The Billionaire's Command
Page 28
“Oh my God,” I said, without meaning to, because I never knew that sex could feel this way. I was open, taken, claimed, and I felt my body adjusting around him, clenching and then releasing again, making way. I’d been afraid that it would hurt, after so long, but I was so wet and ready, and he’d been so careful, that all I felt was pleasure. It built in me like the tension before an earthquake, and I knew it wouldn’t take long for me to shake to pieces.
He chuckled behind me, somehow managing to make it obvious that he was laughing at me. “Don’t lose your balance. I’ll be very displeased.”
The dark promise in his voice made me swallow and flex my hands in their binding. I teetered on the balls of my feet, trapped between Turner’s body behind me and the anchor point of my wrists above my head. There was no leverage, and no way for me to move against him. I was a passive participant, helpless to do anything but take what he wanted to give me.
I liked it.
Like wasn’t a strong enough word, but I couldn’t think of anything better. My brain had stopped cooperating with me. My skin tingled everywhere that Turner touched it. After being dulled to pleasure for so long, so many years of going through the motions with clients, Turner had finally shocked me back to life, and I felt raw and stripped bare, newly born.
His arm tightened around my waist, hand spreading flat across my ribs as he worked his hips against me. After his initial entry, he wasn’t slow or careful. He fucked me in deep, rapid strokes, using my body for his pleasure—and for mine. The drag of his cock as he slid out of me and pressed back in made my eyes roll back in my head. If he had taken his time, been gentle, I probably would have gotten annoyed—I wasn’t made of glass—but the casual way he manhandled me just added more fuel to the fire burning inside me.
I heard myself cry out, and he pressed his smile to the side of my neck. I fought through the haze of arousal clouding my brain and gasped out, “Are you getting your money’s worth?”
“Every penny,” he said, sounding ridiculously smug, and slid his free hand between my legs to stroke at my wet slit.
It felt too good. I tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go. I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to fight what I knew was coming. It was too soon. I hadn’t gotten enough, yet.
“No you don’t,” he said. “Hold still.”
“I can’t,” I said, voice cracking slightly. “Alex.”
“Oh, if you’re using my first name, it must be serious,” he said, fingers moving a little faster. I cried out again, overcome, and he held me close and said, “Let it happen.”
“I can’t,” I said again, but then I proved myself to be a liar. The tension in my thighs and the throbbing between my legs reached the point of no return. Turner slid his thumb over my clit and twisted his hips just so, and I squeezed hard around his cock and came like the world was ending.
He never stopped moving within me, and the pleasure just went on and on until I was wrung out and gasping. And he still didn’t stop.
“Alex,” I said, close to the limit of what I could handle.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, sounding a little short of breath. “Not much longer.” He finally took his hand from between my legs and used it to grasp my hip and pull me back against him to meet each thrust.
I started to feel like I might be able to come again.
There wouldn’t be time for that, though, because Turner made a ragged noise and slammed his hips against me a few times, and I’d been with enough men to know an orgasm when I saw it. Or heard it.
Weirdly, I felt a little disappointed.
Maybe there would be a round two, later.
He was careful, pulling out of me, but I hissed at the feeling anyway. I was swollen and a little sore. No harm done, though. Mostly, I felt good.
He unhooked my hands from the coat rack, and picked out the knots in the scarf. Hands free, I shook my wrists out, feeling blood rush back into my fingertips. I was shy, suddenly, and didn’t know what to say. Thanks for the awesome fuck? Let’s have dinner and do it again?
That last one sounded good. “Let’s have dinner and do it again,” I said.
He raised one eyebrow at me. “I’m not eighteen, you know.”
“You’re telling me you can’t get it up twice in one night? It’s like 6:00,” I said. “You just need to refuel.”
“Well, in that case,” he said. “The takeout menus are in the drawer to the left of the sink.”
I grinned. It was going to be an awesome night.
8
I woke up alone the next morning.
Was that a twinge of disappointment I felt? Couldn’t be.
I sat up in bed, gummy-eyed, with my hair in my eyes and a terrible taste in my mouth. That’s what I got for not brushing my teeth the night before. We had gorged ourselves on teriyaki and screwed again, a long, decadent fuck on Turner’s bed. The second time was even better than the first. I had intended to go home that night, but ended up passing out instead. God only knew what time it was. Turner was probably already gone. I hoped he had at least left me some coffee.
I got out of bed and went into Turner’s bathroom. The single toothbrush had been joined by another one, still in its little box. Turner sure knew how to treat a lady. Brushing my teeth was an almost religious experience. I splashed some water on my face and raked my fingers through my hair, and decided I was more or less presentable.
I didn’t know where my clothes were, though.
Hopefully it was still early enough that I wouldn’t, like, shock the housekeeper or something.
I padded out into the living room. Turner was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. Not out of a mug—an actual cardboard cup of coffee that he had obviously left the apartment to buy.
Something was deeply weird about the whole situation. What kind of a person didn’t even keep coffee in their apartment?
“Hi,” I said. I was kind of surprised that he hadn’t bailed on me. “Do you know where my clothes are?”
He lowered the paper and looked me up and down. It was a slow, appreciative look, and I posed a little for him, drawing my shoulders back to show off my tits. He smirked at me, like he knew exactly what I was doing, and said, “I threw them out.”
