The Billionaire's Command
Page 19
And rule 3.
“If you’re thinking this much, I’m obviously doing something wrong,” he said. The hand on my ass slid beneath my tap shorts, squeezed, and tugged the fabric down. The shorts weren’t tight, and they slid down without much effort, down to my knees and then taken by gravity all the way to the floor, where I stepped out of them.
And then it was just me, naked except for my shoes, waiting for him to touch me.
“Get on the bed,” he told me.
I wanted to, but I also didn’t, because who knew how I would embarrass myself this time. So I stalled. “Boring,” I said. “We used the bed last time.”
“No. I used the bed. This time you’ll be on it. New and different,” he said. “It’s a shame you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut. I’m not paying you to talk.”
Well, fair enough. There probably wasn’t a man alive who would pay to listen to me talk. I walked over to the bed and did my best to climb onto it gracefully, which wasn’t easy, because the mattress was about eight feet tall. Turner didn’t laugh, though, as I clambered on and arranged myself against the pillows, reclining with one knee drawn up, showing him everything he wanted.
He waited until I was settled, and then turned and opened a drawer in a small side table.
“There’s nothing in there,” I said. “There’s tissues over here, and—”
“I don’t want tissues,” he said, cutting me off. “Stupid of you to think I would show up unprepared.” He took something from the drawer and shut it again, his back turned to me so I couldn’t see what he was holding. Maybe a blindfold, or those stupid fuzzy handcuffs that some clients liked to use. I hated them because they dug into my wrists and I had to be really careful not to break them or tug too hard and yank them open.
“Your ground rule is that you don’t touch me,” he said.
I swallowed. Where was he going with this? “That’s right.”
“Ample loopholes,” he said. “My favorite kind of rule.” He turned, then, and I saw what he was holding in his hand.
It was a glass dildo, curved at one end.
Oh dear Christ.
Was he really going to—
“Spread your legs,” he said, which sounded like he definitely intended to.
I flushed all over, face heating and pussy growing even wetter. I spread my thighs apart as he approached the bed and climbed onto the mattress. The bed sank beneath his weight as he knelt between my legs.
He was still wearing his shoes.
Funny the things you fixated on when you were totally freaked out and about to cream all over the sheets.
He held the dildo in his left hand. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it: the fat rounded tip, the smooth shaft. He was going to put that thing in me, and I was going to—
Well. I was definitely going to lose control of myself.
Some things were foregone conclusions.
“I should have made you take that damn wig off,” Turner said. “Too late now.”
“I can take it off,” I said, and then wished I had kept my mouth shut. Putting the wig back on was a pain, and it got crumpled unless I put it on a wig form. But I wanted him to be pleased with me, and if he liked me better without the wig, well, I would do whatever it took to keep him looking my way.
Stupid. There was nothing appealing about him.
His body, maybe. Sure. Okay. He was hot.
But he was a jerk, and a creep, and I didn’t like him at all.
God, I was really bad at lying to myself.
“Leave it alone,” he said. “I don’t feel like waiting while you fumble around with it.” Still grasping the dildo in one hand, he slid his other hand between my legs, grazing over the soft skin of my thighs before his fingertips made contact with my slick, heated flesh. I inhaled sharply, and he moved his fingers higher, until they were pressing against my swollen clit.
I bit my lip, teeth digging in hard, fighting to hold back the cries that wanted to escape from my mouth. Every time he touched me, it was like there were angels singing in the sky, fat little cherubs. Blindfolded cherubs, though. I didn’t want any angelic babies watching what I was up to.
“Breathe,” he said, and then, without any other warning, slid the dildo into me.
I did cry out then, teeth and cherubs be damned. It was cool and unyielding, not at all the temperature or texture of a real penis, and that somehow made it more overwhelming than if Turner had just pulled out his cock and fucked me. He slid it in and in and in, until I was sure I couldn’t take anymore, and then he spun it in a quick circle, an arc of pleasure so strong I felt the muscles in my thighs twitch in response.
“I wonder,” he said, taking his other hand away from my clit and curling it over the wing of my hip, holding me down. “Can I make you come just from this?”
I took a deep breath. “Probably not,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I’ll take that as a challenge, then,” he said, with a quick flash of white teeth that didn’t quite count as a smile. He moved the dildo so that the curved head pushed gently upward, toward the ceiling, and my toes curled at the wave of ecstasy that rolled through me. “There we are,” he said, and pressed again, and again.
My eyes fluttered shut. He kept moving the dildo inside me, and each push gave me that same tight, eager feeling, like I was building toward something odd and wonderful. It didn’t feel the way it did when someone touched my clit. That was a surface pleasure, easy and uncomplicated. This was deeper, stranger, and still mysterious to me. The feelings took root in my belly and grew up through my chest, into my arms and legs, spiraling along all of my nerves, until I was a squirming mess of desire and raw sensation, taken past the point of thought and into a world of pure bodily feeling.
“There we are,” Turner said again, from a great distance.
I ached. I was on fire. I rocked my hips up to meet every push of the dildo. I didn’t care if he thought I was greedy or a slut; I just wanted him to keep going. I had never felt anything like this, and I didn’t want it to stop.
“You’re going to make a mess,” Turner said. “Come on, then. Let me see you.”
I was so out of at that point that his words didn’t mean anything to me. They were just background noise, a white roar in my ears. I understood the tone of his voice, though the raw undercurrent that said he wanted me.
