The Billionaire's Sex Diet Obsession

Alexander's POV

The city lights sprawled out like a glittering carpet far below my penthouse, a sprawling fortress of glass and steel perched atop the highest tower in the downtown skyline. At 42 stories up, the world felt distant, insignificant—a playground I'd conquered long ago. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, my reflection staring back: tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline carved from marble and eyes the color of storm clouds. My dark hair was tousled just enough to hint at the chaos I unleashed in private, and my tailored shirt clung to my rippling muscles, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the tattoos snaking across my chest—reminders of a wilder youth before I clawed my way to the top of Voss Enterprises.

I sipped my scotch, the burn sliding down my throat like liquid fire, matching the heat building in my veins. Tonight was about revenge, wrapped in the sweetest, sluttiest package: Isabella Moreno, the stunning wife of my most hated rival, Victor Reyes. That slimy bastard from Reyes Corp had tried to undercut me in the latest merger, leaking false rumors to the press about my "unstable leadership." I'd crushed him—buying out his key investors overnight—but payback wasn't complete until it was personal. And what could be more personal than fucking his wife senseless, making her scream my name while Victor sat oblivious in his suburban mansion, probably nursing a limp dick?

Isabella arrived precisely at 10 PM, as I'd instructed. The private elevator dinged softly, and she stepped out into the open-concept living space, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. She was a vision: mid-thirties, with cascading raven hair, full lips painted crimson, and a body poured into a tight black dress that hugged her curves like a second skin. Her olive skin glowed under the dim ambient lighting, and her dark eyes flickered with a mix of nervousness and excitement. I'd seduced her weeks ago at a gala, whispering promises of the forbidden thrills her husband could never provide. Now, here she was, ready to betray everything for a taste of my darkness.

"Alexander," she purred, her voice laced with that sultry Spanish accent that made my cock twitch. She sauntered toward me, hips swaying hypnotically. "You kept me waiting too long. I've been thinking about this all day—how you'd take me, make me yours."

I set my glass down on the sleek bar counter, my gaze raking over her body like a predator sizing up prey. "Thinking about it? Good. But thinking won't make you scream, Isabella. Begging will." My voice was low, commanding—a velvet growl that sent shivers down her spine. I closed the distance in two strides, my hand cupping her chin firmly, tilting her face up to meet my eyes. "Tell me, does Victor know where his precious wife is right now? Sneaking off to get fucked by the man who ruined him?"

Her breath hitched, a flush creeping up her neck. "He thinks I'm at a charity event. But I don't care. I want this. I want you—your hands on me, your cock inside me." She pressed her body against mine, her hands sliding up my chest, feeling the heat radiating from me.

I grabbed her wrist, twisting it just enough to make her gasp—not in pain, but in that delicious edge of anticipation. "Want? Oh, darling, you have no idea what you're in for. I don't do gentle. I don't do sweet. I fuck like I mean it—rough, punishing, until you're screaming for mercy and coming all over my cock." I released her wrist and spun her around, pressing her against the cold glass window. The city lights twinkled below, indifferent witnesses to what was about to unfold.

Isabella's palms flattened against the glass, her dress riding up as I hiked it over her hips. "Yes," she whispered, arching her back. "Punish me, Alexander. Make me forget everything—make me forget him."

My hand came down hard on her ass, the slap echoing through the penthouse. She yelped, the sting blooming into heat. "Louder," I demanded, spanking her again, harder this time, watching her flesh jiggle and redden under my palm. Her lace panties were already soaked, and I could smell her arousal, that musky scent that drove me wild. I yanked the fabric aside, my fingers delving between her thighs without warning, finding her slick and ready. I plunged two fingers inside her, curling them roughly against her G-spot.

"Oh God," she moaned, her body trembling. "Alexander... please... finger me harder."

I chuckled darkly, my free hand wrapping around her throat from behind, applying just enough pressure to make her pulse race. "Please what? Use your words, you filthy little slut. Tell me how badly you want my cock destroying that perfect, married pussy of yours—stretching you until you can't walk straight tomorrow."

"I want it," she gasped, grinding back against my hand. "I want you to fuck me hard, like a whore. Punish me for being Victor's wife—fuck me like he never could."

That was all I needed. I unzipped my pants with one hand, freeing my throbbing erection—thick, veined, and aching for release, pre-cum already beading at the tip. I didn't bother with more foreplay; that wasn't my style. I positioned myself at her entrance and thrust in deep, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal stroke, feeling her walls clench around me like a vice.

"Fuck! Alexander, it's too much—you're so big!" she screamed, her nails scraping the glass.