Page 27 of The Billionaire Submissive
On his knees beside the bed, he grabbed her hips and tugged her down closer to him. He could smell her desire already. If she’d been wet this morning flirting in his office, then she had to be throbbing with need now. “I don’t give a damn about the pie.”
“You will if you have to clean cherries out of your carpet.” Despite her attempt at calm and reasonable words, her voice trembled. Her thighs quivered too, but she didn’t open to him immediately.
“You forget that Donovan Morgan doesn’t do anything as inconsequential and menial ascleaning. I’ll hire a team to burn the whole damned bed if I have to. I’ll buy new carpet. Hell, I’ll just buy a new condo if we end up putting holes in the wall.” He gripped her knees and looked up at her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes big and dark with desire. “Tell me to stop, Mistress, and I will.”
She trembled in his grasp but still didn’t let him in, and he wasn’t the kind of man who’d force her thighs apart. She knew it. He knew it. “I’ll be crazy. Wild. I won’t be able to stop.”
“God I hope so.”
“I don’t want to scare you off,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Not so soon.”
“How on earth could your desire scare me off? I want you wild and crazy with lust. I’ve had the Mistress and she’s everything I could have ever dreamed about, but now I want Lilly. I want you. I want this,” he said, kneading her knees in a gentle reminder that he couldn’t begin if she didn’t allow him to.
She still hesitated, her eyes desperate, her hands fisted in the comforter and her thighs clenched so hard he could feel the muscles vibrating beneath his palms. She was fighting herself, denying herself, and it made him say one of the most difficult words in his vocabulary. “Please.”
Shuddering, she opened her thighs. Not slow and shy, not Lilly. She opened as wide as she could, drawing her knees back high to spread herself. Her pussy glistened, open and flushed with her desire. Now it was his turn to shake, breathe deeply and remind himself he’d had his turn.I’m not going to rush this. I’m certainly not going to simply bury myself in her and come again no matter how much my little head thinks that’s a terrific idea.
He dragged his gaze away and located the container of homemade whipped cream. He sampled it, making sure to display his tongue as boldly as she’d done. “It’s still good, but runny, like you said. Next time let’s ask him for a quart of cream. I’ll keep it in the refrigerator.”
Her breasts heaved, pushed up high out of the corset. Her chest and throat were a delicious hot pink as if she’d been the one to take a spanking. “Is this place soundproofed?”
“Don’t know.” He tipped the container to dribble cream down her knee. A thin river ran down the inside of her thigh, puddled in the crease, and spilled down the curve of her buttock. “Don’t care.”
“You’ll care if someone calls the police.” She closed her eyes and arched her hips off the bed. “More.”
Happy to comply, he poured more cream down her other leg and then tipped the remainder directly over her groin. “We’re on the top floor and the closest neighbors are below us, probably separated by a foot of concrete. Be as loud as you want, sweetheart.”
“Remember that,” she panted, straining her hips higher. “Later. When…”
He licked her knee, dragging his tongue down the inside curve of her thigh. She let out a low, fierce growl and fisted both hands in his hair.
His scalp prickled, the sharp pain stirring him as much as her blows from the spoon or her tiny tugs on his chest hairs. He didn’t even have a lot of hair, but if it felt this good, he’d grow a mullet to give her a good handful to hold onto.
Instead of dragging his mouth deeper, she forced his head up so she could look into his eyes. “Give me a word, just in case.”
His mind went blank.
“Not red, that’s a bad word for me if you’re trying to make me stop.”
“I suppose cherry pie won’t work?” He tried to lighten the mood but her glare seared him, so hard and cold that goose bumps broke out on his arms. Quickly, before she could change her mind and lock him out, he suggested, “How about glass?”
“That’ll do. Glass. Let’s just hope I don’t shatter it with a misplaced cut.”
He tried to lower his head, fighting the pull on his hair until he had to grit his teeth to keep from cursing out loud. She finally relented and let go.
Burying his face between her thighs, he sank his tongue deep, licking through cream until he tasted what he was really after.
Her.
Then her thighs clamped around his head and he forgot to breathe.
Chapter Eight
If she’d been the greedy sugar addict eating pie off his dick, he was a purring Bengal tiger determined to find the juiciest, most tender bits and eat them all for himself. He hadn’t dared put his fingers inside her this morning, but he sank his tongue deep without a single hesitation. Rubbing his entire face against her, he let out a low, eager hum that worked better and faster than any vibrator she’d ever had the pleasure to use. She didn’t even have time to think before her muscles convulsed so hard her vision went black.
By the time she regained enough of her senses to worry about him, she was half afraid she’d suffocated him. Unlocking her ankles, she let her legs slide back down to the mattress. He took it as invitation to slide up and latch onto her clit with his teeth. The first climax didn’t end. It just rose in intensity, driving her head back on a shaking shout that probably cracked a window or two.
Panting, she jerked his face up because he gave no indication of stopping anytime soon. “That was two.”
