Page 92 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

“Touch yourself,” he says hoarsely. “Like you do on the calls.”

“Drummond…”

“Go ahead,” he grates.

“It’s kind of soon.”

“Do it anyway.”

Tyrannical Mr. Drummond.

I slide my hand down my belly, shaking a little. I’m following his command, but I feel strangely powerful. “Is that part of the fantasy?”

“Are you kidding?” he says. “I only wake up in the middle of the night imagining it. Or in the middle of reviewing data. Working on the new formula.” He says it all like he’s annoyed. Like I’ve been driving him insane.

It seems evil to love that, but I do love it. I slide my hand between my legs, letting him watch me. It’s like a dream.

“Do you imagine it?” he asks. “Me here?”

“Yeah.”

“What do I do?”

“You burst in and discover me, and you’re so stern and angry.”

He gets off the bed and walks around to stand at the side, still fully clothed. He looms over me, darkness in his eyes. He pulls off his tie and drops it. “Wider.” His voice is ragged.

“So presumptuous,” I say, letting my knees fall loose.

He fumbles open his cuff links. He strips off his shirt revealing a broad, muscled chest. He undoes his belt and yanks it free. There’s a dull clink as it hits the floor. “What else?”

I slide my finger lightly around my folds, enjoying the way he watches me, so dark and hot. “You’re so feverish to get to my pussy that you’re savage—worshipful, but feral. And sometimes you bite me a little bit. And you sometimes wear your lab coat.”

“My lab coat.” His pants come off. His giant cock springs up, thick and blunt. “That’s what I wear?”

“W-what?”

“Focus. You like to imagine me wearing my lab coat?”

“Sometimes,” I say, mesmerized by the taut beauty of his cock. He wraps his hand partly around it, cradling it. It’s hot, watching him touch himself so casually.

“And?”

A bolt of heat shoots through me when he starts rolling a condom onto himself. “And I drive you so crazy, you can’teven.”

“You think it’s funny to drive me crazy?” he rumbles in the stern voice I love.

I slide my hand up my belly, unable to look away from his cock. “No, I don’t think it’s funny at all,” I say. “I think it’s fucking hilarious.”

He grumbles angrily. The bed dips as he crawls over me.

I press my hand to his chest—not to stop him, but just to feel him, to feel his heart, to get all of him I can.

He takes the hand I’m touching him with and presses it over my head along with my other hand. He holds them together and watches my eyes. “You think it’s hilarious? To torment me?”

Everything in me sparkles. We’ve built a sexy secret that nobody knows about. Like a secret sandcastle. “Very,” I breathe.

He growls like he really is being driven insane by me, still holding my hands above my head. He fits my fingers to the middle plank of my headboard. I grip it obediently.

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