Page 53 of Below Deck Billionaire
Theo almost groaned as his dick bucked at the husky request. ‘Tiffany.’
Her gaze dropped briefly again before returning. ‘I mean… that looks really painful.’
He let out a strangled laugh at the understatement. ‘It really is.’
‘So… don’t stop.’
Oh. Holy. Jesus. ‘Tiffany,’ he said with a groan, a warning in his voice as his balls contracted even higher.
‘It’s not breaking your dare if I watch, right?’
No. But it might just break him. Still, she clearly wasn’t about to faint in maidenly horror at catching him in the act of self-pleasure, and his problem was still sticking out there between them so… who was he to disappoint a lady?
Not that there was anything ladylike about her right now. She looked like a fucking wildling, standing there staring at him in her baggy T-shirt that had slipped off one shoulder, her loose, sleep-mussed hair falling about her face and shoulders, her mouth slightly parted.
‘You like to watch, huh?’
She shrugged, a small smile fliting across her mouth. ‘I like to watch you.’
Christe.Thatyoukilled him. Thatyoumade it personal. And he could no more have denied her the show than denied himself the performance. Sliding his hand to his cock, he fisted himself again, fighting the urge to shut his eyes at the involuntary shudder that quaked through his body.
‘Take off your shirt,’ he muttered, and he didn’t care that it didn’t sound like a polite request, because it wasn’t.
It was a demand.
Her eyes rounded momentarily, and he wondered if she’d decline, but then she reached for the hem and yanked it up, pulling it over her head and tossing it on the floor behind as she took three steps into the cubicle and planted her ass against the glass directly opposite him, the spray hitting the six rows of tiles between them.
Theo hummed his satisfaction as he looked his fill, strands of her hair falling forward over her shoulders to brush the slopes of her bare breasts, almost reaching the puckered tips of her nipples that looked rosy red from his attention last night.
She was still in her underwear so technically there wasn’t nudity, right?
Her panties were yellow with lacy panels down each side, a satiny panel between, the waistband sitting low enough to expose rounded hips curving into soft waist and the slight rise of belly that he’d peered over last night to watch her face as she’d climaxed.
A small bow sat in the middle of the waistband and the tiny diamanté winking from the centre caused him to stroke his cock a little faster as he pictured tearing that sweet-looking bow off with his bare teeth.
‘Fancy a race?’ she asked huskily as she watched the slide of his hand.
Theo’s pulse spiked, his gaze flicking to her face to find her hazel eyes calmly meeting his like she hadn’t just suggested something that completely contradicted the innocence of that damn bow. ‘Race?’
‘Yeah.’ Her right hand moved from the glass behind to the indent of her waist. Then lower. His eyes tracked the movement as he worked his cock. ‘You and me. Let’s see how fast we can cross the finish line.’
Her hand paused at that tiny bow and Theo chugged out a laugh as he pumped himself a little faster. ‘No contest there.’ The way she was staring at his cock, he was barely holding himself in check as it was.
‘Except, we have to cross together. First one to come without the other loses.’
He wanted to ask her what the prize was for winning, but then her fingers toyed with the bow on her panties and he lost his place.
‘Think you can gear down?’
Theo swallowed hard. He was pretty damn sure he’d give himself a hernia if he slowed his roll, but he’d do whatever she fucking wanted as long as her fingers kept moving.
Kept. Moving. South.
‘Uh huh,’ he muttered.
But, if anything, his hand picked up the pace, something she clearly clocked given how closely she was paying attention to the slide of his hand. ‘Are you sure? Because you’ve had a head start and I’m already one up on you, so it might’ – the tips of her fingers pushed beneath her waistband – ‘take me a bit longer to get there.’
Shutting his eyes, it took all of Theo’s self-control to slow his hand and reign in the feral impulse to stroke himself the half dozen times he needed to release the pressure that had gone from a simmer to a boil inside his testicles.
