Page 90 of Just Not That Into Billionaires

“Sorry, I can’t…”

“Be fake?” I say.

He lowers himself over me. There’s fire in his eyes. His breath is uneven. He kisses down my body, down my bare torso, devouring me with his mouth. My hands are on his head, fingers plunged into his hair, urging him on in all his jerky, untutored abruptness. He comes back up and kisses me some more.

“Yes,” I say. I never want to stop this. I reach down and grip his cock, huge and silky.

A groan of pure need twists up from his chest.

“This,” I whisper.

“That?” he says.

“Mmm.”

Two harsh hands slide up my skirt, pressing it up over my waist, bunching it up. His muscles flex with the wild urgency of his movements. “I didn’t know it could feel like this,” I say.

“It’s everything.” He slides his hand over my hips, my belly, roving hungrily all over me like he’s desperate to touch me everywhere—not to control me this time, but to be with me. I squirm with pleasure.

Searching fingers slide over my mound, grazing my inner thigh. A tremor curls through me. Suddenly he’s tearing off my underwear with furious movements. He’s ruining them, and it’s so hot it blows my mind. I want him to shred them, and then he does. I hear this rip.

“Oh my god, sorry,” he says.

“The only thing I hate about what you just did is that you can’t do it again. I wish you could do it again and again. I want you to rip my clothes forever. Shred them to mincemeat!”

“If I spent my time on that, then I couldn’t do this,” he says, and he’s pressing my thighs apart with an iron grip and devouring my sex—there’s simply no other word for it. His oral sex technique—or as he’d probably term it, cunnilingus technique—is raw and hungry and hot as hell. Not like when he was being suave.

For the record, out-of-control Benny is completely wicked.

I’m fisting his hair, gone with pleasure. It’s not even about the orgasm; it’s just Benny being so Benny between my legs—so intense, so single-minded. “Ungh,” I pant.

“You okay?” he halts long enough to ask.

“Ohmigod what? No! Don’t stop! It was more than okay just keep—” I push his head back, and he’s devouring me again, nearly sucking on my whole pussy.

My eyes might be rolling backwards in my eye sockets. My brain might be rolling backwards in its brain socket. My entire person might be rolling back in its personhood socket. My soul might be sprawling backwards into its soul socket, surprising the entire spiritual realm.

And I’m coming hard all of a sudden, clutching at his head, at his hair. His ears are in there somewhere.

He crawls up over me, staring at me with a kind of wonder. He dips his head down to kiss my breast, then my other breast, then the first one, and then he’s up to my lips. And then he pulls back and he’s just staring at me.

“Come here,” I say.

“I am here,” he says.

“No, here.” I urge him nearer and grab on to his cock. I slide my hand up enjoying his specifically Benny topography of veins and velvety softness. I grip a little tighter. The way he sucks in a breath, you’d think nobody’s ever done this before.

“Want you like crazy,” I say. “Just like how you are right now. You are so you and so sexy I can’t even.” I kiss him and stroke him. “We need to go to my servant wife room.”

“We do?”

“Bring me,” I say.

He hoists me up and I’m kissing him wild and free all the way down the hall.

Back in the room, I go into the little zipper pouch that has the travel pack that Tabitha made for all of us one Christmas. Sewing kit, moisturizer samples, condom!

I pull it out, holding it up like a trophy. I go to where he’s kneeling on my bed, him and his hard curves and corded muscles like a map of his tenaciousness, his cock rigid as a flagpole.

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