The Billionaire's Command
Page 27
But as I stood there and looked down into his dark eyes, I knew I was a fool to pretend he was anything like my other clients.
What was the saying? I was playing with fire. Turner burned hot, and he would scorch me right down to my bones.
He broke eye contact, finally, and raised one hand to stroke my hip, sliding from the curve of my waist over the lacy band of my thong and then down to squeeze at my ass.
“You’re an ass man, aren’t you?” I asked.
“I’m an everything man,” he said. He looked up at me again and said, “You know, I had planned to draw this out until you begged me to take you, but it seems I don’t have the patience for that. Wait here.” I was forced to stumble back a few steps as he abruptly rose from the couch and then headed down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
Alone, I smoothed my palms over my hot cheeks. I liked the idea of begging—probably more than I should have. What kinds of things would a man like Turner do when he was too impatient to wait for me to beg?
I would find out soon enough.
He returned too quickly for me to freak out and do something stupid. He held a length of silky black fabric in his hands, like a scarf, but it was too long to be a scarf, and not the sort of thing I could imagine him ever wearing.
I knew where this was going.
“Do you want to tie me up, baby?” I purred. “I’m game.”
He twisted the fabric around his hands and frowned at me. “Spare me the theatrics. We both know you’re acting. I don’t want you to do that ridiculous posturing when you’re with me.”
Fine. I let the dopey, heavy-lidded look fall from my face. “So what do you want me to do, then?”
“React,” he said. “Honestly. Genuine sensation. If I wanted to pay for crummy acting, I would watch porn.”
He was a jerk, and his disdain turned me on. We made a perfect dysfunctional pair. He jerked his chin at me, ordering me closer, and I stepped toward him, one foot in front of the other, until I was close enough to touch.
He held the scarf in one hand and caressed me with the other. He started by cupping my chin, and then drew his hand down my neck and ran his fingers along the sensitive arc of my collarbone. I shivered, and he smiled, predatory, and dropped his hand to my right breast. He cupped it and squeezed my nipple between his fingers. I gasped as pleasure shot through me. He moved to my other breast and gave it the same treatment. My nipples were tight, oversensitive, and when he bent and used his mouth on me, I flinched away without meaning to.
“Hold still,” he said, hand on my waist, holding me there, and so I curled my hands into fists and used the small pain of my nails cutting into my palms to distract me from the molten pleasure flowing through my body.
He sucked on my nipples until they were red and swollen and my hips were unconsciously rocking back and forth with every motion of his lips and teeth. I started to think that maybe I could come just from that, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing: reduced to orgasm just from him sucking on my tits.
He pulled away just as I was starting to get seriously concerned. His mouth was wet. I glanced away, overwhelmed, unsure how to react. He slid his hand from my waist to my hip and then down between my legs. He tucked his fingers into the waistband of my thong and then stayed there, motionless, waiting, until I got curious and looked up at him again. As soon as our eyes met, he pushed his hand inside my panties and touched me where I was slick and swollen.
My legs felt shaky, like my muscles weren’t going to hold me up much longer. I clung to Turner’s shoulders while he stroked me, staring deeply into my eyes the whole time. I felt exposed and powerless and I wanted him. Each movement of his fingers made the liquid heat between my legs pulse hotter. He could have asked me for anything, right then, and I would have said yes. I would have given him anything he wanted.
“You’re ready for me,” he said. “That didn’t take long.” He pulled his hand away. I opened my eyes, realizing only then that they had fallen shut. He was looking down at me with a strange expression on his face, almost tender, but I knew that wasn’t it. The only thing he felt for me was lust.
“Give me your hands,” he said.
Right. I had forgotten about the scarf. I held my hands in front of me while he tied my wrists together with the fabric, leaving a small span of a few inches between them. I tugged at the scarf, testing the knots, but they held fast.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. My voice came out as a husky rasp.
He nodded toward the coat rack. “Set your hands on one of the hooks. I’m going to fuck you like that, standing up.”
Was he joking? The coat rack didn’t look very sturdy. “It’s going to fall over,” I said.
“You’ll have to be very careful that it doesn’t,” he said.
I bit my lip, hoping he wasn’t serious, but he looked pretty serious. Okay. I turned and took the few steps to the coat rack, and raised my hands above my head to hook the scarf over one of the gracefully arched hooks. It was high enough that I had to go up on the balls of my feet. The whole situation seemed like a recipe for disaster. If I didn’t hold perfectly still and balanced, I would topple over and take the coat rack with me.
“I really think I’m going to fall,” I said.
“You won’t fall,” he said. He came up behind me and set his hands firmly on my waist. I leaned back into his grip, feeling a little more stable. “I won’t let you.”
I swallowed and nodded, not quite sure I believed him, but not willing to argue about it.
“I need to let you go for a minute,” he said. I straightened up again, balancing my weight on my toes, and heard the sound of a zipper, and then a crinkling noise that I quickly identified as a condom wrapper. Jesus Christ. This was really happening.
My body’s reaction told me that it wasn’t happening fast enough.
Turner wrapped one arm around my waist and pressed the front of his body against my back, giving me a solid foundation to lean against. His other hand dipped between my legs, tugging my thong to one side, and then I felt the blunt head of his cock nudging against me. I drew in a deep breath, waiting to feel him shove into me, but instead I felt his fingers dipping just inside, holding me open, and he guided himself in slowly, slowly, rocking his hips in tiny thrusts, sliding deeper every time, until his thighs pressed against my ass and he was all the way in.
