Page 72 of Forking the Billionaire

It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Her breast was soft and perfectly sized to fit my palm. I massaged her gently through the thin fabric of her dress, and what felt like a lace bra beneath, paying special attention to the tiny pebble at the peak. She gasped and blinked, as if after her brazen action, I’d somehow surprised her.

“Is this what you want?” My voice sounded as shredded and desperate as I felt.

She moaned and pressed her hand harder over mine, encouraging me.

“Tell me, Esme. I need to hear you say it.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut and she threw her head back. “Yes, Jasper.”

Was she embarrassed? If she was, there was no need. She was glorious, always, but even more so like this.

“It’s the hormones. I swear, I’m not usually like this,” she said.

“You’re perfect.” If she needed someone to help her, if she needed to find release, I was going to make damned sure it was me who helped her. Not the musician, not anyone else.

I kissed her jaw and down her neck, committing the salty taste of her skin to memory. This might be the only time she’d let me touch her like this. The idea burned in my throat.

She squeezed my shoulder, holding onto me as I found a spot on her neck that made her quiver and pant. I focused my attention there, licking as I brushed my thumb back and forth over her nipple. It pebbled under my touch.

I’d prove to her how much I could help her. Even if I couldn’t keep her, I could make her come so hard she’d forget her worries for a little while.

I slid my hand down her back and cupped her ass. It, too, was soft. Everything about her body was so fucking soft. My fingers went from cloth to bare skin as I lifted her skirt and circled the back of her thigh.

She moaned. “Don’t just tease me. Touch me.”

I grinned against her neck, wrapped my arm around her and lifted her with ease. She gasped in surprise and hooked her arms over my shoulders.

“I didn’t mean pick me up. I meant….” She pressed her lips together, again showing a side I didn’t know she had.

Was she bashful? Ashamed to tell me she wanted me to touch her pussy?

“Is this a safe place to lie in the sand?” I asked.

Her features twisted in confusion, a blush slowly creeping up over her cheeks.

“The turtles,” I said. “I don’t want to be the guy who smashes the baby turtles.”

“Right. Yes. This is safe.”

“Great.” I set her down on the sand and hovered over her, with only inches of space and a few pieces of fabric between us. The light captured the hot look she was giving me. It said everything she struggled to tell me with words. She wanted this, wanted me.

And then I kissed her. Hard.

She clawed at my chest, lifting my shirt up. I helped her, letting the kiss end only long enough to slip my shirt over my head and tuck it between her head and the sand.

Then I pulled her panties aside and looked into her eyes as I slid my fingers down to her clit. I watched her lips part and her eyes flutter back. I took my cues from her zealous reactions, loving every sound I coaxed out of her, every hitch of her breath, and every new blush that crossed her cheeks.

“Oh my yes yes yes,” she whispered, arching her back.

Her hands frantically searched for my fly. She struggled as her pleasure built, but finally she unzipped my pants, and from there, shoved down my boxers. My cock sprang free, releasing the pressure of being trapped inside my shorts.

She wrapped her fist around me, her eyes finding mine, and finally the embarrassment was completely gone. As she stroked her hand up and down my length, she looked at me with an intensity I couldn’t quite comprehend.

But then again, I couldn’t quite think, either, not with her heady scent surrounding me, not while I was so close to making her come, and not when she was touching me like that, not while she was squeezing and stroking and panting.

“Fuck, Esme,” I said, the pressure of my own orgasm building at speeds it hadn’t since I was a teenager.

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