The Billionaire's Embrace
Page 25
“That’s right,” he said. “You will, won’t you?” Our eyes caught, and the memory of the last time I’d used my safeword passed between us, a little painful, but it had turned out okay. He smiled, a wry twist of his mouth, and pushed his fingers into me, a sudden thrust, pressing me open.
I arched my back, sinking deeper onto his fingers, welcoming the intrusion. The alchemy of our bodies created fire between us, just like always, turning all of my molecules into gold. I felt hot and open around him, aching, wanting more but not yet, wanting to relish what I had now. It was already so good that wanting anything more would be greedy. Well, I was greedy. I wanted everything that Carter could give me, all at once, no holding back.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, mouthing at my neck, the soft skin behind my ear. He slid his other arm around my lower back, holding me close against him, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, relying on him to hold me up while he slowly made all of my muscles liquefy. My knees wobbled, my thighs quivered, and I would have melted to the floor if he wasn’t holding me up. I throbbed and burned, speared on his fingers, wanting him. I wanted him all the time, day and night, every moment of my life, even when he held me so close that we breathed into each other’s mouths.
“I’m going to make you come like this,” he said. “You have to hold on. Can you do that for me? Don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” I said, already breathless, so hot and bothered that it was hard to make sense of his words.
“You wouldn’t want to disappoint me,” he said.
I opened my mouth to respond, and then he twisted his fingers and erased every thought from my mind. He sunk his fingers deeper into me, thrusting in until his palm rested firmly against my pubic bone. His hand ground against my clit, a steady pressure that made my head spin. He seemed to know everything about my body, every way to touch me that would make my nerves light up.
He curled his fingers inside me, pushing firmly and rhythmically against something that made me feel like there was a rubber band being stretched taut behind my navel. I clung to his shoulders, breathing in shallow pants, feeling myself start to lose control. It was a long, slow slide down into the deep place where I stopped caring about anything but the way Carter made my body feel.
I couldn’t move much or get any leverage, not and stay balanced in my shoes, and so Carter had me completely at his mercy. He took full advantage, teasing me relentlessly, rubbing his thumb over my clit in strokes that were too slow to be anything but deliberate torment. He kissed me and murmured things about how I was sexy and beautiful and perfect, but he wouldn’t move faster and give me the relief I needed.
It was maddening. I was tight as a bow, pinned between Carter’s mouth and his hand. I needed more friction, more movement, but I couldn’t lift up onto my toes to ride his fingers because I was already balanced on the balls of my feet. I was trapped, exactly where he wanted me.
And then, after an endless, molten span of time, he pulled away.
I clung to him, knees buckling, and he held me up with his arm firm around my waist and said, “You’re a mess, sweetheart. You’ve had enough already?”
“No,” I said, because I wanted more, but then I said, “Yes,” because I’d had plenty of his teasing.
He chuckled and said, “Well, that’s clear.”
I wanted to explain what I meant, but I couldn’t think of the right words. I let my body speak for me, and pressed my hips against his in a silent plea.
“So impatient,” he said. “You know I always take care of you.” He slid his hand back between my legs and pressed his fingers into me again, but then drew them out and slid further back until his fingertips teased at the furled opening of my ass.
I went rigid, every muscle clenching in tandem. Was he really going to—
“Breathe,” he said. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it. But I think you might like it.”
I exhaled, and nodded slowly. This must be why he had asked me how much I trusted him. Well, I did trust him: enough to try it, enough to believe that he would stop if I asked him to.
He spent several minutes doing nothing but rubbing gently at my opening, getting me used to the idea. As he kept going, I gradually relaxed, and started focusing on how my body felt. It was—strange, but not bad. Not bad at all, really. I was sensitive and swollen, and every movement of Carter’s fingers sent waves of pleasure rolling through my lower body, like a flooding river rising and threatening to overflow its banks.
“There you are,” he said, and slowly, slowly, pushed one finger inside me, slick with my own arousal.
I expected it to hurt, but it didn’t. It just felt really strange, an odd stretch where I never expected to feel one. I frowned and moved my hips, trying to decide how I felt about the intrusion.
“Hurts?” Carter asked.
“No,” I said, still frowning. “Just—weird.”
“I can stop,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
“No, not yet,” I said, blushing furiously. “I’m—I want to try it.” It was embarrassing to admit: that I wasn’t totally repulsed by what he was doing, that I wanted to keep going and see what happened.
“Good girl,” he breathed, and his approval eased my embarrassment. If Carter liked it, if he wanted to do this, why should I feel ashamed?
He pressed his finger fully into me and paused for a few moments, letting me adjust. I took a shaky breath and nodded at him, and he withdrew his finger slightly and pushed back in. God, it felt so strange, but there was something about it, the stretch and the glide, that made me want more.
“Another one?” Carter asked, and I bit my lip and nodded.
With two fingers, I was split open, helpless. I opened my mouth to tell him to stop, that it was too much, but what came out instead was a moan.
“That’s right,” Carter said. “You like that, don’t you, sweetheart? I had a feeling you would.” He pulled his fingers all the way out, and then slid them in again, twisting as he went, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders and focused on keeping my breathing steady.
