Page 100 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Don’t lie," I snap at her.
She winces. "I… I’m not lying."
"Yes, you are." I lean over her, until my head is positioned right over hers. "Admit it."
"I… admit nothing," she whispers.
"Hmm." I lick her lips; she winces.
"Am I hurting you?" I peer into her eyes.
"No…no," she shakes her head.
"Then I need to rectify that."
"What—?"
I grab at the half-open fronts of her shirt and tug. The buttons pop off, she gasps, and her shirt gapes open in the front. I glance down at her beautiful tits that spill out from the top of her demi-bra. "So pretty." I pull the shirt apart, on either side of her, over her arms and hold her in place.
"D… Damian," she moans.
I stare down at the dark pink of her nipples visible through the almost transparent cloth. Hell, she’s bloody gorgeous, so edible, a fucking sonnet that I need to memorize until I forget everything else. I bend down, close my mouth around one of the pebbled peaks.
She moans, the sound so hot, so needy, blood drains to my groin.
I bite down on her nipple and she yells, "Jesus."
"Not the name I want to hear," I growl, then turn my attention to her other breast. I tug on the nipple and she groans. "Oh…" she murmurs, "ohmygod."
"Try again." I release her shirt only to cup her tits, squeeze them together. I bury my face in the fragrant valley between her flesh, and her scent goes straight to my head. My cock throbs, my balls hurt... What the hell is Flower doing to me? I’ve never been this close to losing control, to forgetting why I wanted to make her come in the first place. I raise my head peer into her face. "You’re driving me crazy," I mutter. "I need to fuck you out of my system."
"What?"
I nod. "I need to make you come over and over again, store up enough of your orgasms to last me a lifetime, and then I won’t need to see you again."
Her forehead scrunches and her gaze narrows, "So, I was right?"
I tilt my head.
"You really have this thing, that my orgasms help you write."
"It’s worth a try."
"At least, admit it." Her green eyes blaze. "Give me recognition where it’s due."
"Why should I?" I drawl, and it’s not because I don’t want to acknowledge the role she’s begun to play in my creative process, it’s just… I have a thing to see her pissed off. It’s so much more fun when she sets her jaw, curls her fingers into fists, throws a punch at me. So sweet. As if she’ll ever catch me off balance.
"Wanna fight me, huh?" I smirk.
"What I want to do is kick you in your balls." She strains against me, pulls up her knee. I lean down and into the 'V' between her legs, massage her breasts with enough force that she groans, "What the hell?" She draws in a breath, and her chest heaves, more of her tits filling my palms.
My shaft hardens further, as I lean into the hollow between her thighs. Another note from the piano reverberates across the space. That was me, or more precisely, my cock, that rang that particular note.
What the fuck am I thinking? Clearly, she’s getting to me, twisting up my thoughts…and my balls. And no way, can I let that happen.
"If you think I am gonna fuck you under the same roof as my daughter, you’re wrong."
"Oh." She swallows. Her shoulders droop and her lips turn down, "I understand."
