One Night Stand With A Billionaire

There’s a paper plastered on the elevator doors, with handwritten words that read: Out of Order.

I stand there, glaring at the paper. Then I lower my gaze to the heavy box in my hand, a box full of my belongings from the office. I grip the box tightly, and with a defeated sigh, trudge heavily up the flight of stairs to the fifth floor. By the time I’m standing in front of my apartment door, I’m panting and wheezing.

I bend down to set the box on the carpeted floor so I can dig into my tote bag for my key. I insert it into the lock and, with a push, open the door. I lift the box from the floor and get inside, kicking the door closed behind me.

It slams shut, the sound echoing in the silent apartment. It seems Maliah is still at work. I should also be still at work, I think bitterly. But I’m not.

In my bedroom, I drop the box onto my bed. I stare at it, and it just sits there, like it’s mocking me, a glaring reminder of my now-unemployed status. I fight the urge to scream. I can’t scream, and I won’t. What I need to be doing right now is thinking about my next step, and about what I’m supposed to do now that I don’t have a job. I can’t believe they fired me, especially since I need a job now more than ever. My savings won’t last forever, especially since I’m—

I shake my head as if that will help get rid of the thought. I can’t think about that right now. I need a plan, but I need a shower first. It’ll help relax me, and then I’ll have a clear mind after.

I walk to my chest of drawers and open the top drawer where I keep my sweatpants, and that’s when I see them, the pregnancy tests. There’s five of them—as if two tests weren’t confirmation enough—and there, staring right back at me, are two lines on each of them. My hand instinctively goes to my stomach, and I think back to four weeks ago, the night it happened.

On the dance floor, sweaty bodies grind against each other to the beat of the electronic dance music. Smoke hangs in the air, and the strobe lights are the only source of light in the dark night club.

At the bar, I down a shot of vodka and then slam it on the counter, and shout to the bartender for a refill.

“Whoa, easy there,” Maliah, who is sitting on the bar stool next to mine, says as she watches me down the shot again.

I shake my head. “I need this.’’

And I do need this, especially after the shit week I had. First, at work there is a rumour going around that the school is going to lay off some teachers due to budget cuts. I can only hope that it’s just that: rumours. Second, my on-and-off boyfriend, Daniel, broke up with me. “It’s for good this time,” he’d said. “We’re just not good for each other.” So, yeah, I need this.

“I know but go easy on the drinking, okay?” she says. “Don’t want you getting alcohol poisoning.”

“I can handle my liquor,” I say as I gesture to the bartender for another refill.

“I’m just looking out for you,” she says, taking a sip of her martini.

I smile and say, “Thank you.”

“For what? For looking out for you?”

“That, but for also coming here with me. I know this isn’t really your scene, and you cancelled your plans to come with me, so thank you.”

The music is loud.

“You’re my girl. I got your back,” she says. “Daniel is an asshole for breaking up with you.”

I shrug. “It was bound to happen.” I down the shot. “We were never compatible with each other, and yet I’m heartbroken that it ended.”

“It makes sense to be heartbroken. You two were together for three years.”

“Yeah.”

Maliah is looking at the dancefloor now. “Do you wanna dance and forget about him for a while?”

I’m not much of a dancer, but I’m drunk and dancing does sound more appealing than having to sit at the bar alone and sulk over a breakup, a breakup that should have happened ages ago.

“Sure.”

I order a margarita and bring it with me to the dancefloor, swaying to the music. Maliah’s hand in on my hip, and I’m laughing and smiling drunkenly at her. We dance and drink. It’s hot and sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Maliah shows no signs of slowing down. She’s jumping to the beat and shouting out the lyrics.

“Hey,” I shout in Maliah’s ear.

“Yeah?”

“I’m… I’m gonna go outside, okay? I need–” I burp. “–fresh air. I need fresh air.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“Always.”

I shove my way through the throng of sweaty bodies toward the entrance. I’m starting to regret wearing high heels because it’s so damn hard walking in them when drunk. Taking them off is really tempting right now. The skimpy black dress I’m wearing keeps riding up my thighs with every stumble. Finally, I break free. Outside, the fresh night air hits me, cooling my flushed skin.

I sink down onto the pavement, drinking in the cool air. It’s so refreshing being outside, away from the hot air trapped inside the club. I set my glass, which I’m certain I’m not supposed to go outside with, beside me. There are no bouncers here to stop me. A woman is leaning against the graffiti wall, smoking.

She sees me watching her, and she says, “Want a smoke?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m good.”

She smiles and nods. “You’re beautiful.” Her eyes are hooded. “Are you here alone?”

“With a friend.”

She glances at the club’s entrance. “Is your friend inside?”

I nod.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, you know. Especially not in this part of town. It’s dangerous.”

