Page 94 of Trailer Park Billionaire
“I don’t need to spank you to make you cry, Panda,” he says (or threatens) with a voice so low it vibrates through me. “I don’t even need to fuck your pretty little mouth to get those black tears running.” He moves me over to the bed, bends down, and whispers into my ear, “All I have to do is pleasure you. Over and over again. Without giving you what you actually crave.”
A second later, he’s ripping clothes off my body, sending buttons flying. Fabric starts tearing. There’s no finesse here, no patience—just hunger. And, like him, I’m starving too, which is why I try to do the same to him and his shirt. But before I manage to rip off a single button, he throws me down onto the mattress.
He’s on top of me a second later, pinning both my hands over my head, not allowing me to move. His eyes observe my every reaction as his mouth begins to explore. He starts with my neck, then works his way to my tits, idling whenever he finds a spot that makes me feel particularly good. It’s like he’s studying me. Like I’m a sculpture he’s committing to memory. And it feels like nothing I have felt before.
“Fuck, Helena,” he groans, flashing that devious grin again. “You’re shaking.”
“No,” I pant, trying to free my hands so I can touch him as well. “You’re making me shake. That’s different.”
A second later, Ben’s hovering over me again, his weight concentrated on my wrists, letting me know I’m not going anywhere, I’m not touching him, unless he allows it. He lets out a ragged laugh. “Good. Now, about those tears…” He releases one of my hands, brushes a strand of hair off my face, and gently cups my cheek. “You can still tell me to stop, Helena.”
My head shakes along with my body. “If you stop now, I will first cry and then shout for help.”
“And who’s going to help you, dear?” he asks, twisting my nipple between his fingers.
A delicious pain jolts through me, making me moan against my will. I take a deep breath. “Police obviously. I’ll tell them to arrest you…”
Ben lets his hand glide further down to my pussy, giving it the slowest, most excruciating rub over my panties.
“For obstruction of orgasm,” I add.
He lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks my juices off them. His eyes flutter shut with pleasure.Fuck—wet from just touching me through fabric.
“Those are some serious accusations,” he murmurs, while grabbing my cheeks and turning my lips up to his. His tongue slips into my mouth, making me taste myself on him—and God,that only makes me wetter. While we’re still tangled in the kiss, his other hand travels back down, forcing off my underwear.
“Is that what I’m doing here?” he asks as he withdraws those delicious lips of his. “Am I obstructing anything?”
Once again, I strain against the hand that is still pinning me onto the mattress. “Well, I certainly don’t need those to touchyou.” I shake my head. “No, I just need them to get myself off real quick. So, technically, I think what you’re doing does qualify as obstruction.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Helena.” Ben kisses my forehead gently, causing me to stop struggling. “Here’s what’s going to happen now. First, I am going to get you close.” He gently taps his hand against my bare pussy once. “Then I’m going to get you closer.” He taps again, twice. “Then I’m going to get you so close you’ll not only scream for the police, but for an entire SWAT team to save you.” Three more taps that make me kick my legs from sheer, aching desperation. “And then I’m going to stop. Until you start begging for it.”
I stare at him in shock for a moment before I find my words again. “Okay, fine—yes, please,” I huff, right after he rubs my pussy roughly one last time. “Please, I’m already begging. Can you just skip to the that last part? I was already close the first time you touched me. I was even closer when we cuddled. And I am so, so fucking close right now, it’s not even funny. Please, Ben.”
He releases a quiet laugh, his mouth brushing against mine. “You’re right,” he whispers into me, “it is not even funny. It’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Then, finally—finally—he releases me, leans back, and strips out of his blazer. Reflexively, my hands fly to his pants, fingers fumbling at his belt buckle—only for him to catch and restrain me again before I can actually undo anything.
“I think you can beg even better than that, Helena.” He puts my hands back up, grabs me by the throat, and presses me into the soft mattress with one hand, while the other explores more of my curves. “You remember your safe word, Panda?”
I nod, whisper the word ‘Folly’,and resign myself to my own fate.
“Good,” Ben answers, low and gravelly. “Don’t be afraid to use it.”
And that’s the thing with Ben Lyon,I think.I’m not afraid. Not afraid of him. Not afraid of what he might do to me. Not afraid of anything when he’s with me. I’m already trusting him with my life, and now I’m trusting him with something even more precious: my orgasm.
He bends down and kisses me again—slower, deeper—like he wants to sink into me completely. His hands stay firm on my throat, not squeezing, just holding me steady—like I’m something precious. Breakable. Then his mouth trails down my neck, across my collarbone, pausing at every inch of skin like he’s tasting me one brush of his tongue at a time.
And then he dips lower.
And lower.
And I forget how to breathe.
Because he doesn’t just want to fuck me.
He wants to fucking undo me.
This is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I’m pretty sure it’s like nothing anyone has ever experienced before.
