Page 52 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
He suckles gently at first, then harder, tugging, teasing with his tongue while his fingers continue their ministrations on the other breast. Pleasure, sharp and insistent, coils low in my belly. My knees feel weak. I grip the edge of the desk for support, my head falling back, exposing my throat.
He lifts his head, his eyes blazing. He scoops me up effortlessly.Seriously, the man is strong. And carries me the few steps to the small, slightly worn leather sofa tucked in the corner of my office. He lays me down gently, his body immediately hovering over mine, pinning me with his weight and his intense gaze. The worn leather feels cool against my bare back.
“Tell me what you want, Lucy,” he commands, his voice a low rumble against my ear, his hand sliding down my stomach towards the waistband of my skirt.
I want this feeling to never stop. I want him to keep touching me like this forever. I want to forget everything except the way he makes me feel.
But the words won’t come out. I’m paralyzed by the intensity, by my own overwhelming response. I manage only a shaky breath, a silent plea.
He takes this as permission, because his fingers deftly unzipping my skirt and push it down, the fabric pooling around my ankles along with my discarded bra and blouse.
My panties are soaked. Utterly.
Mortifying. And also incredibly hot.
His gaze sweeps over me, lingering on the wet patch darkening the thin fabric. A possessive smirk touches his lips.
“Touch yourself for me,” he directs softly, his eyes locked on mine. “Show me how you like it.”
My breath catches. He wants me to…? Hesitantly, feeling incredibly exposed, my fingers tremble as they find my own clit through the damp fabric. I mimic the pressure, the circling motion I know works, all under his watchful, intense gaze. Heat floods my face, but the sight of his arousal, the hard ridge straining against his trousers as he watches me, fuels my own.
He lowers his head again, but this time his mouth travels lower, kissing a path down my stomach. He nudges my thighs apart with his powerful hands, then his fingers hook into the waistband of my panties and slide them down my legs. He tosses them aside.
Then his mouth is on me. His tongue flicks out, tasting me, learning me. I cry out, arching off the sofa. He groans, settling his head between my legs, his tongue becoming more insistent, circling, probing, suckling my clit with a devastating rhythm.
One hand snakes up to cup my breast, squeezing gently, while the other slides down, two fingers finding my slick entrance. He pushes inside me, stretching me, filling me with those big fingers.
Oh god.
He works them in a steady rhythm, mimicking the stroke of a cock, while his tongue continues its relentless assault on my clit. The pressure builds impossibly fast. It’s too much. Overwhelming. I’m unraveling under his expert touch, his complete control.
My hips buck against his hand, and his head, chasing the friction.
“Christopher… please…” I gasp, needing release. He increases the pace, his fingers driving deeper, faster, his tongue hitting that perfect spot again and again until lights explode behind my eyes and I shatter.
“Christopher!” I scream, my body convulsing, my pussy clenching around his fingers.
He doesn’t stop immediately, continuing the steady pressure until the last tremor subsides, and rides out my orgasm with me.
Then he pulls back slightly, his mouth leaving my slick folds to capture mine in a deep, possessive kiss. I taste my release on his lips and it turns me on all over again.
He pulls away from the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes dark with purpose. “You taste so fucking good.”
He reaches down, undoing his belt buckle with economical movements. The rasp of his zipper echoes in the suddenly quiet office.
He kicks off his shoes, then shucks off his trousers and briefs in one smooth motion. My eyes widen.
Oh. My. God.
He’s big. No, big is an understatement. He’shuge. Fully, magnificently hard, and all for me. The head is slick with pre-cum.
He kneels between my legs spread wide on the sofa, then he reaches in the pocket of his trousers on the floor and produces a condom. He rips it open, and slides it on. He gives my pussy one last, quick suck, and I squirm in pleasure.
Finally he release me and stands up again. He finds my gaze, holding it.
There’s no question who’s in charge here.
He picks up my wrist, bringing my fingers to his sheathed cock, closing my hand around his length. “Feel how much I want you, Lucy.”
