Her First Billionaire (Her Billionaires #1)

Her First Billionaire (Her Billionaires #1) Page 7

Her body flushed red and hot, the fire focused on her hot nub as he teased it, slowly growing the release within, entering and pulling back with two perfect fingers. Her thighs twitched and shook, and she knew she would come like a freight train soon. She buried her hands in his hair, sinking her hands into him, pushing his face in tandem with her need to strum her to the next level –

“Oh, Dylan!” she murmured, fucking his tongue, which licked her, hard, dead centered on her nub. His tongue opened up, hot flesh on hers as he gave her focused and expansive flesh play. Two different sensations tipped her completely over as every muscle tensed, her dripping hole clinging to his finger, riding his face like a stallion, his tongue working hard to keep her frenzy going.

“There! Right there,” she groaned, hands curling into fists of orgasm, body flailing as she murmured over and over, “Oh, God! Oh, God!” She was self-conscious; most guys didn’t just do this. They might flirt a bit with the clit, but they didn’t engage so fully. So, uh, deeply. He clearly enjoyed this. Reveled in it. And as he picked some perfect rhythm for making her come, she realized she was being played by a sex virtuoso.

Give in to it, Laura. Give in, she told herself, hoping he didn’t care about her fleshy belly, her curvy ass. All worry faded as she orgasmed and realized she had never thought this was possible, had never been in the hands of a master like this. Keeping her pussy on his tongue, he maintained, tongue pushing and withdrawing, getting every last bit, as her muscles unclenched, her gasps subsiding, little sounds of exertion fading into pants of disbelief and awe.

He looked up and grinned, sliding his hands up her body, following her curves. One hot kiss full of her taste geared her up again, her clit and pussy clenching so hard she climaxed yet again simply from the kiss, her hips pushing into him, her juices in her mouth, his mouth, the scent so arousing that she was actually coming from a kiss.

The taste of Laura was so much more detectable than anything they had just eaten at dinner. Instinct drove him to kiss her again and just as he was ready to make his next move she surprised him by taking the lead. She reached for him with a familiarity she had no right to, the skin on his aching cock so soft and eager, rising up to meet her and loving her boldness. Laura deftly massaged his thigh with her other hand, cupping his balls, pressing against the base with her thumb, a deep groan growing out of him unbidden. Oh, man, did this woman know how to touch him.

She licked her lips with intent, boldly staring him in the eye, then looking down and drawing out the wait, making him hold his breath with the agony of anticipation.

She held the base of his cock with one hand and began licking him slowly, flicking the tip until he groaned again, hoping he could hold out until they were ready to make love, his body so ready to dive into her flesh, to grab those curves and to luxuriate in her lush presence.

Taking him in inch by inch, she tongued him until he twitched. Licking the front of his cock below the head and then gulping him even deeper into her mouth, flicking her tongue against him, she made him tighten and release his breath, hips shifting as he moaned at the feel of her mouth around his cock.

Her hand gently masturbated him while sliding her mouth up on his cock, making sure he felt the inside of her cheek, her tongue and her lips, not really sucking but milking him. Milking him. Oh, shit, at this rate he’d come in her mouth, and as seconds passed that idea became increasingly appealing…

One of his hands touched her head, stroking her hair encouragingly even as he struggled inside, fighting the pleasure she was draining from him, torn between wanting immediate release and craving the feeling of being in her.

Building up the speed almost excruciatingly slowly, she played him like a damned instrument, and as his fingers tightened in her hair her silky locks felt like another layer of possibility, her hair casual and comforting and just right – like everything else this night. She gently touched his balls and he felt his juices begin to ooze out into her mouth, so that she gasped even with his pole in her mouth, the combination of moist heat and cold, rushing air too much.

The sound of her voice vibrated his cock in her throat, her lips kissing her own thumb and forefinger, wrapped like a cock ring, was Dylan completely enveloped by her. Nearly screaming, he sat up and grasped her head, grinding his hips in and out as she sucked hard, then let go, in rhythm to get him off. She completely enveloped his root with her lips. He panted, overtaken by this gem, his hands roaming over her gorgeous breasts, her hair falling in waves over her face as she mouth fucked him, and the better part of him stopped her, wanting to give her more.

But holy hell, she was a master at this.

Second date, Dylan, he told himself. Second date.

Am I really giving head on the first date? Laura wondered, her mouth working the magic she knew she possessed. She was good at this. Really good. A fleeting thought, pretty girls don’t need to do that, shot through her mind and she willed it away. Giving a blow job wasn’t about being pretty enough.

It was about control.

And until Dylan had stopped her, she had him completely in her spell. And liked it.

