Page 42 of The Billionaire's Princess

It’s no exaggeration to say that I wallow in her the way a starved pig wallows in his trough. I eat her up and swallow her whole.

I worship this woman, and that is not a word I’ve ever used before.

I snap out of my right mind and into some altered state where the only things that matter are giving equal mouth time to those hard little beads and seeing how high her rising cries can go. How hard she can scratch my back. How fast her hips can pump.

My sweaty face and torso, trembling arms and straining dick don’t matter. My needs don’t matter. Only she matters.

So when she yanks on my hair and says, “Stop, Damon. I need you inside me,” I don’t think twice.

What’s there to think about when I can see the naked heat in her eyes and hear the raw urgency in her voice? When she opens her legs and cocks her hips for me?

Intentions don’t get any clearer than that, folks.

Making some crazy feral sound that rightfully belongs in an Animal Planet documentary, I take my dick in hand, move it to her core and enter her in a single hard stroke.

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