Page 94 of The Billionaire's Baby
Her knuckles whiten and she increases the pressure on the hardened nipple just as I tilt my hips and impale her. Her body bucks and she digs her heels into the curve of my butt. I squeeze the backs of her thighs, yank her forward as I tilt my hips and thrust into her again and again.
She shudders, color smears her cheeks, and a bead of sweat trickles down her throat. I lean down and lick it up. "Oh, Arpad," she moans. "Please… please…"
"What is it?" I raise my head, and peer into her eyes, "What do you want?"
"I want to—"
I plunge into her with enough force that the ridge of my pelvis grinds down on her clit.
"Oh…" she gasps, "oh, I’m going to—"
"Come with me," I hold her gaze, "only me."
I thrust into her as her back curves, her eyes roll back in her head and she opens her mouth to scream. I close my mouth over hers, absorb the sound as I come inside her.
I hold up her weight, thrust into her a few more times as aftershocks grip her.
Her body slumps and I widen my stance to support her. My shoulders burn and my thigh muscles tense under our combined weight. It reminds me of how I’d pulled her up from the ledge at the side of the hill. How I’d almost lost her. Never again. I bend down and press my lips to her forehead. "It’s time to go, Sparks."
She mumbles under her breath, and I kiss her upturned nose. "Yeah, nothing I’d rather do than curl up with you in bed, but I’m afraid we’ve got to see this through."
I lower her legs to the ground, then pull out of her and step back. Our joined cum slides down her inner thigh. I glance around, then grab a scarf from a peg on the wall and press it to her pussy. I clean her up and she stirs. She looks down, then gasps, "That…that’s a Hermes scarf."
"So?"
"It’s expensive."
"I can afford it."
I drop the scarf on the ground then hold out my hand to her, "Come on, let’s get you dressed."
34
Karina
I run my fingers down the soft fabric of my dress—my shoulder-to-toe, knit, wool dress, which he’d picked out for me. I’d refused; he’d insisted. I’d begun to protest and he’d asked me to try it on first. I had, and you know what? When I looked at myself in the mirror, I liked it. The long length highlights my figure, brings out the curve of my hips, and that, combined with the long sleeves and high neck, showcases my breasts in a way which is demure yet alluring.
I'd also managed to refresh my make up—making sure to cover all remaining evidence of the headwound—just as he'd appeared behind me in the mirror, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. The other, he’d placed on my hip possessively.
"Well?" He’d smirked at my reflection in the mirror.
"It’s not bad," I’d finally offered, and he’d laughed.
"You look magnificent, Sparks."
"And I’m covered from head to toe," I’d grumbled.
"Good," he’d met my gaze in the mirror, "your body is only for my delectation."
A thrill of lust had swept down my spine, and something else... A sensation of warmth had suffused me.
It feels good to be the object of his possessiveness, this single-minded focus of his, a tractor beam that bathes me in its spotlight and highlights me to myself in a way nothing ever has before. How strange. Did I actually need to be measured by someone else’s gaze? Isn’t my opinion of myself enough anymore? That I’d once dressed to feel good, had groomed for my comfort, and carved a path through the world for my self-confidence… Why does all of that seem unimportant compared to being at the cynosure of his attention?
I’d pulled away, then brushed past him and headed for the door. "We’re getting late." I’d pointed out, and he hadn’t protested.
I’d pulled out my wallet and handed over my credit card, but the sales woman had simply said that it had all been taken care of.
Of course, it had.
