Page 9 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

He was also breathing hard, his heart thundering under mine. And his mouth looked all ravaged, which gave me a filthy, possessive thrill.

“Y’know,” I said, “I’m really super horny right now.”

He laughed and, while making someone laugh had never been high on my sexual agenda before, just then it was absolutely right. He sounded so…happy. And also a little wicked, his eyes alight with that touch of cruelty I found inexpressibly enticing.

He urged me upright on my knees and pushed a hand between our bodies, fumbling with his belt and his zipper. An arch and a shimmy and, a moment later, his cock—his ever-gorgeous, flatteringly hard cock—was free.

I think I might have actually licked my lips. And I would definitely have said a friendly hello, with my hand if nothing else, if Caspian hadn’t distracted me by easing a sachet of lube out of the pocket of his jeans.

He’d just been carrying that?

I couldn’t tell if the forward-fuck-planning was flattering or arrogant. Or maybe it was both, and that was why I liked it.

He tore it open with his teeth—if I’d tried to do that, I’d have ended up with a mouthful of lube—and slicked up his cock. And, oh wow, I could have watched him do that forever: his long, elegant fingers working his long, elegant cock until everything glistened.

He tangled his free hand in my hair and yanked my head up, drawing an excited gasp out of me.

“You want it,” he told me, steadying himself by the base, “you take it.”

“Fuck yes I want it.”

He was not…unchallenging, but I was a hundred percent on the case. Honestly, I was so turned on, I could probably have fucked a butternut squash. I eased myself into a good position, adjusted my angle, and sank down upon him—for about two seconds, and then I almost hit the ceiling, howling.

“Oh Jesusfuckingchrist.”

My arse had lit up like Rudolph’s nose.

How the fuck had I…forgotten? Yet somehow, in the haze of greedy kissing, the hot ache of spanking had become background and I had.

Though from Caspian’s glittery smirk he absolutely hadn’t.

I blinked the tears out of my eyes. “You bastard.”

He smiled and kissed my nose.

I tried it a bunch of ways, getting freshly sweaty and whimpery the more I struggled, but it was like one of the punishments in Tartarus: this perfect prize of a cock I couldn’t fuck. I was driving myself wild with frustration, and God knows how he was managing to stay so calm, but I could have done with about three more hands. I simply couldn’t brace myself and angle myself and guide his cock past the inferno he’d made of my arse all at the same time. I wanted him so much—I was fucking dying from lack of him inside me—but I just didn’t know how.

Eventually, I surrendered. Rested my brow against his and gave a broken little sob.

“I can’t. Please.”

His arms came around me. “Let me help you.”

“Wait.” I jerked upright. “Was that an option?”

“You didn’t ask.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, so I sort of did both and smacked him in the arm. “You bastard.”

“You already called me that.”

“I’m out of my mind with lust. I’m sorry my insults aren’t living up to your exacting standards. But, yes. Please. For the love of God. Please help me.”

His hands slid down my back and pulled my buttocks apart. It still hurt but for some reason it hurt differently when he did it. And I shuddered with a kind of weird hurty pleasure and the vague knowledge that my arsehole was on full display to incalculable miles of sky.

Not that it was looking.

But I still felt pretty exposed.

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