Page 101 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"You do?"
She nods. "I actually think you went up in my estimation when you said that."
"Don’t give me too much credit," I release her breasts, take a step back, sink down onto the piano bench, "for it’s not going to make me stop from giving you an orgasm."
"What?"
I grip her waist, pull her forward until she's balanced at the edge of the piano’s lid.
Julia
The chords from the keyboard fill my ears; the vibrations roll up my legs, sink into my center. My core clenches. My pussy spasms. OMG, this is insane. I glance down in time to see him lower the zipper of my jeans.
"Damian what—"
He tugs on my jean legs, pulls them down past my knees, then lowers his face to my center. He draws in a breath, and his shoulders seem to swell. "Your scent, it haunts my dreams, laces my every waking moment. I want to write an ode to that sweet cunt of yours, do you know that?"
He hums a tune and the sub vocals ladder up my core, sink into the crevasses between my pussy lips, coil inside my womb. My thighs tremble. I raise my chin, glance up at the ceiling. What the hell is happening to me? I’d come here, hoping to meet his daughter, sure that I’d surprise a reaction out of him, definitely goad him into fucking me… But this…almost worshipful stance of his is…different. It’s deeper than what I’d anticipated, more moving, and so, so arousing. I gulp, try to close my legs.
He clicks his tongue, "Don’t hide from me, Flower."
He blows on my center, and the heat of his breath crawls into my secret space. A whine bleeds from my lips. I slap the back of my palm to my mouth. How can I sound so needy? So ready, so willing for whatever it is he wants to take from me.
He licks my core through the cloth of my panties and a shudder grips me. "Ohmygod," I moan. "Oh."
"Damian," he growls. "Say my name, Flower."
"Damian," I croak, and he stills.
I look down to find his gaze fixed on me. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"
"The same thing you do to me?" I venture.
"Which is?"
I frown. "Is that a trick question?"
"There are no trick answers." His lips curl, he dips his head, closes his teeth around my swollen nub that’s outlined against the cloth, and my back shoots up and off the piano.
"Damian," I screech, "what are you doing?"
"What do you think?" He straightens, then holding my gaze, grips the waistband of my thin nylon knickers. He yanks and they snap; he pulls them off of me. Cool air brushes my lower lips a second before he bends and swipes his tongue from my backhole to my clit, and then again.
"Damian," I gasp.
"Shh!" he admonishes me. "Keep your voice down. You’ll wake Riley."
Right. I bite down on my lower lip, curl my fingers into fists and swallow down another moan when he lowers his head between my thighs again. He closes his mouth around my clit and my back shoots up and off of the piano. "Ah!" I can't stop the moan that bleeds from me. He swipes his tongue between my pussy lips, then curls his tongue around the swollen nub of my clit and my eyes cross. I swear, they do. "Ohmygod."
I open my eyes, and he looms over me. He stuffs my panties in my mouth as I gaze at him wide-eyed. He puts a finger to his lips, then drops back into his seat. He forces his shoulders back between my thighs, forcing me to spread even wider apart, then closes his mouth over my pussy again.
A groan boils up, as I grip the edge of the piano and hold on.
Bloody hell, I’ll never get used to how he aims for my throbbing core with a single-minded focus. How he slides his fingers around my upper thighs, holds me in place and licks me, and sucks on my pussy and fucks my channel with his tongue, in-and-out and in-and-out.
I slap my fingers against the wooden lid of the piano, dig my heels into the keyboard, and the music rises in a wall of noise that surrounds me, engulfs me, pours over me, as he tears his mouth from my center, replaces it with two-three-four of his thick fingers, all at once, and curves his digits inside, hitting that spot that only he is aware of, while he reaches up to pull the panties from between my lips. He thrusts his thumb inside my open mouth. "Come," he orders. "Come all over my piano."
I don’t want to obey him. I don’t want to give him what feels like something too personal, too intimate, to shatter right here under his roof, on his musical instrument that he plays with those skilled fingers… Oh, wait, that’s me. It’s my body he wields like it was contoured for his fingertips, that he can press, and dip into, and strum and spank into a miasma of broken notes and searing prose, his very own composition that he hates…and loves… And he does, in his own way. He just doesn’t know it yet.
