Page 2 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

And Caspian said it just right too.

In this sexy-angry way.

As if being a tease was something wicked, not something wrong.

I was already swooning slightly—because of that, and also because his cock was pressed right against the warm, tingly space beneath my balls. But then he twisted a hand in my hair, yanking my head back, and my overthrow was complete.

The breath shuddered in my throat.

The fear was animal, instinctive, and so very sweet.

He leaned down even further and licked a long, wet stripe up my trembly, stubble-speckled Adam’s apple.

I made a sound.

I guess you could have called it a whimper.

His teeth found the tender places under my jaw. Playful little nips that didn’t really hurt so much as spark.

And then he pressed his open mouth to the side of my neck and—

Oh oh oh.

Something at once familiar and surprising about that damp suction and the blunt edge of his teeth: pleasure with a hot heart of pain.

It was sufficiently sanity-consuming that I forgot myself, moaning shamelessly as I curled my palm around the back of his neck, holding him to me. That strange and glorious push-pull of yes-no-doitharder.

My skin was as fiery-achy as my cock by the time he drew back.

He stared down at me, mouth red and eyes wild. “What the hell am I doing?”

“Um.” I touched my fingers gently to the throbbing circle he had left on my neck. “Giving me a hickey, I think.”

He winced. “I’m so sorry. I’m not some brutish adolescent. I don’t know what came over me.”

It was the teeniest bit ridiculous.

Caspian Hart—billionaire, sophisticate, chess grandmaster—and me with what was probably a glowing red-purple bruise. The proud teenage symbol for “getting some.” Which, embarrassingly enough, I’d missed out on when I was an actual teenager, on account of being literally the only gay in the village. And English to boot.

I’d made up for it at university—although, now I thought about it, while I’d occasionally been bitten (with varying degrees of conviction), I’d never received an actual, one hundred percent genuine, bona-fide hickey.

Turned out, I was oddly glad it was Caspian.

And I liked—more than liked—that he wanted to mark me.

Unfortunately, he was looking a little bit traumatized about it.

“No, no,” I said quickly. “It was lovely.” I twisted my head helpfully. “Do it again.”

He laughed, and kissed the bite so that it lit up like a flare and made me gasp. “I think I might have been wrong when I called you a tease.”

“I’m not a tease?” I just about managed not to pout but I couldn’t keep the disappointment from my voice.

“I think perhaps”—he’d gone all husky again—“you’re worse.”

I brightened. “Coquette?”

He didn’t answer. Only tongued at a wildly sensitive spot beneath my ear.

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