Page 26 of The Rich One

He doesn’t move for longer than I like but eventually—after searching my gaze for interminable minutes—he resumes his initial plan.

His mouth latches onto my tits, one nipple then the other, sucking them into his mouth, shirt and all. When he releases me, I’ve got two wet spots on either breast. I feel dirty but also sexy as fuck.

“Ride me. Make me come before we reach the penthouse.” His voice is even, like he’s ordering hors-d'oeuvres, but I catch the slight hitch as I lift just enough to have the tip still inside but the shaft exposed to the air. Then I sink down and grind my clit against the manicured hair that surrounds his root.

“That’s it, Rose. Give it to me.” He brings his thumb to my mouth, pushing it between my lips and rubbing it against my tongue while I suck on it like it’s my last meal.

When he’s satisfied, he brings it to my clit and turns languid circles around the hard nub in rhythm with my rising and falling movements.

I’m moaning now, feeling the familiar stirring in my lower belly, the impending orgasm that he requires of me.

Also in the contract.

He insisted that my pleasure not take the back seat—no pun intended.

I’m guessing we’re not too far from his apartment because his patience flies out the window as he reaches up and rips my button-down shirt wide open, pulling down the cups of my bra and sucking on my nipples. Deep and forceful. It almost hurts, but the pleasure is greater.

“Yes, fuck. Yes, Tyler.” It’s rare that I let myself lose a little control, but I need this. I need to feel wanted and desired. I need to feel beautiful while the disgusting wound on my thigh heals.

Tyler takes the swell of my breast into his mouth and with a fervor that he rarely shows, he sucks hard enough I’m sure it’ll leave a mark.

I’m too far gone to actually care. In fact, I scream at him to suck harder.

And he does as I ask on my other tit.

“Come, Rose. All over my fucking dick. Right now.”

I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know why my body obeys so easily, but it does.

Seconds before the car pulls up to the curb of his Fifth Avenue penthouse, I cry out just as he brings my mouth down to his and swallows his name from my lips.

The moment is broken when his hand releases my wrists and lands on my thigh, his thumb pressing against the healing wound.

I jolt and gasp, the pain surprising me more than actually hurting.

“What’s wrong?”

I’m like a deer in the headlights, frantically trying to find an excuse, a reason for my reaction to his touch.

It’s stupid, really. It’s not like he won’t see it.

And he does. Probably feels the scab with his thumb.

“What the fuck is this, Rose?”

Well, this is going to be difficult to explain.

CHAPTERNINE

It goes without saying, Tyler didn’t take the information about what happened to me well. I know I didn’t owe him answers, but it actually felt good to talk about it, to tell someone. The look that crossed his face—ever so briefly—when I told him the man’sname, made me wish I hadn’t said anything at all. But that was quickly forgotten after he gave me more orgasms than I can count.

The orgasms. Mmm. I really needed those.

Spending time with Tyler has given me some of my confidence back, and today I’m finally meeting with Polly.

I’m a powerful, bad bitch.

I repeat my new mantra as I check myself out in the floor-length mirror of my bedroom. My black Timberlands paired with my home-made jean shorts, a tank top, and my waist-length leather jacket are perfect for how I’m feeling. The scabby-looking wound on my thigh is visible, purely because I want Polly to see what her sloppiness allowed to happen.

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