Page 57 of Mr. Hotshot CEO
No woman would be disappointed with the way Julian looks when he’s naked. He’s solid and muscled with a light dusting of dark hair on his chest. Although I had a pretty good idea of what he would look like without clothes—I’d spent an awful lot of time thinking about it, in fact—it’s not the same as the real thing.
He smiles when he sees me checking him out, my gaze lingering on his cock. I’m a little self-conscious about being almost naked, but he isn’t, not at all.
He crawls on top of me and drops his forehead to mine as he slips his hand inside my underwear. He runs his hand over my slit, which is enough to make me gasp. Gently, he pushes the tip of his finger inside me, and I gasp again.
“Okay?” he asks.
I nod sharply.
He explores me with his hand, sliding his fingers through my folds, touching my clit with his thumb, pushing one, then two fingers inside me. Learning how I respond.
It’s almost unbearably intimate.
I am reminded of why I haven’t had sex in more than three years; it’s because of this intimacy. But I craved it, and I couldn’t deny myself this pleasure forever.
I tell myself it’ll be okay. I will be okay.
He brushes his lips over mine and kisses me as he continues to finger me. His kiss is devastating in its tenderness, and then he increases the pressure gradually until it’s a desperate, open-mouthed kiss.
Imake Julian Fong desperate.
He slides off my underwear and continues to touch me with nothing between us, his skin on mine. Tentatively, I wrap my hand around his erection and move up and down. He hisses out a breath. Enjoying his reaction, I use a bit more pressure and do it again.
“Stop.” He struggles to get the word out. “I won’t last. It’s been a while for me, too.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
“Surely that wasn’t due to lack of opportunities. Not when you look like this.”
The thought of him being with someone else shouldn’t bother me. This is just a fling, and he’s a thirty-five-year-old man—I know there have been many others.
But the thought of him being so close to another woman makes me ache.
“I guess...I was waiting for you,” he murmurs, and my chest aches in a completely different way.
He removes his fingers from inside me and runs them over my stomach, to my breast. They’re wet from my moisture. He rests his chest on top of mine, and I feel so connected to him.
“I missed this,” I say, pushing a hand through his short hair. “I missed this so much.”
“You shouldn’t deprive yourself. In fact, I won’t allow it.”
“You won’t?”
“No. You should be in my bed as much as possible.”
He rocks his hips against mine, his erection pressing between my legs, and I moan from the contactthereand everywhere else.
“Didn’t I tell you,” he says, “the bedroom is the one place where I already know how to have fun?”
He slides down the bed until his head is between my legs. One thing I remember, from my long-ago sexual experience, is that I love being licked and touched at the same time. But I don’t have to tell him. Two fingers penetrate me before his tongue circles my clit.
It’s too much, but at the same time, it’s not enough.
He licks me skillfully and slides his fingers in and out, and I’m spiraling toward a peak so much higher than what I can reach by myself. I’m almost there, almost there...
I cry out and shake uncontrollably. He continues to lick me through my climax, gradually slowing down until I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him.
