Page 68 of Just Not That Into Billionaires

“If you don’t have that bra off in the next two seconds...” I turn and place a kiss on the inside of her thigh.

Her lips part, forming a soundless “o.” That fucking “o” is everything. I kiss her thigh again, struggling to maintain control. “If you don’t have that bra off in the next two seconds.”

In my days of polishing my sex technique, I found it best to give commands. The more unreasonable, the better. I’m not bossy by nature, but when I learn a thing, I learn it well, and right now I’m learning her. One of us will be losing control and I plan for it to be her.

“Now. If you want to keep going…”

There’s a torn look on her face. She wants this but she doesn’t quite know what to make of me like this.

I kiss higher, a bit nearer to her sweet spot.

Her rib cage rises and falls. “God, Benny,” she says, voice hoarse with wonder.

And then, wide-eyed, she does it—she pulls her bra off, revealing perfect breasts, smooth and perfect as the rest of her. I groan. I’m so fucking horny, I feel like my skin might rip apart from the inside.

I kiss my way up her inner thigh as she pants, rocks with need. I plant a kiss on that strip of hair. “Open your knees. Wide—wide for me.”

She complies and I push my tongue clear into her hole. She gasps. I shove it in more, fuck her with it, and then I fuck her with my fingers while I drag the flat of my tongue clear up her pussy.

Small hands fly to my hair gripping the strands as I lick her.

My name gusting out of her lips is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I take her folds into my mouth and I suck, letting her feel the inside of my mouth. I suck her and then I lick her some more. And then she’s coming, crying out, sex pulsing under my merciless tongue.

“Oh my god,” she says as she comes down. “What…” she asks, breathy, unable to form whatever question flew through her mind.

My hands are on her breasts now, and I’m kissing them. For the first time since we started, I let myself really take in this situation. It’s Francine—fucking Francine!—Sprawled out on my couch, naked and dizzy from an orgasm that I just gave her.

And everything in me swells, so much so that I’m in danger of rocketing right out into space.

Her hands are on my hair again and she pulls my mouth up to hers.

I get back ahold of myself and kiss her expertly, smooth with just the smallest edge of hunger showing, the perfect amount of tongue.

“Oh my god,” she says into the kiss, wriggling under me like the pleasure is still radiating through me. My cock might never go down again. And then her hand is on my belt.

“Off,” she says, giving me back my command. And I comply, clambering off the couch. I pull off my shirt first, because we’re doing things my way. Her nostrils flare as she looks me over. She trails lazy fingertips down my stomach, my six-pack.

“Mmmmm,” she says, and all of those hundreds of daily crunches in the workout studio are worth it, hundreds of crunches, reps upon reps of every muscle workout possible, all fueled by imagining just this moment.

Except not quite this moment.

It was a product of my juvenile imagination after Vegas nine years ago. It involved Francine being filled with remorse for having cast me aside like she did. It was her lusting after me, bitterly regretting her mistake, filled with lust and so freaking sorry. And I’m of course indifferent to her. I’ve gone on to bigger and better things. She has no more chance with me for anything but a quick tumble.

As one year turned into two, I grew out of that ridiculous fantasy, stopped orienting around her, stopped even considering her, though I kept up the workout regime.

I unbuckle my belt, yank it off with a flourish and toss it.

Francine slides her hands up my jeans-clad thighs, up to my fly. “Let me,” she says. “I want to…” Pressing a palm over my impossibly steely erection. “I want to go all kinds of crazy on you, Benny!”

I’d imagined her saying things like this, but more generic. And I wouldn’t be affected the way I am now—I’d feel nothing but cold victory, the triumph of showing her what she’d never have, somebody so far beyond all of those losers in limos that she dated. I saw myself looking down dispassionately as she closed her lips over my cock. And then I’d grab her head and pump right into her.

Reality, needless to say, is radically different.

The high, excited hum she makes when my cock springs free kills me. She kisses the side of it, making Francine sounds.

I can barely function enough to shove my garments off my legs.

She looks up with a lusty smile. “I am going to so...” She doesn’t finish the sentence because she’s Francine.

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