“If you’re thinking this much, I’m obviously doing something wrong,” he said. The hand on my ass slid beneath my tap shorts, squeezed, and tugged the fabric down. The shorts weren’t tight, and they slid down without much effort, down to my knees and then taken by gravity all the way to the floor, where I stepped out of them.
And then it was just me, naked except for my shoes, waiting for him to touch me.
“Get on the bed,” he told me.
I wanted to, but I also didn’t, because who knew how I would embarrass myself this time. So I stalled. “Boring,” I said. “We used the bed last time.”
“No. I used the bed. This time you’ll be on it. New and different,” he said. “It’s a shame you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut. I’m not paying you to talk.”
Well, fair enough. There probably wasn’t a man alive who would pay to listen to me talk. I walked over to the bed and did my best to climb onto it gracefully, which wasn’t easy, because the mattress was about eight feet tall. Turner didn’t laugh, though, as I clambered on and arranged myself against the pillows, reclining with one knee drawn up, showing him everything he wanted.
He waited until I was settled, and then turned and opened a drawer in a small side table.
“There’s nothing in there,” I said. “There’s tissues over here, and—”
“I don’t want tissues,” he said, cutting me off. “Stupid of you to think I would show up unprepared.” He took something from the drawer and shut it again, his back turned to me so I couldn’t see what he was holding. Maybe a blindfold, or those stupid fuzzy handcuffs that some clients liked to use. I hated them because they dug into my wrists and I had to be really careful not to break them or tug too hard and yank them open.
“Your ground rule is that you don’t touch me,” he said.
I swallowed. Where was he going with this? “That’s right.”
“Ample loopholes,” he said. “My favorite kind of rule.” He turned, then, and I saw what he was holding in his hand.
It was a glass dildo, curved at one end.
Oh dear Christ.
Was he really going to—
“Spread your legs,” he said, which sounded like he definitely intended to.
I flushed all over, face heating and pussy growing even wetter. I spread my thighs apart as he approached the bed and climbed onto the mattress. The bed sank beneath his weight as he knelt between my legs.
He was still wearing his shoes.
Funny the things you fixated on when you were totally freaked out and about to cream all over the sheets.
He held the dildo in his left hand. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it: the fat rounded tip, the smooth shaft. He was going to put that thing in me, and I was going to—
Well. I was definitely going to lose control of myself.
Some things were foregone conclusions.
“I should have made you take that damn wig off,” Turner said. “Too late now.”
“I can take it off,” I said, and then wished I had kept my mouth shut. Putting the wig back on was a pain, and it got crumpled unless I put it on a wig form. But I wanted him to be pleased with me, and if he liked me better without the wig, well, I would do whatever it took to keep him looking my way.
Stupid. There was nothing appealing about him.
His body, maybe. Sure. Okay. He was hot.
But he was a jerk, and a creep, and I didn’t like him at all.
God, I was really bad at lying to myself.
“Leave it alone,” he said. “I don’t feel like waiting while you fumble around with it.” Still grasping the dildo in one hand, he slid his other hand between my legs, grazing over the soft skin of my thighs before his fingertips made contact with my slick, heated flesh. I inhaled sharply, and he moved his fingers higher, until they were pressing against my swollen clit.
I bit my lip, teeth digging in hard, fighting to hold back the cries that wanted to escape from my mouth. Every time he touched me, it was like there were angels singing in the sky, fat little cherubs. Blindfolded cherubs, though. I didn’t want any angelic babies watching what I was up to.
“Breathe,” he said, and then, without any other warning, slid the dildo into me.
I did cry out then, teeth and cherubs be damned. It was cool and unyielding, not at all the temperature or texture of a real penis, and that somehow made it more overwhelming than if Turner had just pulled out his cock and fucked me. He slid it in and in and in, until I was sure I couldn’t take anymore, and then he spun it in a quick circle, an arc of pleasure so strong I felt the muscles in my thighs twitch in response.
“I wonder,” he said, taking his other hand away from my clit and curling it over the wing of my hip, holding me down. “Can I make you come just from this?”
I took a deep breath. “Probably not,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I’ll take that as a challenge, then,” he said, with a quick flash of white teeth that didn’t quite count as a smile. He moved the dildo so that the curved head pushed gently upward, toward the ceiling, and my toes curled at the wave of ecstasy that rolled through me. “There we are,” he said, and pressed again, and again.
My eyes fluttered shut. He kept moving the dildo inside me, and each push gave me that same tight, eager feeling, like I was building toward something odd and wonderful. It didn’t feel the way it did when someone touched my clit. That was a surface pleasure, easy and uncomplicated. This was deeper, stranger, and still mysterious to me. The feelings took root in my belly and grew up through my chest, into my arms and legs, spiraling along all of my nerves, until I was a squirming mess of desire and raw sensation, taken past the point of thought and into a world of pure bodily feeling.
“There we are,” Turner said again, from a great distance.
I ached. I was on fire. I rocked my hips up to meet every push of the dildo. I didn’t care if he thought I was greedy or a slut; I just wanted him to keep going. I had never felt anything like this, and I didn’t want it to stop.
“You’re going to make a mess,” Turner said. “Come on, then. Let me see you.”
I was so out of at that point that his words didn’t mean anything to me. They were just background noise, a white roar in my ears. I understood the tone of his voice, though the raw undercurrent that said he wanted me.
