Page 42 of Billionaire Romantic
Lucky Irish somehow makes this whole experience very new.
Finally.Sex with a woman I want to keep.
All my life, I’ve gone with the flow. I’ve allowed relationships to happen because it’s what you do when you’re young, in demand and you don’t want to be alone. But the romantic in me always held something back, because I always knew I wasn’t with the person I wanted to end up with.
I take her nipple into my mouth like it’s my very first time—and it might as well be for the overload of obsession-fueled lust coursing through my veins. I suck on her slowly, worshipfully, in awe of the silky softness of her.
I usually consider myself an easy-going guy. I’m the diplomat in my family. The mediator. The one my brothers come to when they need something handled with a level head.
In the bedroom it’s a slightly different story. I’ve been told I’m a “beast,” an “animal,” “the Superman of orgasms,” and “the best fuck in New York”—among others. By women who were placeholders. I don’t sleep around so I tend to get pent-up from time to time. And I happen to have won the lottery in the well-hung department. It is what it is.
Now, with Lucky Irish in my bed, I’m fucking feral.
She tastes like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Sweet. Almost floral. Like milky honey blossoms in the garden of Eden. I suck on her like I’m trying to drink this essence from her. I’m demanding. It’s perverse, almost, the need and greed I feel.
Little moans of pleasure escape her, getting me even harder.
I take my time, licking, feasting, peeling off her panties with my teeth.
I ease her legs wider and position her so her legs are wrapped around my shoulders. I hold her thighs apart. “Look at you, baby girl, so wet for me. I’m going to taste you now. And eat you until you come so hard you’re going to see stars as you scream my name.”
“Eat…?” she breathes, like she’s shocked I would suggest such a thing. Her gasp comes out sounding like, “Oh, fuck.”
There’s a smile on my face when I take my first taste of her. I’m literally in heaven. I feast greedily on her sweet softness and she moans, her hands grabbing fistfuls of my hair.
I don’t hold back. I couldn’t if I tried. I eat into her like a man possessed, zeroing in on her clit, licking and sucking her in soft pulls as my fingers tease and explore.
She starts to quiver. Her hips sway gently in a back-and-forth rhythm. She cries out my name.
I fucking love that sound like I’ve never loved anything. Of her dreamy exhale, calling to me, like I’m a mythical god she’s already in love with. Like I’m too good to be true.
Her pussy pulses around my tongue and the taste of her as she comes becomes the most feverish addiction I’ve ever known.
She’s mine. I want to marry her and give her ten babies and spend the rest of life doingthis.
Mine, mine, mine.
20
Wave after waveof mind-blowing pleasure throbs hotly through my entire being. I hear a low sound and realize it’s me. I’m moaning his name.
Holy hell, he’s good at this.
Noah takes his time, licking more gently now. He kisses my clit, causing another deep ripple of bliss. Then he kisses his way up my body, laying next to me with his head propped on a burly arm. His smug grin is so hot and also sort of endearing because he looks so happy, I can’t stop myself. I fall a little bit in love with him.
He’s still fully clothed. I’m naked, wet and quivering from coming so freaking hard—and I’mstillcoming. I feel vulnerable in a way that turns me on even more. I’m at the mercy of this big, sexy beast and my inner newly-awakened sex goddesslovesthis. I want him touseme so much, it feels like I was born for exactly this reason.
When I consider my wildest dreams, it kind ofiswhat I was born to do.
It’s interesting when you think about it. I’ve fought for my feminist rights my whole life. I always will. But right now theonly thing I care about is getting fucked by this gorgeous hot hunk of a man. Thatisa feminist right, after all. Using our femininity to fulfill our physical, sensual and biological urges. And right nowallmy urges are on overdrive.
The backs of his fingertips trace my cheekbone. That he caneat meso damn hungrily one minute and be so charmingly tender the next makes me fall in love with him even more.
Stop doing that, girl. It’s too fast.
Then again, that trip to Ireland might not?—
I shut my subconscious off. My inner Earth Mother who now moonlights as a sex goddess is at war with L. Emerson, who’s all about common sense. I’m going to let the two of them fight it out on their own. I’m too busy right now. A very sexy almost-stranger is handing out orgasms like it’s going out of style.
