Page 90 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
He lays me down on his enormous bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to my heated skin.
Then he stands over me for a moment, his eyes drinking me in under the dim light, a look of intense concentration on his face, like an artist studying his masterpiece.
He comes down beside me, propped on one elbow, his gaze never leaving mine. He traces the line of my jaw with one finger.
“Tonight,” he says softly, his voice a low command, “is about you, Lucy. Only you.”
He starts with my neck, kissing a slow, deliberate path down to my shoulder, his tongue occasionally flicking out to taste my skin. He moves lower, kissing my stomach, lingering near my navel, his breath hot against my skin.
My whole body trembles with anticipation.
He parts my legs gently, his gaze locking with mine, holding me captive with just his eyes. He lowers his head, his mouth replacing his hand between my thighs. He starts slowly, teasingly, his tongue tracing lazy circles, flicking against my clit with agonizing lightness.
I gasp, my hips instinctively arching off the bed.
He applies more pressure, his tongue becoming more insistent, his fingers joining the assault, spreading me open, exploring my folds, dipping inside me.
He finds a rhythm, relentless, hypnotic.
Oh god oh god oh god... right there... just like that.
He brings me to the edge, that familiar tension coiling tight in my belly, then he pauses, pulling back just enough to make me whimper in frustration.
“Tell me what you want, Lucy,” he whispers against my wet skin. His breath curls over my clit, sending sparks through my entire system. “Tell me how you like it. Tell me how to make you cum.”
“Christopher… please…” I gasp out, barely coherent. My body is screaming for release.
A dark smile touches his lips.
“Please what?” he murmurs, his tongue flicking out again, a direct hit that makes me cry out. “Use words.”
“Please… make me cum,” I manage.
He obeys instantly. His mouth becomes demanding, his tongue relentless, his fingers working inside me with expert precision.
The pressure builds, faster this time, hotter.
He pushes me higher, further, until...
The tension shatters.
A wave of pure pleasure crashes over me. My body convulses, tears pricking my eyes as the orgasm rips through me.
“Christopher!”
But he doesn’t stop. He holds me there, riding the waves with me, his mouth never leaving, ensuring every last tremor fades before he finally eases backslightly.
I lie there, trembling, breathless, utterly spent.
My hands reach for him instinctively, wanting to touch him, to return the favor, to feel the hard length of his cock beneath his trousers. But as my fingers brush his pants, his hand closes gently but firmly around my wrist and he brings my hand up, pinning it lightly above my head against the cool fabric of the headboard.
“Not yet,” he whispers, his eyes dark pools of controlled desire. He captures my other wrist, pinning it beside the first. “I told you. This is about you. About your pleasure. We’re not finished yet.”
He releases me and lowers his head again.
And proceeds to prove just how thoroughly he meant it.
He brings me to orgasm again.
