Page 31 of Riding with the Secret Billionaire

She laughs, the sound warm and intimate in the quiet room."I like that," she says. "The mix of extraordinary and ordinary.It suits you."

“Not what most people would say.”

“I’m not most people.” Her gaze meets mine, charged with intent.

No. She isn’t.

The thought unleashes something in me, and I lower her back to the bed, my weight pressing her into the mattress. I trail my lips down her neck, across her collarbone, along the line of her bra. She arches beneath me, legs wrapping around my waist, urging me closer. The feel of her beneath me, soft and willing, sends a jolt of desire through me.

“Jake,” she gasps, my name a plea, a demand.

I shift, freeing one hand to unhook her bra, tossing it aside. My mouth finds the curve of her breast, drawing a moan from her that goes straight to my core. Her nails rake lightly down my back, the sensation electrifying.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I say, my voice rough with need and restraint.

“More,” she breathes, the word throaty and wrecked. “Don’t hold back.”

The raw need in her voice snaps the last of my control. I catch her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. She gasps, the sound pure want. My free hand trails down her body, slow and deliberate, tracing every curve with a possessiveness that surprises even me.

“Is this what you want?” I ask, holding her wrists tight, my body covering hers.

“Yes,” she breathes, arching up to meet my touch. “God, yes.”

I claim her mouth again, the kiss deep and consuming, a promise of more to come. Her submission fuels my desire, makes me reckless. I release her wrists, the need to feel her hands on me overwhelming.

She responds immediately, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, urging me on. My hand slips beneath the waistband of her underwear, finding her wet and ready. She gasps into my mouth, the sound enough to make me forget the world beyond this room, beyond her.

Her hips move against my hand, seeking more, faster, but I keep the pace agonizingly slow, savoring the way she writhes beneath me before I pull back.

She makes a sound of protest as I withdraw my hand, but it turns to a moan when I cup her breast again, claiming her mouth with the same intensity. She pulls me closer, her need matching mine, her skin warm and flushed beneath my touch.

"Trish," I say against her lips, my voice a low rumble. "Do you trust me?"

She stills, eyes dark and unguarded as they meet mine. "Yes," she whispers. "I trust you. Completely."

I swallow hard, the weight of her words igniting something deep inside. "I'm going to try some things with you," I say, holding her gaze. "Things you might not expect. If it's too much, say the word 'blue,' and I'll stop."

She nods, breathless with anticipation. "Blue. Got it."

I kiss her again, slow and deliberate, before getting off the bed with reluctance. I retrieve a few items from the open closet, the sight of them making her breath catch. My two belts, two clothespins that I spy on a laundry bag, and her hairbrush.

"Are you sure you’re ready for this?" I ask, laying them beside her.

Her eyes are wide, her desire palpable. "Yes," she says, the word half moan, half plea. "Please."

I take the belt and loop it around her wrist, securing it to the headboard with a quick, practiced motion. The other follows, binding her in place, her body stretched beneath me in an offering I can't resist. Her chest rises and falls with each rapid breath, her skin flushed with anticipation.

I run my hand down her side, my touch gentle despite the hunger thrumming through me. "Tell me if you need to stop," I remind her.

"I won't," she says, her voice raw with want.

I reach for the clothespins, brushing them over her nipples before letting them bite down with perfect, calibrated pressure. Trish gasps, her back arching off the bed, a mix of pain and pleasure written across her face.

I soothe her with my hands, my mouth, following the paths of pleasure and heat across her skin until she trembles beneath me, her sounds growing more desperate with every pass. When she’s on the edge, I reach for the brush, sliding it along her thigh, her belly, her breast.

She moans, the sound low and needy, as I draw back and swat her with the flat of it, the sharp crack of wood on flesh making us both gasp. Her body jerks, pain blossoming into something more, something deeper, and I do it again, watching her face as she takes it, takes me, her body straining against the bonds.

"Yes," she gasps, the word electrifying. "More. Please."

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