Page 67 of Resisting the Billionaire

He stares silently, unable to look away, pure lust in his eyes. We both must be seriously hard up if just the sight of my thighs has us this edgy.

My stomach flutters, inhibitions loosening as I lift it even further, until the edge of my lace panties is visible. I can’t remember ever doing anything so daring, so utterly risque, but something about the mood of the room, the anonymity that darkness brings, has me going further than I normally would.

He reaches out and I stop him, grabbing his wrist. “You can’t touch me.”

He takes in a harsh breath, his gaze never leaving the black lace. “Please tell me you will then,” he chokes out.

I nod, the relief and excitement on his face something to behold.

I continue my journey upward, revealing my underwear, softly caressing myself over the satin and lace. His eyes are hot on me, spurring me on, giving me the confidence to dip two fingers inside.

He groans as I reposition myself so I have better access, parting my inner lips, the first touch on my clit wondrous.

“Are you wet?” He’s quiet, as if afraid to break this spell that’s over us, and I can’t blame him. It’s like we’re in our own world right now, separate from everything else, all the warnings from before muted.

“I’m so wet.” It comes out as more of a moan, his presence making the experience so much hotter than it’d be by myself, alone in my apartment. My fingers pump in and out, eyes fluttering shut, imagining it as his fingers instead as warmth spreads through me.

“Is this how you normally masturbate?” His voice is encouraging, no censure present. Only eagerness, as if my answer is the most important thing to him right now.

“I sometimes undress first,” I reply without thinking, the pressure on my clit making everything else slightly hazy, lost in desire.

A deep grunt issues from him, involuntary, from some primal place. “Don’t let me stop you then.”

I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but I’m too far gone at this point. I reach for the tie to my wraparound dress with my free hand, pulling it until it loosens enough to showcase my matching black satin bra, the one that gives me major cleavage.

“Oh, fuck,” he murmurs, his own hand drifting south over the erection tenting the front of his pants.

I run a finger between the valley of my breasts, his gaze traveling the same path, chest rising and falling more heavily, breaths growing audible. He draws his zipper down, cock popping free from the confines of his boxers, and it’s all I can do not to gasp in delight as all my attention focuses on him. It’s difficult to make out too much detail in the dim light, but there’s no mistaking how long and thick he is, the sight sending a fresh wave of arousal through me.

He grips it roughly, stroking it from base to tip, then runs his thumb over the head, his eyes closing in pure bliss for just a moment before they’re back on me, the blue of them electric with heat. “Show me how you touch yourself,” he murmurs, not quite a command, but there’s no room for disagreement in his tone.

Or maybe I don’t want to disagree.

My fingers continue to caress myself down below as my other hand draws down a bra cup, squeezing myself gently, dragging my thumb slowly over the nipple until it’s a hard bud. “So many guys go full throttle right away, but I like it slow. Drawing out the anticipation until I’m breathless, begging for it.”

He slows the movements of his own hand to match my speed, lips parted, such sensual desire on his face, I have to close my eyes so I don’t reach out to him.

“Is this what you picture when you think of me? When you… masturbate?” The question slips out unwittingly, but I don’t regret it. In this moment, the two of us so in sync, I need to know.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“What else?”

He strokes himself, answering, “I imagine parting those pretty thighs, tearing your panties off with my teeth, and feasting. Among all the other ways I dream about you.” A bead of precum releases from the tip of his cock and he spreads it around the head till it’s glistening. My thighs tense in an effort to stop myself from reaching forward and sucking it the way I want to so badly.

“But now, I know to go slow,” he continues, eyes gleaming. “To give you little licks and nips, teasing you. I’ll make it so good for you. Anything you want.”

I tweak my nipple as I increase the pace of my fingers, finally at the point I need serious relief, feverish with desire. “Tell me more.”

“I’ll lick you long and slow,” he murmurs, his actions belying his words as his movements become more frantic. “Until you’re writhing on the bed, lost in your pleasure. Thighs splayed open, hips thrusting, pleading for more. And I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything.”

A cry escapes me, my fingers furiously searching for that elusive thrill, skin hypersensitive and aching. I’m so close.

“And just when you think you can’t take it anymore, I’ll suck you hard, until you’re coming in my mouth, your hands tangled in my hair, holding me in place because you can’t get enough of me. The way I can’t get enough of you.”

I bite my lip to contain the loud moan rising within me as I tip over the edge.

“I want you so bad. All the time. It’s torture to be so close, unable to have you. But I keep doing it because it means I get to be near you, next to you. I just want to be with you.”

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