Her Billionaire's Erotic Rules (#2 The Mansion): Erotica (Erotic Sex Stories) by Anjah Cavalli Page A

– one of which paid nothing – and barely covering my
bills.  If the odds are stacked against you, then any advantage you can acquire
helps.  I was certain that if T. G. desired a courtesan, he could afford the
very best.  He saw something else in me.  It was sexual, for sure and maybe he
got an extra thrill by having an inappropriate relationship with a subordinate,
but maybe, just maybe, it was me.  The person I am, or something he saw in me. 
And if that meant becoming his little sex toy until he was bored with me, then
fine; as long as it was mutually beneficial.
     
    I slugged down the rest of the gin
and tonic and decided to have another.  I searched the satellite stations and
settled on some smooth, jazzy kind of torch song.  The woman’s voice, the spare
piano and string section made for a languid, sensual mood.  I slipped my shoes
off, closed my eyes and thought of the possibilities which lay ahead.
     
    Okay, I conceded, maybe I was just
a bit whorish, after all.
     
    After driving through a heavily
wooded area and down a private road which ended at a barricade, manned with
uniformed guards, we were greeted with a panoramic view of “the house,” a huge,
rambling mansion surrounded by a lush, green landscape.  Beyond the residence,
I could see horses gathered in a pasture.  There was a helicopter parked on a
helipad on one side of the residence, its blades twirling lazily in the breeze.
     
    It was exactly how I’d pictured a
billionaire would live.
     
    A female staff member greeted me
at the door.  “Mr. Herron and his guests are on the patio.  Follow me,
please.”  We walked through a large sitting room and a living room dominated by
a grand piano.  Artwork and tapestries hung on the walls and display cases with
photographs caught my eye.  I could have spent hours poring over the
decorations and furnishings, but then we arrived at a pair of glass doors.  My
guide opened the doors and I walked onto the sunlit patio.  T. G. and an older
man and a young woman were seated at a round glass table.  T. G. rose and
greeted me with a hug.
     
    “Rachel, I’m so glad you’re
here.”  He gave me a light kiss on the neck and a shiver ran down my spine. 
“Let me introduce you to everybody.  This is my old friend – I’m sorry, my
friend, Neville and his friend Simone.”   Neville looked to be in his fifties,
with a large belly that caught on the table when he rose to shake my hand.
     
    “That’s right, don’t be calling me
your ‘old’ friend, mate.  Pleased to meet ya, Rachel,” he said in a thick
Australian accent, while vigorously shaking my hand.  “Heard a lot about ya,
most of it good, yeah.”  His eyes squinted and a big smile stretched across his
face.  “And this is my fellow traveler, Simone.  This is her first time in the
States, ain’t it, doll?”  Simone stood and leaned forward to shake my hand. 
She was beautiful, with caramel colored skin and long, frizzy hair pulled back
in a ponytail.
     
    “That’s a beautiful dress,” I
said.  It was a floral pattern with a low-cut top and straps.  The flowers were
large, tropical fauna, scarlet and violet; very exotic, like Simone herself.  
I couldn’t help noticing the way her breasts swayed as we shook hands.
     
    “Thank you.  And you look nice,
too.  Very comfortable.”  Her voice had a slight lilt to it, an accent that I
couldn’t quite place.  “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”  The sun was nearing the
tree line, and shadows from the trees and a distant barn spilled across the
grass.  I nodded.
     
    A young man in a black polo shirt
and khakis appeared as I sat down.  “Would you like something to drink,
ma’am?”  I looked around and saw that T. G. and Neville were drinking beer. 
Simone had what appeared to be a daiquiri in front of her.
     
    I decided on a beer.  T. G. said,
“Now, don’t feel obliged to drink this Australian swill they call beer just because
we are.”  I