. "I told you. I do my homework too."

She sat up, pulling the sheet around her. The transaction was over and the rules were broken. "I need to go."

"The night's not over."

"It is for me."

He was behind her, preventing her from standing.

"We're not done here, Lucy."

The use of her real name was a weapon, and he used it expertly.

"The rules were no continuity. You broke the rules." But her hands were shaking.

"So did you," he responded. "You came when I told you to, and you moaned my name. You broke your own rules."

"That's different."

"Is it?" He bent over her, sweeping his lips against her ear. Or are you just afraid because this wasn't just a transaction for the first time? You felt something."

He was right. She had felt something, and that realization terrified her. "Let me go, James."

He didn't. Instead, he turned her to face him, gripping her arms firmly. "What are you running from, Lucy? What happened to you that made you build all these walls?"

The question caught her off guard—no client had ever asked about her. They didn't care about her; they just wanted the fantasy.

"That isn’t part of our arrangement."

"I'm not a client anymore," he said. "And I'm not done with you."

He kissed her again, but it was different this time. There was no dominance or aggression. Just a slow, intimate exploration that was somehow more dangerous than the raw passion from before. She found herself responding, her body betraying her again while her walls crumbled.

"Stay the night, Lucy."

Stay the night, not just for sex but to sleep next to him. To wake up with him. It was a violation of every rule she had ever set for herself.

"I can't.”

"Why not?"

"Because you now know my name."

"Is that the only reason?"

She looked away. "It's reason enough."

He let go of her arms, and she felt the loss of his touch like an ache. "Alright," he said surprisingly. "Go."

She didn't need to be told twice, so she got dressed up quickly and grabbed the briefcase of money without counting it… Something she’d typically never disregard.

At the door, she hesitated. "This was a mistake."

"Maybe," he agreed. "Or maybe it was the first real thing that's happened to either of us in a long time."

Without answering, she opened the door and walked out. 

She hailed a taxi, and the driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Where to, ma?"

She gave him the address of her apartment in Ikoyi. The taxi merged onto the busy Lekki-Ikoyi Bridge while she stared at the lagoon.

And James?

He had stripped away her defenses with an efficiency that was both impressive and alarming…