Budapest Calling

The Artist and the Billionaire's First Encounter

At the end of her trip in Europe, young artist Gemma meets mysterious venture capitalist Julian by chance. They spend a long, wild night together exploring each other and the foreign city, but as dawn comes, Gemma develops serious reservations. She’s seen Julian’s type before play tourist in her own realm, and she doesn’t want her heart broken again. Will he be able to convince her otherwise?

This 7,000 word story is the first part of a steamy romance between a strong-willed, unusual beauty and an equally commanding billionaire who is used to getting his way.

Excerpt:

From our vantage point we could see most of the park and the sculptures dotting the landscape. Without moving towards me, Julian spoke.

“Open your legs.”

“What?” I said, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

He turned his head slightly to look at me and nod. My body still ached, but my rational mind wasn’t sure if this was a good idea anymore.

“What do you want?” I said.

“What you want,” he replied.

“How do you have any idea what I want? You don’t even know me.”

“That’s why we’re here,” he said, turning to me a little. “We both get to know each other and ourselves.”

“I know myself pretty well, thank you.” I felt like a wayward teenager crossing my arms over my chest.

“I’m sure you do. But there may be other levels you have never explored.”

“And what about you? Do you still have other levels to explore?”

“I hope so.”

We breathed in the night air. A couple passed us, hand in hand, talking softly.

“So are you willing to try some new things?” he said.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Alright then. Open your legs,” he said again.

I scanned the hill and paths again. No one was near. I closed my eyes and slowly opened my legs enough to feel the cool breeze on my hot pussy.

“More,” Julian said. I moved another inch. Now anyone coming up the path could see up my skirt, but it was dark enough that they would have to be really looking.

“Keep going until I say when,” he said. I inched my knees apart until I felt like I was at the gynecologist. Just as it became uncomfortable, he stopped me. “How do you feel?”

“Nervous,” I replied. The breeze did nothing to evaporate the new juices forming inside of me.

“That’s good. No one is going to hurt you.” He put his left arm around my shoulder and moved to face me more. He crossed his right arm over himself and placed his hand on my right bare knee. The touch itself was enough to get me aching all over again. So firm, so deliberate. He slid it up my inner thigh and when he finally made contact with my lips again, I moaned aloud. He smiled.

“Put your hands behind your back and grip the bench,” he instructed. I obeyed.  “Tell me how you feel as I touch you.”