Page 58 of Big Bad Bully
The bedroom is like the rest of Billy’s penthouse–decorated in glass and metal and devoid of any color except black, white, and gray. White walls. Dark grey rug. An enormous California King four post bed in lacquered black stands in the center of the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park shape one wall. On the wall opposite the bed hang a series of three framed black and white prints of sweeping mountain and forest landscapes. They look like Ansel Adams’ prints of Yosemite. I make a mental note to examine them later.
Apparently, Billy doesn’t know how to not be in charge because he drops me in the center of the bed and unbuttons my shorts.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hand. “Take off your own clothes.”
Let’s see if he’s truly capable of following my orders.
He holds my gaze, that small smile playing around his lips as he swiftly unbuttons his dress shirt. I hold my breath, waiting for him to take off the undershirt. I’m dying to see his chest to find out–
Hairy. Not waxed.
Yum. I do love a hairy chest.
I scramble off the bed.
Billy’s hands move to unbuckle his belt.
“Wait!” I hold up a finger. I’m making this up as I go.
Billy holds still, his fingers still on the buckle. It’s a sexy look. I don’t know why I’m imagining him using that belt on me. Buckling my wrists together. My thighs. Spanking my ass with it.
I’ve never played that kinky, but something about Billy and the things he just said about me inspires these crazy thoughts.
I walk around behind him and take over, slowly sliding his belt out of the loops. I drop it on the floor and then slide my palm over the hard ridge of his cock in his trousers. Damn, he’s big. I unbutton his pants and tug the zipper down.
“Kick off your shoes.”
He toes off his expensive Italian leather loafers.
“Sit on the edge of the bed.”
He turns and sits. He’s relaxed, his gaze half-mast, like he’s drunk with lust. If I were truly evil, I would order him to strip, tie him to the bed, and then leave to paint the mural.
That might serve him right, but I’m not sure I could handle the blow-back. Maybe I’m starting to care about this pseudo-relationship Billy and I are developing.
Besides, that’s not what I want. I want to taste him, like he’s tasted me.
I kneel on the plush rug that probably costs more than I’ve made in my entire lifetime and free his erection.
He groans, and his hands clench into fists by his side, but he keeps them there, like he’s at a strip club, and I’m a dancer on his lap. I can touch him, but he can’t touch me. I fist his cock and slide my hand up and down his length.
A low rumble sounds in his chest.
Wow. He’s more of an animal than I would’ve thought. Before this week, I imagined sex with him could be a cold, manicured endeavor, but he’s off-the-hook hot.
I show him my tongue as I slowly lean forward, creating anticipation. His thighs tense.
“Do you want me to put your cock in my mouth?” I ask.
“Don’t tease.” His voice is even. Maybe there’s even a slight challenge to the words.
I get the message loud and clear. He might obey, but he won’t beg.
And any illusion I had that I’m actually in control just slipped away. He’s toying with me–letting me have my turn, so to speak, before he takes back over.
I slide the tip of my tongue along his weeping slit. “What if I do?” I ask.
I see a wicked glimmer in his eyes. “There are punishments for girls who tease.”
