Page 57 of The Reluctant Billionaire
‘Dangerous words, sweetheart,’ I whisper, and she gives a little wiggle of her delicious bottom which has me pushing her ankles down and lifting a knee so I can straddle her.
It’s a knee-length dress, and the bottom few inches of the exposed zip are already undone, leaving a little slit. I grab the chunky silver zip pull and drag it upwards. It chugs against the metal teeth, and they part for me, offering me access. Inch after inch of bronzed thigh comes into view, so alluring that I sink my teeth into my lower lip.
I’d rather be sinking them into her skin.
Then, as I run the zip pull over the curve of her arse, I’m rewarded with a sight that has me going even harder. Carlotta’s twin, shapely cheeks, divided by a scrap of red lace.
Jesus Christ.
I tug hard on the pull, unzipping her the rest of the way so I can part her dress like curtains and marvel at her rear view. Flawless skin and the delicate scarlet lace of her thong and bra.
‘Would you look at that,’ I say on an exhale, running my hands over her body. ‘So, so beautiful.’ I glide them over her arse and up her back, brushing her long hair out of the way so I can toy with the closure on her bra before I slide my thumbs back down and under the waistband of her thong.
I have no idea where to start. I wanteverything. Want to flip her over and admire those tits in their red lace before pulling her cups down and feasting on her nipples. But my instinct is to slide a firm hand under her stomach and raise myself up high enough on my knees so I can get her onherhands and knees for me.
That’s what I’ll do.
First, I lower my full weight on top of her so my still-clothed dick is pressing between those beautiful, plump cheeks and my mouth is next to her ear. She smells incredible. Heady. Expensive. Her floral fragrance pervades my nostrils and wraps itself around my brain.
‘Did you wear this underwear for me?’ I ask her, running my lips along the soft spot just below her ear. Her head is to one side, cradled in her arms. I loop my thumb and fingers loosely around the wrist next to her face, marvelling at how daintily she’s constructed.
‘No.’ She sounds genuinely affronted. ‘I told you, I always wear stuff like this.’
I grind my pelvis against her, and she moans a little.
‘Hope you’re not too fond of it, because it might not come out of this unscathed.’ What I really mean is that neither she nor I may come out of this unscathed. ‘You asked for real, sweetheart. Things are about to get real.’
She tries unsuccessfully to wriggle beneath my weight. ‘I’ll believe you when you show me.’
I laugh softly and press a kiss to her jaw. ‘My little hellcat. I’ll show you, alright.’
Raising myself up, I pull back to my knees and give her a little slap on that gorgeous bare arse. ‘Up you get. Hands and knees.’
She does so with a sexy little noise of approval, her sleeveless dress sliding down her arms and fully off her. I nudge her legs apart one by one and position myself between them. Her arse is exactly where I need it, and I allow my hands to roam over those cheeks, to savour the dip at her waist, my thumbs to explore the curves of her hips.
I could spend hours worshipping her body, and I will, just not right now. For one thing, I won’t last that long, and for another, she needs me to prove a point. She needs me to show her that the gruff, pretty fucking basic guy she’s inexplicablyresponded to over the past week is still there. That the fancy Tom Ford get-up means bugger all.
That I am every inch the dirty, primal animal she seems to want me to be.
Shouldn’t be difficult, because that’s what this pampered, gorgeous, sparky little princess turns me into, whether I like it or not.
But I’m very, very glad she likes it.
I bend, sliding my hands up her sides until they cup her tits. Fuck me. They sit full and heavy in my hands, encased in their beautiful lace. My morals over the money this woman likely spends on outfitting her gorgeous body fly out the window, because there’s something about knowing that the delicate, gossamer-thin lace through which I’m palming her bullet-like nipples cost a bloody fortune that goads my inner beast even more.
I’ll shred this bra, this thong, to pieces if I have to.
As I knead harder, pulling and pinching her nipples and revelling in the breathy, needy little moans already coming from her mouth, the realisation hits me that I want her to desire this version of me as much as my community centre persona. I may have been at my most comfortable there, this past week, but, like it or not, I spend most of my time in this corner office, working on my laptop rather than hammering and sawing.
I owe it to this version of myself to win her over.
I push the lace down roughly so I can roll her gorgeous, berry-ripe nipples between my fingers just as hard as I like, and I grind my erection against her.
‘Aide,’ she moans.
‘You know what?’ I tell her, my voice hoarse with desire. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll find a way to get you up against the wall in that shitty little office and bang you as hard as you want.’
I release one perfect breast and slip a hand between us, running a couple of leisurely fingers over the soaking strip of lace covering her pussy. ‘But today, I’m a CEO, and you are here inmyfucking office, on your hands and knees for me with nothing protecting you except this sexy little excuse for underwear.’
