Page 48 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
No doubt, if he were here, he’d ask me to call him Alphahole. A title that, strangely, does fit him. Only Damian fucking Savage would have the ego to claim that label, and with no sign of irony either. He’d mean it… He actually believes every single legend the media spins about him. Well, the length of his cock, for one… Not that I have seen it yet… I’ve felt it, learned the shape of it through his pants…but he hasn't even taken off his clothes yet. Hmm. He’s devoted himself to my pleasure, it seems. And not that I am complaining, but that yummy body of his? I definitely want to see more of it.
Just as I want to find out more about the man and his daughter. I could call up Amelie or Isla and ask, I suppose. But somehow that doesn’t seem right. I want him to tell me about his life…want to get to know the man who pays for my company better. Hell. If only I didn’t need the money. But damn it, I can’t turn away from the millions he’s dangled in front of me. I’d checked my bank account, and already, the number of zeroes in it had confirmed that Damian is a man of his word—Ha! And if that’s the case, why isn’t he here already?
I pick up the phone and look at the clock. It’s already been ten minutes since I got here. Ten minutes without his touch on my skin, his fingers in my pussy, the imprint of his shaft against the softness of my belly... And damn it, today I want more. I need more. I need to get him to share more of what lurks behind those blazing blue eyes.
I need to do something different. Need to get him to react. But how? I glance around the space—the wide headboard on the massive king-sized bed that takes up most of the room. I run my fingers down the scarf I draped around my neck before leaving home. Hmm… What if I surprise him? Or is that what he expects from me? To do the unexpected because he hasn’t asked something specific of me? Maybe… But hell, if I am going to pace the room waiting for him… I am going to take some control of the situation—something he doesn’t want, but too bad.
I grab the bedspread, throw it over the mirror. Good, now he has no idea what he’s walking into. I head for the bowl of fruit kept on the coffee table by the settee, pick up one, then I walk over to the bed. I shed my clothes, making sure to keep my heels on—yeah, I’d dressed again for that asshole—then I climb onto the bed.
16
Damian
Six-twenty p.m. I’d have delayed it further, except she’d cut off all visual to the room. She'd thrown the bedspread over the mirror, and the app I'd been using to track her, courtesy of the camera in the frame of the mirror, had gone dark. How the hell had she guessed the location of the camera anyway? The woman is resourceful. And smart. Of course, she is. It’s why she’d intrigued me from the moment I’d seen her. I use my keycard to let myself into the apartment.
I walk through the living room, lit by the glow of the city lights coming into the space, and step into the bedroom…and stop. My breath catches. Blood rushes to my groin. "What the fuck?"
I stalk to the foot of the bed and glance down at my woman on her hands and knees, on the bed, facing away from me. I take in the curve of her arse, emphasized by the light that flows into the room... The flesh of her thighs, the sweep of her calves, her feet clad in fuck-me shoes. A growl rips out of me. "What the hell are you doing?"
She glances over her shoulder and I catch sight of the apple she holds in her mouth. Her green eyes gleam. Her pink lips contrast with the red of the skin of the apple. Her neck is arched, her shoulders pulled back.
I take in the unpainted fingernails, her palms pressed into the bed. The globes of her pert breasts mirror the shape of the apple, her nipples dark, their color a contrast to the white of the sheets on the bed. I drag my gaze down her belly to the lushness of her hips and the sight of the ripe flesh between her legs. Moisture glistens against her lower lips and I know she’s ready for me.
"How dare you start without me?" I growl.
She draws in a breath and the apple slips from her mouth.
"Don’t let go of the fruit, or you’ll regret what I am going to do to you even more."
Her gaze widens. A hint of something like fear glimmers in her eyes.
She quickly grabs the apple, puts it back in her mouth. Good.
“Eyes forward!” I order.
She blinks, hesitates. I swoop down and slap her arse.
She cries out, or at least I presume she does, for its muffled by the bloody apple in her mouth…Jesus, what the hell had she been thinking? Why is she offering herself up like that to me? Doesn't she know I am less Adam and more the serpent in the Garden of Eden…?
"Remember what I said, Flower? Don’t let the apple fall."
I slap her arse again and again. Left cheek, then right, then left. Pause.
I step back, survey the reddened bloom of her butt, my fingerprints clearly standing out against her pale skin. Moisture drips down her inner thighs. "That turned you on, hmm?"
She trembles. I reach down and kiss the curve of her butt; she shudders. I press another kiss to her other rsecheeks and she shivers.
"Remember," I whisper against her skin, "hold onto the apple."
I straighten, undo the buckle of my belt.
She stiffens, turns her head.
I click my tongue, "Don’t turn."
She stares ahead.
I slide out my belt, and the whine of the leather across the waistband is loud in the space.