I don’t tell her that I live in this part of town. “I needed air. It’s too hot inside.”

She nods, and when she opens her mouth to say something, someone shouts, “Raya, we’re leaving. Come on!”

She says to me, “Well, I gotta go. You should go back inside to your friend.”

I find her worrying about me, a complete stranger, comforting. “I will,” I say, nodding.

“Have a good night.”

“You too.”

She grinds the cigarette against the wall, putting it out, and then discards it by throwing it on the ground before walking off to join her two friends that are waiting for her. And then I’m left alone.

The music in the club is just background noise now. I tuck my braids behind my ear and look up at the moon. I rest my head against the cool metal of a light pole and close my eyes. The air smells faintly of something rotten wafting from the alley nearby. Despite that, it’s so peaceful out here. A few minutes later—could have been ten or thirty minutes later, I don’t know—that peace is interrupted by the low rumble of an engine as a car screeches to a stop, and a window rolls down to reveal a handsome face, a very handsome face. The kind of handsome face you would read about in a romance novel. The kind of handsome face you would see on the cover of a magazine.

And what’s even more handsome is his voice when he says, “Are you okay?”

Distractingly, I think: Can a voice be handsome? I don’t know if it can, but that’s what his voice sounds like. Rich. Deep. And handsome.

While I’m lost in my thoughts, I barely notice when the handsome man with the handsome voice steps out of the car until I hear the car door close behind him. The leather jacket he's wearing clings to his broad shoulders as he crouches in front of me, curls as dark as midnight framing his devastatingly handsome face. Even though he’s crouching, he towers over me.

“Hey,” he says, and I can’t tell if the shiver running down my spine is because of the night air or because of his voice. “Are you with someone? A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn’t be out here by herself.”

“My friend… my friend…” I suddenly find it hard to speak. I point behind me at the club, hoping he'll get what I’m trying to say.

He glances behind me for just a second, then back at me, his captivating emerald-green eyes, that seem to glow even in the dark, locking on mine.

“Your friend is inside?”

I nod.

“Do you want to go inside and get her?”

Just then, the door to the club opens, and Maliah stumbles out with a man who has his arm wrapped around her small waist. She’s giggling, smiling wide. And then she spots me.

“Amara! This is Amara, my best friend and roommate,” she says to the guy she’s with.

“Nice to meet you, Amara,” the guy says.

“You too.”

“Babe, hey, I’m leaving with him, okay? Will you be okay? Or do you want me to take you home?”

“It’s cool. I can get myself home,” I say, waving her off.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Go ahead and have fun.”

“Okay, I love you!” she says as she walks away with the guy.

“I love you too! Be safe!”

“You want me to take you home?” the handsome man, who is still crouching in front of me, says.

I face him. “Okay.”

He stands upright and offers his hand to me. I take it, and he gently pulls me to my feet. I stumble a little, but he steadies me, placing his hand on the small of my back.

“Come on,” he says as he rounds his car to the passenger door. He opens the door for me and helps me inside. I take a sit and put on the seatbelt.

Once he’s inside the car, I ask, “You’re not going to kidnap me, are you?”

“You should have asked me that question before you got into my car,” he says, but I can tell he’s teasing me. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kidnap you.”

I stare at his side profile. “Is this something you do?”

“What?”

“Do you pick up drunk women and drive them to their homes?”

“No,” he says, starting the car. “This is the first time.” I don’t know if I should feel special or scared. “Where do you live?”

I tell him.

“What’s your name?” If I’m getting kidnapped, I feel I should at least know the name of my potential kidnapper.

He looks at me for a brief second before focusing on the road again. “Lucien.” For all I know, it could be a fake name.

“I’m Amara.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

I can’t help but blush. The rest of the drive to my place is quiet. And I find that I don’t mind it. It’s a comfortable quiet. I’ve never met this man before tonight, and yet I feel comfortable around him. It must be the alcohol. I wouldn’t have gotten into his car, otherwise.

When he pulls up to my apartment building, I don’t move to get out of the car. Instead, I look at him, at those big hands, and I wonder what they would do to me, to my body, and what they would feel like on my skin.

When he notices me openly staring at him, he smirks knowingly. “What?” he asks, his voice dangerously low.

I moisten my lips, my gaze lingering on his hands. “Your hands,” I say softly, almost breathlessly. “They’re… big.”

His eyes darken as he lowers his gaze to my thighs as the dress slides up. The air in the car thickens.

I don’t know what possesses me–maybe it’s the alcohol thrumming in my veins, or I’m just horny as hell–but I reach over, taking his hand off the wheel and placing it on my bare thigh. His fingers flex before gripping my thigh firmly. I bite my lip.

His head turns toward me then, eyes darker and intense. “Don’t start something you won’t finish,” he warns, almost growling.