My jaw dropped. “What? That was my favorite t-shirt! You can’t just go around tossing out people’s clothes! What is wrong with you?”
He chuckled behind me, somehow managing to make it obvious that he was laughing at me. “Don’t lose your balance. I’ll be very displeased.”
The dark promise in his voice made me swallow and flex my hands in their binding. I teetered on the balls of my feet, trapped between Turner’s body behind me and the anchor point of my wrists above my head. There was no leverage, and no way for me to move against him. I was a passive participant, helpless to do anything but take what he wanted to give me.
I liked it.
Like wasn’t a strong enough word, but I couldn’t think of anything better. My brain had stopped cooperating with me. My skin tingled everywhere that Turner touched it. After being dulled to pleasure for so long, so many years of going through the motions with clients, Turner had finally shocked me back to life, and I felt raw and stripped bare, newly born.
His arm tightened around my waist, hand spreading flat across my ribs as he worked his hips against me. After his initial entry, he wasn’t slow or careful. He fucked me in deep, rapid strokes, using my body for his pleasure—and for mine. The drag of his cock as he slid out of me and pressed back in made my eyes roll back in my head. If he had taken his time, been gentle, I probably would have gotten annoyed—I wasn’t made of glass—but the casual way he manhandled me just added more fuel to the fire burning inside me.
I heard myself cry out, and he pressed his smile to the side of my neck. I fought through the haze of arousal clouding my brain and gasped out, “Are you getting your money’s worth?”
“Every penny,” he said, sounding ridiculously smug, and slid his free hand between my legs to stroke at my wet slit.
It felt too good. I tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go. I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to fight what I knew was coming. It was too soon. I hadn’t gotten enough, yet.
“No you don’t,” he said. “Hold still.”
“I can’t,” I said, voice cracking slightly. “Alex.”
“Oh, if you’re using my first name, it must be serious,” he said, fingers moving a little faster. I cried out again, overcome, and he held me close and said, “Let it happen.”
“I can’t,” I said again, but then I proved myself to be a liar. The tension in my thighs and the throbbing between my legs reached the point of no return. Turner slid his thumb over my clit and twisted his hips just so, and I squeezed hard around his cock and came like the world was ending.
He never stopped moving within me, and the pleasure just went on and on until I was wrung out and gasping. And he still didn’t stop.
“Alex,” I said, close to the limit of what I could handle.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, sounding a little short of breath. “Not much longer.” He finally took his hand from between my legs and used it to grasp my hip and pull me back against him to meet each thrust.
I started to feel like I might be able to come again.
There wouldn’t be time for that, though, because Turner made a ragged noise and slammed his hips against me a few times, and I’d been with enough men to know an orgasm when I saw it. Or heard it.
Weirdly, I felt a little disappointed.
Maybe there would be a round two, later.
He was careful, pulling out of me, but I hissed at the feeling anyway. I was swollen and a little sore. No harm done, though. Mostly, I felt good.
He unhooked my hands from the coat rack, and picked out the knots in the scarf. Hands free, I shook my wrists out, feeling blood rush back into my fingertips. I was shy, suddenly, and didn’t know what to say. Thanks for the awesome fuck? Let’s have dinner and do it again?
That last one sounded good. “Let’s have dinner and do it again,” I said.
He raised one eyebrow at me. “I’m not eighteen, you know.”
“You’re telling me you can’t get it up twice in one night? It’s like 6:00,” I said. “You just need to refuel.”
“Well, in that case,” he said. “The takeout menus are in the drawer to the left of the sink.”
I grinned. It was going to be an awesome night.
8
I woke up alone the next morning.
Was that a twinge of disappointment I felt? Couldn’t be.
I sat up in bed, gummy-eyed, with my hair in my eyes and a terrible taste in my mouth. That’s what I got for not brushing my teeth the night before. We had gorged ourselves on teriyaki and screwed again, a long, decadent fuck on Turner’s bed. The second time was even better than the first. I had intended to go home that night, but ended up passing out instead. God only knew what time it was. Turner was probably already gone. I hoped he had at least left me some coffee.
I got out of bed and went into Turner’s bathroom. The single toothbrush had been joined by another one, still in its little box. Turner sure knew how to treat a lady. Brushing my teeth was an almost religious experience. I splashed some water on my face and raked my fingers through my hair, and decided I was more or less presentable.
I didn’t know where my clothes were, though.
Hopefully it was still early enough that I wouldn’t, like, shock the housekeeper or something.
I padded out into the living room. Turner was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. Not out of a mug—an actual cardboard cup of coffee that he had obviously left the apartment to buy.
Something was deeply weird about the whole situation. What kind of a person didn’t even keep coffee in their apartment?
“Hi,” I said. I was kind of surprised that he hadn’t bailed on me. “Do you know where my clothes are?”
He lowered the paper and looked me up and down. It was a slow, appreciative look, and I posed a little for him, drawing my shoulders back to show off my tits. He smirked at me, like he knew exactly what I was doing, and said, “I threw them out.”
My jaw dropped. “What? That was my favorite t-shirt! You can’t just go around tossing out people’s clothes! What is wrong with you?”