What was the saying? I was playing with fire. Turner burned hot, and he would scorch me right down to my bones.
He broke eye contact, finally, and raised one hand to stroke my hip, sliding from the curve of my waist over the lacy band of my thong and then down to squeeze at my ass.
“You’re an ass man, aren’t you?” I asked.
“I’m an everything man,” he said. He looked up at me again and said, “You know, I had planned to draw this out until you begged me to take you, but it seems I don’t have the patience for that. Wait here.” I was forced to stumble back a few steps as he abruptly rose from the couch and then headed down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
Alone, I smoothed my palms over my hot cheeks. I liked the idea of begging—probably more than I should have. What kinds of things would a man like Turner do when he was too impatient to wait for me to beg?
I would find out soon enough.
He returned too quickly for me to freak out and do something stupid. He held a length of silky black fabric in his hands, like a scarf, but it was too long to be a scarf, and not the sort of thing I could imagine him ever wearing.
I knew where this was going.
“Do you want to tie me up, baby?” I purred. “I’m game.”
He twisted the fabric around his hands and frowned at me. “Spare me the theatrics. We both know you’re acting. I don’t want you to do that ridiculous posturing when you’re with me.”
Fine. I let the dopey, heavy-lidded look fall from my face. “So what do you want me to do, then?”
“React,” he said. “Honestly. Genuine sensation. If I wanted to pay for crummy acting, I would watch porn.”
He was a jerk, and his disdain turned me on. We made a perfect dysfunctional pair. He jerked his chin at me, ordering me closer, and I stepped toward him, one foot in front of the other, until I was close enough to touch.
He held the scarf in one hand and caressed me with the other. He started by cupping my chin, and then drew his hand down my neck and ran his fingers along the sensitive arc of my collarbone. I shivered, and he smiled, predatory, and dropped his hand to my right breast. He cupped it and squeezed my nipple between his fingers. I gasped as pleasure shot through me. He moved to my other breast and gave it the same treatment. My nipples were tight, oversensitive, and when he bent and used his mouth on me, I flinched away without meaning to.
“Hold still,” he said, hand on my waist, holding me there, and so I curled my hands into fists and used the small pain of my nails cutting into my palms to distract me from the molten pleasure flowing through my body.
He sucked on my nipples until they were red and swollen and my hips were unconsciously rocking back and forth with every motion of his lips and teeth. I started to think that maybe I could come just from that, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing: reduced to orgasm just from him sucking on my tits.
He pulled away just as I was starting to get seriously concerned. His mouth was wet. I glanced away, overwhelmed, unsure how to react. He slid his hand from my waist to my hip and then down between my legs. He tucked his fingers into the waistband of my thong and then stayed there, motionless, waiting, until I got curious and looked up at him again. As soon as our eyes met, he pushed his hand inside my panties and touched me where I was slick and swollen.
My legs felt shaky, like my muscles weren’t going to hold me up much longer. I clung to Turner’s shoulders while he stroked me, staring deeply into my eyes the whole time. I felt exposed and powerless and I wanted him. Each movement of his fingers made the liquid heat between my legs pulse hotter. He could have asked me for anything, right then, and I would have said yes. I would have given him anything he wanted.
“You’re ready for me,” he said. “That didn’t take long.” He pulled his hand away. I opened my eyes, realizing only then that they had fallen shut. He was looking down at me with a strange expression on his face, almost tender, but I knew that wasn’t it. The only thing he felt for me was lust.
“Give me your hands,” he said.
Right. I had forgotten about the scarf. I held my hands in front of me while he tied my wrists together with the fabric, leaving a small span of a few inches between them. I tugged at the scarf, testing the knots, but they held fast.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. My voice came out as a husky rasp.
He nodded toward the coat rack. “Set your hands on one of the hooks. I’m going to fuck you like that, standing up.”
Was he joking? The coat rack didn’t look very sturdy. “It’s going to fall over,” I said.
“You’ll have to be very careful that it doesn’t,” he said.
I bit my lip, hoping he wasn’t serious, but he looked pretty serious. Okay. I turned and took the few steps to the coat rack, and raised my hands above my head to hook the scarf over one of the gracefully arched hooks. It was high enough that I had to go up on the balls of my feet. The whole situation seemed like a recipe for disaster. If I didn’t hold perfectly still and balanced, I would topple over and take the coat rack with me.
“I really think I’m going to fall,” I said.
“You won’t fall,” he said. He came up behind me and set his hands firmly on my waist. I leaned back into his grip, feeling a little more stable. “I won’t let you.”
I swallowed and nodded, not quite sure I believed him, but not willing to argue about it.
“I need to let you go for a minute,” he said. I straightened up again, balancing my weight on my toes, and heard the sound of a zipper, and then a crinkling noise that I quickly identified as a condom wrapper. Jesus Christ. This was really happening.
My body’s reaction told me that it wasn’t happening fast enough.
Turner wrapped one arm around my waist and pressed the front of his body against my back, giving me a solid foundation to lean against. His other hand dipped between my legs, tugging my thong to one side, and then I felt the blunt head of his cock nudging against me. I drew in a deep breath, waiting to feel him shove into me, but instead I felt his fingers dipping just inside, holding me open, and he guided himself in slowly, slowly, rocking his hips in tiny thrusts, sliding deeper every time, until his thighs pressed against my ass and he was all the way in.
