Page 65 of Most Eligible Billionaire

Without warning, he grips my ass—clenches it hard—fingers like steely vise grips. He jerks me against his rock-hard erection and I gasp to feel the size of him through our clothes. “You feel that?” he snarls, notching himself to me, pulsing against me. “That’s how you have me every day. Damn! You already feel good.”

“Oh my god, yes,” I breathe. He presses me harder. His weight feels amazing. I gasp as he kisses my cheek, my neck. Every time he moves, the pressure between my legs changes and my ache builds.

I’m pulling up his shirt, freeing it from his pants and belt. Finally I get to his warm abs. I press my hands there. I’m a thief now, taking what’s not mine. Consuming his belly, rough smattering of hair over muscle.

I don’t care if it’s not real anymore. It’s real enough.

“I’ve imagined this for so long,” he says, pulling away, panting.

I shiver as he skims his fingertips over my sweater-clad breasts “These fuzzy sweaters.”

“Take it off me,” I say. “Let me watch you unbutton it. Like before. How you started to before.”

“Have you been thinking about it?” he asks. “You been beating off to it?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

His fingers tremble as he unbuttons the pearl buttons of the sweater. I love that he’s trembling.

“Pull up your skirt, then,” he says.

I hunch over and pull it up, turning it inside out, gathering it up.

He pushes a hard-cut thigh between my legs. “Ride it. Move. I'm gonna need you good and wet.”

“I don’t know how much more wet I can…”

“Ride it,” he growls. He gyrates his hips, getting up the rhythm. I match his movement, moving while he undoes me. It’s a little embarrassing, but it feels so good.

“Harder,” he whispers in my ear. “If you want me to undo these dainty buttons, you gotta do your part.” He nudges my legs wider. “Ride.”

I do it. Satisfied, he returns his attention to the buttons.

“I look at these buttons sometimes…damn,” he pants. Like he’s lost his ability to make sense. He kisses my forehead. “You watching me down there?” His fingers are soft spiders at my midriff, undoing the third-to-last button. The second-to-last button. “Unwrapping you. You watching?”

“I’m watching,” I say.

“Is this what I’m doing when you beat off? Don’t bother trying to tell me you don’t.” He knows it is. He flicks the last button. My sweater falls open.

His thigh between my legs is blunt waves of pleasure. He fists the center of my cami, uses it to pull me into a faster rhythm. “I love how you move on me.” He skims his palms up the front of me, sliding over the white fabric, calluses catching and snagging. “Like this?” he says. “Is this what I do to you next?”

“Next,” I pant, “you do whatever you want to me.”

His chuckle is a rumble in my ear. He curls his fingers around the tops of the bra cups and jerks down. I gasp at the violence of the movement. My breasts pop free with a jiggle.

“Jesus, you’re hot,” he says. He throws off his hard hat and kisses me roughly, then pulls away, panting.

“Watch my hands, kitten, watch what I do to you.” He presses his hands over my breasts, rough and warm. “So hot. My cum would look so good right here. All over these pretty tits. You look so prim and proper, it makes me want to corrupt you. It makes me want to unravel you. There are so many layers to you, and I’m going to fuck them all.”

The layers comment sends momentary alarm through me, but then he plucks my nipple, and the zing of it flares bright white inside me.

“So entitled.” My breath speeds. The city spreads out below us like another world, another time, dizzying and slightly unreal.

“Why aren’t you riding?”

“I need something else there now,” I say. “But isn’t this a little bit exposed up here?”

“Nobody sees you but me,” he says.

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