Page 99 of The Billionaire's Secret
He twists his hand with the right torque that his heel slams into the swollen bud of my clit. A trembling sweeps up my legs, past my waist, and my nipples pebble until I can’t stand it anymore. I am one yearning mass of need, waiting to be filled by him. His cock. His fingers. His tongue. "Please," the word bleeds from my lips.
A fierce satisfaction grips his features.
Then he releases me so quickly that I fall back against the wall.
The climax instantly ebbs. "No," I gasp. "Not again. You can’t do this."
He lifts one eyebrow. "You bet I can."
He ambles back, until he’s propped up against the opposite end of the cage. His big body takes up almost the entire breadth of the constricted space.Shit.I flatten my back into the barrier behind me.
"What now?"
"Now, I ask the questions. Remember Gigi, one wrong answer." His grin widens, "One mistake and you lose all say in what’s going to happen to you."
"For…how long?"
"For as long as I deem necessary to tame you, of course."
"You’re crazy."
"Are you ready?"
No.
No.
I square myself holders. "Fine. Go ahead."
He nods.
" John Lennon and Paul McCartney sang backing vocals on which Rolling Stones single??"
"It was called." I frown. "We Love You."
"Correct." He smirks. "Next question," he pins me with his gaze "The Beatles couldn’t read music. True or false?"
"True," I reply.
"What's your favorite color?"
"Blue," I blink.
He clicks his tongue, "Don't lie to me. Tell me the truth and I won't catapult you off a cliff."
"You're a Monty Python fan as well?" I can't stop the smile that curves my lips.
"I ask the questions," he smirks, then waggles a finger at me, "and you haven't answered the last one."
I throw up my hands, "Fine, red. My favorite color is red." I stiffen, "And did you just trick me into revealing something personal about myself?"
"Only I get to ask the questions, remember?" He angles his head. "How long did it take The Beatles to record their first album?"
"24 hours." I wring my fingers together.What's he getting at? Why is he sneaking in questions about my personal preferences in between?
"What’s the make of your favorite car?"
"Maserati." I scowl, "Not fair, why do you even care what—?"