It was almost too much. The fullness, the not-quite-painful stretch, the feeling of absolute vulnerability—it was almost enough that I wanted to pull away and go back to having normal sex, something familiar that I understood and didn’t make me feel so overwhelmed. But I didn’t. There was something about it that made me want to keep going.
I arched my back, sinking deeper onto his fingers, welcoming the intrusion. The alchemy of our bodies created fire between us, just like always, turning all of my molecules into gold. I felt hot and open around him, aching, wanting more but not yet, wanting to relish what I had now. It was already so good that wanting anything more would be greedy. Well, I was greedy. I wanted everything that Carter could give me, all at once, no holding back.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, mouthing at my neck, the soft skin behind my ear. He slid his other arm around my lower back, holding me close against him, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, relying on him to hold me up while he slowly made all of my muscles liquefy. My knees wobbled, my thighs quivered, and I would have melted to the floor if he wasn’t holding me up. I throbbed and burned, speared on his fingers, wanting him. I wanted him all the time, day and night, every moment of my life, even when he held me so close that we breathed into each other’s mouths.
“I’m going to make you come like this,” he said. “You have to hold on. Can you do that for me? Don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” I said, already breathless, so hot and bothered that it was hard to make sense of his words.
“You wouldn’t want to disappoint me,” he said.
I opened my mouth to respond, and then he twisted his fingers and erased every thought from my mind. He sunk his fingers deeper into me, thrusting in until his palm rested firmly against my pubic bone. His hand ground against my clit, a steady pressure that made my head spin. He seemed to know everything about my body, every way to touch me that would make my nerves light up.
He curled his fingers inside me, pushing firmly and rhythmically against something that made me feel like there was a rubber band being stretched taut behind my navel. I clung to his shoulders, breathing in shallow pants, feeling myself start to lose control. It was a long, slow slide down into the deep place where I stopped caring about anything but the way Carter made my body feel.
I couldn’t move much or get any leverage, not and stay balanced in my shoes, and so Carter had me completely at his mercy. He took full advantage, teasing me relentlessly, rubbing his thumb over my clit in strokes that were too slow to be anything but deliberate torment. He kissed me and murmured things about how I was sexy and beautiful and perfect, but he wouldn’t move faster and give me the relief I needed.
It was maddening. I was tight as a bow, pinned between Carter’s mouth and his hand. I needed more friction, more movement, but I couldn’t lift up onto my toes to ride his fingers because I was already balanced on the balls of my feet. I was trapped, exactly where he wanted me.
And then, after an endless, molten span of time, he pulled away.
I clung to him, knees buckling, and he held me up with his arm firm around my waist and said, “You’re a mess, sweetheart. You’ve had enough already?”
“No,” I said, because I wanted more, but then I said, “Yes,” because I’d had plenty of his teasing.
He chuckled and said, “Well, that’s clear.”
I wanted to explain what I meant, but I couldn’t think of the right words. I let my body speak for me, and pressed my hips against his in a silent plea.
“So impatient,” he said. “You know I always take care of you.” He slid his hand back between my legs and pressed his fingers into me again, but then drew them out and slid further back until his fingertips teased at the furled opening of my ass.
I went rigid, every muscle clenching in tandem. Was he really going to—
“Breathe,” he said. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it. But I think you might like it.”
I exhaled, and nodded slowly. This must be why he had asked me how much I trusted him. Well, I did trust him: enough to try it, enough to believe that he would stop if I asked him to.
He spent several minutes doing nothing but rubbing gently at my opening, getting me used to the idea. As he kept going, I gradually relaxed, and started focusing on how my body felt. It was—strange, but not bad. Not bad at all, really. I was sensitive and swollen, and every movement of Carter’s fingers sent waves of pleasure rolling through my lower body, like a flooding river rising and threatening to overflow its banks.
“There you are,” he said, and slowly, slowly, pushed one finger inside me, slick with my own arousal.
I expected it to hurt, but it didn’t. It just felt really strange, an odd stretch where I never expected to feel one. I frowned and moved my hips, trying to decide how I felt about the intrusion.
“Hurts?” Carter asked.
“No,” I said, still frowning. “Just—weird.”
“I can stop,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
“No, not yet,” I said, blushing furiously. “I’m—I want to try it.” It was embarrassing to admit: that I wasn’t totally repulsed by what he was doing, that I wanted to keep going and see what happened.
“Good girl,” he breathed, and his approval eased my embarrassment. If Carter liked it, if he wanted to do this, why should I feel ashamed?
He pressed his finger fully into me and paused for a few moments, letting me adjust. I took a shaky breath and nodded at him, and he withdrew his finger slightly and pushed back in. God, it felt so strange, but there was something about it, the stretch and the glide, that made me want more.
“Another one?” Carter asked, and I bit my lip and nodded.
With two fingers, I was split open, helpless. I opened my mouth to tell him to stop, that it was too much, but what came out instead was a moan.
“That’s right,” Carter said. “You like that, don’t you, sweetheart? I had a feeling you would.” He pulled his fingers all the way out, and then slid them in again, twisting as he went, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders and focused on keeping my breathing steady.
It was almost too much. The fullness, the not-quite-painful stretch, the feeling of absolute vulnerability—it was almost enough that I wanted to pull away and go back to having normal sex, something familiar that I understood and didn’t make me feel so overwhelmed. But I didn’t. There was something about it that made me want to keep going.
