Page 69 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Thought you wanted to get close to nature and all that crap, which is why you went to Australia in the first place?"
"How do you know that?"
"It wasn’t hard to guess." He raises his gaze to my face. "It’s what women of a certain age do, when they’re single and trying to find themselves. All that'Eat Pray Love'shit, ya know?"
"You’re a piece of shit, ya’ know?" I spit out the words, then swoop my nails toward his face.
He laughs, hooks his fingers around my wrist, and tugs on me. The next second I am looking down at the ground, splayed across his thighs and over the gas tank of his bike, which means I’m forced to thrust out my butt, up closer to his face.
He palms my arse—thank God, I still have the jeans on.
A shiver of desire runs up my spine. Fuck me, but nothing new there, I guess. I mean, I do like it when he touches me…anywhere…everywhere…especially on that part of me which is the fleshiest, something which I’ve hated, but which he, apparently, has an unhealthy liking for.
"I am beginning to think you have a butt obsession," I huff.
"Only with yours."
I still.
Above me, he ceases stroking my flesh, his big palm covers my backside, and I swear, I can discern every single fingerprint of his through the seat of the fabric that separates us. Damnit, I changed my mind. I should have taken off my pants so he’d have easier access to the melting, aching core of me. I squeeze my thighs together, push my crotch into the still warm fuel tank.
"Did you know your figure was the first thing I noticed about you."
"Wha…what?" I blink.
"You’re shaped like a guitar."
"You mean I have a big-ass arse?"
"A curvy, sexy, beautiful backside that I wanted to sink my teeth into." He slides back on the motorbike, then pulls down my jeans. Cool air hits my bare arse.
"What are you—?" I yell as he lowers his head and fastens his mouth on my butt, his sharp teeth digging into the flesh of my arsecheeks. I squirm, wriggle, try to pull away. He merely places his heavy arm across my lower back, "Hold still, darlin’. Don’t want to hurt you, now."
"You already did that, you cock, when you sank your big dick in my arsehole," I snap.
He laughs, then slides his fingers across the valley between my buttcheeks. "Did it sting?"
"What do you think?"
"I think, you want me to fuck you again."
"I… I…do." I blink.
Shit, didn’t mean for that to pop out.Here I am, splayed out across the lap of this rock star, in the middle of nowhere, and hell, if I can’t stop myself from pushing my aching core into the smooth metal of the road hog under me and wishing it were something else entirely.
"So, you finally decided to come clean, huh?" I turn my head to find he’s wearing an amused expression.
"No thanks to yourJenny from the Blockroutine."
His gaze widens, then he throws his head back and laughs, a full blown throaty, from-the-belly chuckle that rolls down my spine and arrows straight to that space which is constantly needy around him…i.e. my stupid pussy.
"You laughing at me?" I scowl.
"Just appreciative of the scenery." He grins. "And of your sense of humor."
"At least you placed the reference, I’ll give you that."
"You mean the part where Ben Affleck bites J-Lo’s luscious arse in the music video?" His lips kick up, "What’s not to like? It’s every teenaged boy’s fantasy come true." He lowers his gaze down to my curved flesh, "As is this."