I lean in. “Who says I won’t finish it?” I say, challenging him.

I gasp when his hand tightens, sure to leave marks. “You’re drunk.”

I shake my head. I don’t want him to stop touching me, so I guide his hand higher, sliding it under my dress. “Not drunk enough to not know what I want.”

His gaze drops to where his hand has disappeared under my dress and then back up at me. “I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.”

I shift, his fingers achingly close to where I want them most. “I won’t. I promise.”

In a flash, he’s out of the car. My heart stutters as he strides around to my side, yanking the car door open, his eyes wild, burning with lust. His hand finds mine, pulling me out of the car. He slams the door shut and presses me against it. He stands close, his hand on my hip, gripping possessively. The cool night air does nothing to put out the fire blazing in my veins.

“If we go inside,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine, “there’s no turning back.”

I lean into him, my fingers sliding up his chest to curl around his collar, pulling him closer. “Then don’t stop.”

In my apartment, Lucien pushes me against the door as soon as we are inside and crashes his lips against mine in a bruising kiss that knocks me breathless, his body pressing into mine.

“Are you sure about this?’ he says, his lips moving against mine.

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly.

And that’s all it takes. He grabs my thighs and lifts me off the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. I can feel his hard cock pressing against me through his pants. His fingers dig into my thighs, and I grind my hips against him, moaning. With a groan, he slips his tongue into my mouth.

Fuck.

The kiss is sloppy and messy, just the way I like it. I’m sure my lips are swollen and red and bruised, but I don’t care. His lips leave mine to trail kisses down my neck, biting and sucking at my skin, marking my skin as if I’m his. I arch my back and throw my head back to give him better access to my neck.

“Bedroom,” I say impatiently, wanting—no, needing—to feel him inside of me.

“Where?”

I point him in the direction of my room. He doesn’t waste time. He carries me to my room. In my room, he throws me onto my bed, and I gasp. He’s on top of me in an instant, kissing me like it’s the last time he’ll ever kiss someone. I run my fingers through his hair, pulling at it, and he groans, biting my lower lip in response.

Everything happens in a blur then. We strip each other in a frenzy, throwing clothes carelessly on the floor until we’re skin to skin, and it feels amazing. His hand travels down my body to the heat between my thighs, and at his touch, I moan and arch my back, pulling back from the kiss.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he groans, his voice low and ragged. His thumb presses against my clit, and my body shudders, a moan spilling from my lips. “So sensitive, too.”

And then he starts to rub slow circles, teasing me.

“Don’t tease,” I whine.

He smirks, picking up his pace, and rubbing faster. I spread my legs wider, gripping the sheets tightly as the pleasure builds, coiling tightly inside of me. And when he sinks his teeth into my neck, it shatters, my orgasm ripping through me, my body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.

He doesn’t stop, his fingers sliding into me, stretching me as he thrusts them hard and deep.

He leans down to lick the bite he left on my neck, and I hiss at the sting. He pulls his fingers out to carcasses my hip, soothing me before he begins to trail kisses down my body until he’s between my thighs. His lips brush the inside of my thigh, sucking a hickey before he licks over it and blows at it, making me shiver.

“Fuck,” he groans, staring at my pussy. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t wait to taste you.”

Lucien looks up at me then, his beautiful eyes locking with mine as he sticks out his tongue and licks a slow stripe from my wet entrance to my clit, and I—

“Amara!”

I startle, slamming the drawer shut. “I’m in here!”

Maliah opens the door and sticks her head inside. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” I nod, walking across my room to my bed. I sink down onto it, resting my head against the headboard.

Maliah steps inside, closing the door behind her. Her gaze lands on the box sitting on my bed. “Is that what I think it is?” she asks, pointing at it.

“Yeah.” I sigh. It’s been such an exhausting day. “I got laid off.”

Maliah frowns, her brows knitting together. “No, why would they do that? You’re like the best teacher that school has. The kids love you,” Maliah says, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“Yeah, well, the school doesn’t seem to think so. Budget cuts, they said.” I shrug.

“Budget cuts, my ass.”

“That school is already understaffed as it is,” I say, running a hand down my face. “The classrooms are already overcrowded, and now they’re going to shove even more kids into one room just to make up for the lack of teachers.”

“I’m sorry, Amara. I know you love those kids.”

“I know, but what can I do? I will just have to find another job.”

“With your qualifications, you’ll find one. You’ll see,” she says. “And I can help you look for one, too.”

I really hope what Maliah is saying is true, that I’m going to find a job, because how am I supposed to take care of a baby if I don’t have a steady income? I can’t exactly call the father and ask him for child support because I don’t even know who he is. The only thing I know about him is his name.

Lucien.