Page 46 of Billionaire's Promise
His grasp intensifies, and goosebumps pop on my skin.
"Don’t," I swallow, "don’t do it."
"Say ‘no’ one more time, and I’ll step back. I’ll leave here and walk out and you’ll never see me again."
Say it. Do it. It’s what you want, right?I’d staged this entire charade for his benefit and now, when he is here and finally intent on giving me physical pleasure—again, I am losing my nerve. Damn it, what’s happening to me? Do I want him to leave? And then…what? He returns to keeping vigil in his car? And I see him when I bring him coffee? And he follows me home every night, interrupts my dates like this, threatens to give me an orgasm, without ever committing to me? Do I want him to commit to me…when my heart still belongs to Edward? Is this the way forward? To allow myself some level of physical comfort with him? Allow him to pleasure me, to use my body, to fill my thoughts and my mind with his touch, his scent, his nearness, so that, temporarily at least, I can forget about how it could have been with Edward?
"Fine," I whisper.
"Fine?"
I nod. I bring my hands up to grip his wrist, the circumference so thick that my fingers barely meet around it. "I…I’ll do as you ask."
His gaze intensifies, then he jerks his chin. He releases me, only to grasp my waist and turn me like we were in some kind of dance. I face his reflection in the mirror.
"Bend over."
Before I can comply, he kicks my legs apart.
I squeak. He presses his wide palm into the center of my back and pushes down. I comply and a breath whooshes out of him. "My god, Eve, you should look at yourself."
"Wh…what did you call me?"
"Hmm?" He drags his fingers down to cup my arse and all thoughts leak from my head. Moisture pools in my center and my toes curl.
"This dress?" He swipes his hand down my thigh, until it grazes the hem. "I fucking hate it."
"It’s a perfectly nice dress," I protest.
"And you wore it for another man."
"You have no claim on me."
"I am the one protecting you."
"From what?" I mutter, "Likely, imaginary enemies who are a figment of your imagination—"
His hand connects with my backside and I gasp. "What the hell?"
"Shh!" He slaps my right arse cheek, then the left, and the right, so rapidly that I forget to scream. Forget to protest, forget to do anything else but focus on the heat that pools between my legs. Jesus. I am soaked, and all he’s done is spank me. What the hell is wrong with me, that I crave how he hurts me? How he anchors me with his hold on my pussy as he slides his hand around and grips me between my legs. I moan and behind me he goes rigid. "You like this." His voice lowers to a hush. He yanks my dress up around my waist, then pushes aside my panties and shoves his fingers inside my cunt.
"Baron," I groan, "Omigod, Baron."
"Yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that," he croons as he begins to work his fingers in and out of me. In and out. In and out.
My belly clenches; my thighs tremble. A bead of sweat works its way down my temple. "Oh!" I whine. "Please, please."
"What do you want, baby?" He grabs my hair and tugs it back with enough force that my scalp protests. Pain slithers down my spine, arrowing straight to that groaning, growling, emptiness deep inside of me that stutters and coils in on itself.
"Please." I gulp, "Please make it stop."
"Like this?" He pulls his fingers out of me, only to reach back and tear my panties off.
"O-Oh." I stutter.
"How many more ways can you say, ‘Oh’... Shall we find out?"
He releases his grip on my hair, and before I can turn around, he’s dropped down to his knees between my legs. He shoves his face between my thighs, licks my slit, all the way up to between my arse cheeks.
