Page 5 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 2

The words are barely out of my mouth before he grips my hips and pushes me until my bare back slams against the door. His mouth covers mine, his lips pressing down firm and full of want. He grabs my wrists again, this time pulling my arms up above my head and pinning me to the wall. I let out a soft moan that grows louder as his lips drift down my jaw, tracing a line down my neck and across my collarbone. My hips respond, grinding against him. With just the thinnest piece of silk separating me from Nixon, I can feel his cock grow hard in his pants, and oh my god I want it.

“Delaney,” he groans before sucking a nipple into his mouth and pinching it between his teeth. “I want you.”

“Take me,” I say, pulling my hands from his grip and weaving my fingers into his hair. I give it a sharp tug, his head jerking back so that we lock eyes for a moment. “I’m yours.”

A growl begins rumbling low in his belly, crawling up through him like a caged panther until it escapes from between his teeth. And that’s the last moment that I’m in control of him. His hands go to my hips, where he pushes my dress down until it pools at my feet like an oil slick.

“No panties,” he whispers. “Dirty girl.”

I start to kick off my silver stilettos, but Nixon drops to his knees and takes firm hold of my thighs. “No,” he growls. “Leave them on.” Then he reaches down and lifts one leg until it rests, still clad in a four-inch heel, on his shoulder. Which opens my pussy wide to his wanting mouth. He buries his lips in me, his tongue dipping deep inside before lapping up to play with my clit. My body feels electrified, and I find myself digging my heel into his shoulder as I try to remain standing. My hands fly back up to push against the wall while I grind away on his tongue. I can already feel the orgasm building, radiating down my thighs, where his hands grip so tightly he’s probably leaving fingerprints in my milky white skin.

His tongue performs intricate figure eights around my clit until I’m nearly screaming out in the darkened room. Thank god for the jazz band and the chatty crowd, or all of the Boston tech scene would know that I absolutely have had an orgasm.

But just before my body explodes in pleasure, Nixon pulls back.

“Please,” I beg, the absence of his tongue on me causing my pussy to throb like a live wire. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not ready for you to come yet,” he says, standing up. He sheds his tuxedo jacket, which falls to the floor, and I know what’s coming is going to be even better. I yank at the end of his bowtie, loosening it, then whipping it off as my fingers work frantically at the buttons on his shirt. Soon the muscular expanse of his chest is before me, and I run my hands along his tan skin, just a scattering of dark chest hair visible. I look up and lock eyes with him. He’s staring down at me with that intense Nixon Blake gaze, and I can hear the clink of his belt buckle as he begins to free his cock.

Jesus Christ, is this real life?

My hands drift down to meet his, and he lets me lower the zipper on his perfectly tailored pants. A pair of boxer briefs is currently doing the Herculean task of containing nine inches of Nixon Blake, and I waste no time reaching my hand into the waistband and wrapping my fingers around him. He groans as my grip tightens. But again, he has other plans. He grabs my hips, spinning me around until my hands are pressed against the door, then he pulls me back so that I bend just slightly. I glance over my shoulder to see him grab his jacket and reach into the interior pocket. He takes something out that crinkles softly in the darkness, a package of some sort.

He leans over me, one hand reaching around to cup my breast, the other sliding down until the rough pad of his finger slips across my clit.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in my ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” I say, the words shuddering out of me as he toys with my most sensitive spot.

“No, Delaney,” he chides, pulling his hand away. “Tell me what you want.”

I pause, having never said anything like this out loud in my life. But if it will bring him back to me, I’ll say anything.

“I want your cock,” I tell him, the pleading oozing out of my voice. “I want you to fuck me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says. My heart turns ten backflips at hearing him say that, but I don’t have time to wonder just what he means by my girl, because I hear the crinkle of foil, and within seconds the condom is on and he’s driving into me in one swift, slick motion. My fingers curl like I’m going to sink them into the wood, and I push back into him so I can feel him deeper inside me.

“You feel so fucking good,” I moan as he pulls out and then slides back in again and again, each time hitting a spot deep inside me that sends electric shocks throughout my body.

I can’t believe this is happening.

We are fucking with every important person from Scour standing just feet away, outside this door. It’s frightening and thrilling all at once.

But I trust him. I trust Nixon, that he will protect me. And I’m not sure if I’m right to feel this way, but I do anyhow.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first moment I laid eyes on you.” He grips my hips, pulling me back into him. “I knew had to have you.”

“I’m yours,” I cry out as he drives even deeper inside. My muscles tense around his cock, gripping him tight, which makes him moan into my ear.

“You’re mine,” he growls, and that’s the last thing I hear before my body explodes. The orgasm washes over me like waves pounding at the shore, and I’m helpless but to ride it out. “That’s it. Come for me.”

“God, yes.” I wait for the pleasure to subside, but it only grows, my body unwilling to let it — to let him — go. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

And then his pace quickens, his grip on my hips tightening. He leans forward and sinks his teeth softly into my shoulder, a rumble starting deep in his throat.

“Come,” I whisper, mirroring his own words back to him. “Come for me.”

“Delaney,” he says through shattered breaths, before I feel him follow me over the cliff. “Delaney, fuck yes.”

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