Page 6 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
His lips brushed against the lace, and then his mouth was on me, his tongue laving over silk already dampened by my arousal. It wasn’t enough. His hands skimmed up my legs, past the delicate fabric of my underwear and up to my waist, my ribcage, then slid around to the small of my back, touching me all over and leaving shimmering tracks of sensitivity in their wake. He hooked firm fingers into the sides of my thong and slipped it down below my ass and off.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he growled, sitting back on his heels between my legs. “You want this.” He stroked himself again through his boxer briefs. It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer, just spread my legs wider, watching his eyes drop down my body, then the flex of his abs as he pushed his boxer briefs down around his hips, freeing his cock. He wanted it too: it was flushed and stiff. And mouth-wateringly big; I wasn’t sure if I’d really appreciated that, back when I was less experienced–just how gorgeous Charlie Martin’s cock was. I’d been a girl with a crush, I’d been more focused on the fact that it wasCharlie Martin’s.
I had been young. Foolish.
I wasn’t that girl anymore.
“It doesn’t vibrate,” he said, his hand moving firmly from base to tip and back again, “but I think you’ll find it satisfactory otherwise.”
“Shut up, Cha–”
The rest of his name was lost in an undignified gasp as I suddenly found myself straddling him, his hands on my hips and our faces very close together. I wasn’t sure who closed the distance, just that his lips were on mine, his kiss hard and searching, his fingers unhooking my bra band with the ease of practice. I felt the cups fall from my chest, and I sat up to slip the straps from my shoulders, tossing it over the side of the bed.
“Yourbody, Sam,” Charlie growled. “Fuck.”
I smiled and sat up straighter, luxuriating in his gaze.Take a good look, Charlie, you’ll never see this much of me again.“Condom?” He reached down to his pants on the floor, groping in the pocket for his wallet, pulling out a foil packet and passing it to me.
“I thought you’d sworn off wedding date one-night stands?” I asked, holding it up between us.
“I did,” he said, his eyes on mine and a smirk on his lips. “But you never know when someone will want a second night. Fifteen–uh–” He groaned as I tore open the package and rolled the condom over his shaft with two hands. “Fifteen fucking years later–oh,fuck, Sam,yes–”
I sat up on my knees before sinking down onto him. And down, and down. I shuddered and sighed as he filled me, the discomfort just the right side of too much.
“Good?” he asked, and I knew by the tension around his eyes and the openness in his gaze that he wasn’t fishing for compliments.
“Good,” I said, and he swiveled his hips. “Better,” I gasped.
He did it again, and I threw my head back and closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see his grin.
Charlie fucking Martin.
The best I’d ever had.
His hands wrapped around my upper thighs, fingers gripping me hard and holding me still as he rolled his hips against me, so deep, hitting all those places no other man had ever reached. Then they swept up my waist, strong and firm on my ribcage, gently easing me up his length, then down again. “Yes,” I moaned, finding my rhythm. “Yes,yes–”
He was so big, and it had been so long, and this–whatever this was–was so good… I was close to the edge already, my body growing tighter and my mind fuzzier. And then his hands found my breasts, cupping their weight in his palms, rolling my nipples between thumb and forefingers.
I gasped, my body coiled tight like a spring, ready to snap. My breathing grew shallow–desperate, panting breaths as I worked myself up and down, and I squeezed my eyes tighter–
“Hold on,” he said, and I barely had time to grab his shoulders as he flipped us over on the hotel bed, breaking my rhythm and taking control.
“Fuck,” I swore, half-annoyed, half-shocked by the change in angle, the slide of his thick shaft parting my walls again and again, the fullness of his cock deep inside my body as he used his new leverage to pound into me.
I’d convinced myself in the fifteen years since the first time we slept together–since the last time we slept together–that it was just the thrill of being with an older boy, my brother’s friend, the undercurrent of fear that we might be discovered, the enthusiasm of youth, that had made that one time so,sogood.
Maybe all those things were true.
But if that was all it was fifteen years ago, Charlie had, in the intervening time, gotten really,reallygood at this.
“Oh, oh,fuck,” I swore again as he slowed down, grinding his hips against mine, setting all my synapses alight. “Yes, like that.” The deep, controlled movement hit me in just the right way, inside and out–and like no one else had ever managed since. This was what I remembered from James’s guest bedroom. Fullness, and completion, and–oh,how did I ever convince myself it was just youthful enthusiasm if it was likethis?
“You still like that, hmm?” he murmured in my ear, his lips tickling my earlobe.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, holding him closer, deeper. I was so close, I just needed a little bit more…
Then he was gone.
“Youhaveto be kidding me,” I whined as he pulled all the way out. The head of his cock dipped inside, thrusting shallowly, nowhere near where I needed it. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
