Page 25 of The Billionaires' Prize

“Good?”

And he checks in with me?

Okay, I’ve died. Definitely dead. Definitely in heaven. And he’s an angel.

I nod, and he eases forward a little more. And a little more. All the while, his hands glide over my legs, making me so glad I opted for laser hair removal. Best idea ever.

He slides home, hitting a spot inside me that makes my back arch. I cup my breasts, and he groans.

No. Maybe this is the best idea ever.

When he braces his arms over the front of my legs, holding me aloft, and then pulls his hips back, I see the brilliance behind this position.

I’m at his mercy.

He’s in control and control me he does. All I can do is cling to the couch and hang on as he pistons in and out of me. It’s like every nerve, every cell focuses on the sensations he brings as he fills me. I’m bereft every time he pulls his hips back.

Soon, I’m panting with need, consumed by the desire to come. My body coils tight, but I don’t tip over. I just hang there, on the side of the mountain.

“You’re so fucking hot, Princess.”

I used to hate that nickname, but right now, it feels special. The way it rolls off his tongue is an actual endearment. Like he can’t believe his luck.

I brace a hand above my head, needing leverage. Needing release. But he’s still in complete control.

He chuckles, obviously reading my mind.

“Need something?”

“Yes,” I whine, pride gone. It dissolved somewhere along with my self-preservation. The only thing that matters now is shattering.

“Not yet. I’m enjoying this too much.” His thrusts turn shallow and slow.

I cover my face with my hands, letting out a little scream of frustration.

He stops.

I drop my hands.

“What did I say?”

I rack my lust-saturated brain.

He likes my ass. My legs. My lips.

“Let me hear you, Princess. Every.” He pushes deep, and I gasp. “Little.” Pulls out. “Sound.”

He slides a hand down my leg, across my belly, pausing between my breasts. Flames lick every inch of skin he touches. He’s that warm, and I’m that turned on. It’s not going to take much to get me off. I love the feel of his hand splayed over my skin, like he’s memorizing the feel of me beneath his palm.

When he coasts his fingertips down my torso, making a quick detour around my belly button, and zeroes in on my clit, I know I’m a goner.

A few gentle flicks, and I’m soaring up the mountain again, skin going tight, muscles aching for release.

He finds a new rhythm. Cock and fingers work in brilliant synchronicity, and I can’t do anything but lie here and enjoy it. Moan on repeat.

He’s playing me like an instrument where he’s the musician, composer, and conductor all in one.

Stepping on the gas. Easing off. Driving me wild. Letting my orgasm abate. Then he’s back at it, stroking so deep.

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