Page 15 of The Billionaire's Naughty List

"Oh, fuck. Kitten—" He releases me. "I'm going to come."

It's my turn to moan.

I've dreamed of worshiping his cock. Fantasized about all of it, from start to finish. Many times. Sometimes we’re in the shower, in the bed. One time, we were in the forest.

Those fantasies were missing some important details. Like the sting of my scalp when he grips my hair. The earthy scent of him that mingles with the crispness of detergent and deodorant. The way his thick shaft pulses between my lips.

So I suck harder and keep my tongue pressed against his sweet spot. His muscles tense and his head drops back against the tile. “Jes?—”

Part of me wants to do a touch down dance and gloat about making Elliot Rivers lose his cool. But the other half of me, the greedier side, wants to just see how much farther I can push him.

He looks down at me again, gaze soft. “You really like that, don’t you?”

I murmur my agreement, but it’s completely garbled.

There’s a flash of a smile, and then he’s sucking in another deep breath. He cups the side of my throat, his thumb stroking down over my pulse point.

“Can’t wait to feel you swallow.”

Feeling the challenge hovering between us, I take him as deep as I can and the instant he hits the back of my throat, he starts to unleash. Jet after jet of hot jizz hits my tongue and I jerk back, letting the flood fill my mouth. His hand is still on my throat as I swallow.

I wish I could see the look in his eyes, the ecstasy on his face, but I have no doubts because he’s still moaning. Lifting my head, I take a deep breath and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Fuck, Lily.”

He breathes hard, that hair-smattered chest heaving as he swipes a hand down his face and then runs it through his hair. I sit back on my heels, pretty pleased with myself. Smug even. He seems…shattered.

Like he wasn't expecting a blow job to be that good. Or maybe he wasn't expectingmeto be that good?

"I don't want to know where you learned to do that." His tone is one quarter jealous, one quarter impressed, and fifty percent wonder.

"Oh?"

He pulls me up off the floor.

"It's better I don't think about it."

Hands flat on his chest, his half hard cock between us, I gaze up at him, seeing something I've never noticed on his face before.

Jealousy.

Elliot Rivers isn't a jealous man. Ambitious, sure. Competitive? Don't challenge him to chess if you want to win.

But this…

Why does the raw emotion make me so wet? It shouldn't. Jealousy isn't something I condone.

Reaching over, he turns off the water. Snagging a towel, he dries my skin gently, reverently. I close my eyes, making a memory of this moment. This exact moment when it’s cold and snowy outside, but quiet and romantic in here as the walls finally crumble between us.

I should tell him he doesn't have anything to worry about. Or that I've never given a blow job before, so he can put hismind at ease. But I'm enjoying this new broody, silent side where he's singly focused on drying me. Touching me everywhere, lingering, feeling me through the thick towel.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, keeping my voice soft.

"That I have no right to hate the thought of you with another man."

He really doesn't. But again, I'm not going to tell him that.

"I hate the thought of you with other women."

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