Page 27 of The Billionaire's Beauty

The way she surges as though she can’t get enough of me.

I stroke her with my greedy hands, determined to touch every satiny inch of her skin. Her plump thighs and rounded hips. The curve of her waist. The velvety quiver of her belly. Her narrow waist. The heavy mounds of her breasts with their jutting nipples that feel like raspberries.

Naturally, touching makes me want to taste.

I ease lower, sliding beneath the covers as I shift her to her back and make my way to her bottom half. Her scent welcomes me, that intoxicating musk of fresh oysters and healthy woman. I work my way between her legs and settle in, resting on my elbows and holding a thigh in each hand. She helpfully lets them fall open and scratches my scalp on her way to grabbing handfuls of my hair to keep me right where I want to be.

Then I lower my head and fuck that pussy as best I can with my tongue and lips. And I can pretty well, judging by her strangled cries and the way she arches for me.

I zero in on the hard nub of her clit and I swirl. I suckle. I work her with everything I’ve got, determined not to stop until she gives me my reward.

And then, suddenly, there it is.

That delicious moment when her body goes rigid and she shouts my name as though she can’t help herself. The thrilling spurt of her juices against my eager mouth as she comes for me.

I hold her while she rides it out, rubbing my face against her belly. Loving my way back up her torso, with special stops along the way to suck each nipple and then to press her breasts to either side of my face and smother myself in them for a minute.

By now, she’s recovered enough to display her demanding side. Which I love, by the way. She levers up on her elbows, her shifting hair and bright eyes making her look wild. Abandoned.

“Stop messing around, Griffin,” she says, her voice raspy. “I need you to fuck me.”

See? Nice and wicked.

I can’t reach sideways for the condoms fast enough, my movements jerky. “As long as you keep calling me Griffin, you can have whatever you want.”

“Don’t even bother,” she says, looking heavy-lidded and a little dazed as she watches me. Her lips, I notice with immense satisfaction, are dewy and swollen from my kisses. Maybe I’m a caveman at heart, but I want every part of her marked because of me. Forever altered. God knows it feels like that’s what she’s done to me. “I’m on the pill.”

Let me pause here to mention that, as a guy with some money who’s encountered more than his fair share of would-be baby mamas who’d love to help themselves to a piece of my pie, it behooves me to take the long view and ask a few more questions before I start riding bareback. Or, better yet, to trust no one and just suit up like always.

But an I’m on the pill from Bellamy? Music to my ears. Decision made. Done deal. No questions asked.

I flop onto my back and reach for her hips. She doesn’t need the encouragement to straddle me. I take my dick—the thing is roughly the size and hardness of a baseball bat by this point—and hold it for her. She sinks onto me as quickly as her tight body will allow, exhaling a raw and sexy “Ah, God” when she takes me all the way in.

I’m feeling pretty Ah, God myself now, to tell you the truth.

Her pussy is lush and slick. Hot, with a grip that says she plans to never let me go.

Fine by me.

I stare up at her, determined to savor this incredible view while I catch my breath for a second. The scene is thrilling and earthy, with something to see everywhere I look. Her flexing thighs braced on either side of my hips. The way my belly rises and falls, tapering down to the place where our groins meet, and the thick base of my dick is just visible beneath her glistening pussy. Her hips and heavy oval breasts. The engorged nipples that tell me just how aroused she is. All that hair as it shifts around her shoulders and falls into her face as she reaches down to lace her fingers with mine on either side of my head. That hint of her seductive and secretive smile, as though she plans to unleash some moves on me tonight that will blow my mind.

I can’t fucking wait.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, mesmerized.

“I want to see if I can make you unravel,” she says with an experimental swivel of her hips.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I say, tightening my hold on her hands as a zing of pleasure shoots straight to my brain.

“We’re about to find, aren’t we, Griffin?”

You know that moment in every old Western movie, where the sheriff vaults onto his horse and spurs the poor beast on so they can chase after the villain like a bat out of hell? That’s the treatment Bellamy gives me. This cowgirl of mine possesses a belly dancer’s hips. They can pivot. They can circle. They can twerk as though she’s auditioning for a starring role in a rap video.

She’s fast. Uninhibited. Relentless.

And she gives me something glorious to look at the whole time she’s fucking me into next year.

Like the way she straightens and braces against the headboard for more leverage, so she can grind harder and while I hang on to her hips for dear life. The way her face twists with gathering ecstasy as her head falls back. The way her breasts jiggle. The way her mouth whispers and smiles and moans. The way her fresh sweat makes her face and the edges of her hair damp and trickles between her breasts.

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