Page 90 of Return Billionaire to Sender

He stills, eyes riveted to mine in the mirror.

“What?” I ask, because he’s looking at me strangely.

“I like that,” he says. “When you look a little bit witchy like that.”

“Witchy?” I say. “Watch out or I’ll give you an X instead of a check mark,” I warn playfully. It’s like a whole new side of me comes out when he’s around.

He’s still fixated on my gaze. Which I intensify. His lips curl in a shadow of a smile. “You wouldn’t,” he says.

My pulse races. This shouldn’t be fun. “I already decided,” I tease. “You’ll be getting an X for inappropriate behavior.”

Still standing behind me, he takes the bag off my shoulder and sets it on the dresser. I’m shivering with excitement. He slides his arms around to my front and begins to unbutton my shirt.

“Don’t think you can change your grade, either,” I whisper.

He undoes another button as I watch in the mirror. “I do think I’ll change my grade. That’s my whole plan.”

“I’m not susceptible to bribery, as you’ve already discovered,” I tease, surprised I can form sentences at this point.

He turns me in his arms to face him now and pushes down my yoga pants. I press my hands to his chest, thanking my lucky stars that I happen to have good underpants on, because I have some bad underpants in my suitcase for sure.

Heat blooms through me as he kneels and pushes them down lower, past my knees. I should stop him. I should.

Will I?

No. Freaking. Way.

“I’m not going to bribe you. I know you don’t like to take things.” He presses a kiss to my belly. I watch him—watch us—as if from a mile above. “I know you don’t like to take too much. I see you, country mouse.” He kisses my right thigh and then my left thigh. He’s sliding down my panties, hands skimming the sides of my legs, past my knees, my calves. “No bribery. I’m thinking more of extortion.” He presses a kiss onto my mound.

I shove my hands into his hair, dizzy with desire. “Extortion?” I mumble. He could say devil worship at this point, and I’d probably go along with it.

He kisses me again, and I gasp from the sheer pleasure of it. Just a kiss and I’m all electric nerve endings. Before I know it, he’s hoisted me so that I’m sitting on the dresser, and he’s got me pretty much naked aside from my bra and open-hanging shirt, while he is still dressed. Just how he runs his negotiations. Stripping the person bare.

Moi? So good with that.

He kneels in front of me, with perfect access to my sex. Warm, dull waves of pleasure wash through my body as he kisses me between my legs, even kind of makes out with me there.

And then he sticks his tongue inside of me. I gasp.

Hard fingers dig into my thighs, pressing my legs apart, and he kisses me again, and again I gasp. And then he licks me. And I gasp. I’m a regular Pez dispenser of gasps.

“Omigod,” I say, trembling, shoving my fingers deeply into his hair. He’s licking me shamelessly now. It’s nearly surreal that this is Malcolm Blackberg—supposedly dark, evil, misanthropic Malcolm Blackberg, licking my pussy.

So. Amazingly.

His tongue is hitting all the perfect bits of me, rearranging my mind.

Every stroke seems to ping my very soul—ping! So amazing.Ping! Malcolm fucking Blackberg.Ping!

I’m lost in pure pleasure for a good long time, but then I come to my senses and realize that he’s being left out. It feels constitutionally against everything in me to take this kind of pleasure without giving anything in return.

I grab his hair and pull him up toward me. “Come here,” I say. “Come up here.”

“No,” he says into my pussy, and then he finds an even better angle, and I nearly swallow my own tongue.

I grab his hair harder. “Do you have a condom?” I ask.

“Yes.”

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