His fingers sought out her arousal, discovering her wetness. “I want you, Laura. I need to be in you,” he murmured, her eyelids fluttering shut and her brain bending into a pretzel, twisted by a sudden lust, a lushness to his words, their presence, this now that made her want to immerse herself in Dylan forever.

You would think she would be sated from what he had done with that skilled tongue, but a new wave renewed within. She wanted every inch of him, however he was willing to give it. Laura needed to impale herself on him, to ride that shaft, to feel his body on top, to have his hands on her, in her, over her – whatever her – and she wanted to exert control once again, to be controlled, to just –

Have more.

Shoving him on the bed, she put her legs on either side of his hips, the rasp of leg hair and flesh like music to her ears, his mere touch connecting her to a confidence she enjoyed. Aiming him carefully, she hovered over him, savoring the seconds, his eyes locked with hers, the skin around them warm and inviting, and she plunged herself directly over his gloriously-thick shaft. He was eager and pulsing, and she groaned when he went all the way in.

What she wanted to say was something profound, the right words to match what her body was screaming. Instead, she sighed, “Oh, Dylan,” for the feeling was indescribable, a denouement, emotional and psychological, all at once. Like a real hole being filled, finding a being so strong it could fill it.

She stretched up to his tip, sliding up his pole a sweet sensation, moving toward a screaming orgasm more amazing than any before. He licked one hand and stroked her nipple; he was spasming her pussy. Moving slightly, changing everything, she slid enough to make him beg, tightened her cunt, then plunged down again.

“Laura,” he groaned. “You have a magic pussy. You are so, so tight, so warm,” he convulsed. She sighed, the feeling too intense. She didn’t have a mind, just an ass he grabbed and nerve endings and her fullness.

He took charge, both standing now, bending her over the bed, tummy down. So many guys liked to fuck her this way; was it because she was so big? Did they enjoy the view of her curvy ass? Or – she pushed the negative thoughts away, for his hands roamed over her, owning her, telling her she was most wanted. One hand slid him in as he took her doggie style, his other hand in her hair. She reached for her clit as he dove into her, face buried in the bed.

She thrust back against his cock, the pleasure so insane, the force of his tip against her cervix making her scream. She clenched the bedsheets, her fists tightening, her finger finding her clit a swollen, hot mess ready to explode.

“Ah, GOD!” Laura screamed and screamed and rutted, an animal of need as wetness hit her, knew she was spurting, felt him jerk and jizz, filling her with his semen, her pussy one big fuck bucket, as he screamed.

“Ah, Laura! Fuck me!” He couldn’t speak any longer; she stopped thinking and her body tried so much to come as hard as it could, her flesh determined to work with the magnitude of climax.

He pounded and pounded, she thrust back, he stroked her belly and created a tiny pain, the pain all blending with the creaming and the cum to split her voice into something fierce and low, until all that was left was a drained feeling, all sex and candy and heaven.

They came down, little aftershocks from the remainders of their sex, Dylan still in her as he melted into her, trapping her, their wetness all she knew. She stopped thinking; her pussy was done, her body relaxed, all sated.

“Oh, man…” he mumbled into her back, hot breath ticklish and sweet.

She turned around and pressed into him. “And that is how it should be,” she replied, a wicked grin plastered across her face as she kissed him.

How long had they been asleep? Laura wondered as she peered into the grey darkness, Dylan’s arm covering her bare breasts, the sheets tangled between them.

The post-coital haze lessened and reality sunk in. She realized that they were here in his apartment, and then it was – Oh, no!

When she checked her smart phone it read 3:22 a.m. What was the right thing to do? Should she stay? She looked down at this tender, precious, hot, naked man who had just devoured her in every way possible, and felt a giant rippling sense of guilt.

He seemed to be into her in this whole one night-stand thing. She was frankly accustomed to bringing the guy back to her place and then having the guy leave right after everything was over. So, this was new territory for her and she wasn’t sure. Should she stay? Wake up early and make him breakfast?

As she looked around his bedroom, she started to notice pictures. Pictures of Dylan with a woman on the beach holding surfboards, a woman in a stringed bikini, and then another picture of the same woman in a sport bikini playing beach volleyball. Then another of what looked like the same woman standing at the ski slope along with another man, the guy wearing goggles and a helmet. Yet another picture of the same woman on the snowboard doing some sort of flip in mid air.

What the fuck? Her heart started to pound. This was all wrong. He was definitely – this was just some one night-stand. Was that his wife? His girlfriend? Who? Every insecurity flooded her, everything poured into her, and here she stood completely naked in the moonlight, staring over this guy who had just given her the best four hours she had had in years.

It was all a lie. A big, fat lie.

She scrambled to find her thong, her skirt, her sweater, her bra – where was it? Found it somewhere across the room hanging off of a doorknob of a closet.

Had they really been that, uh, acrobatic? Apparently. As the feelings all merged into one big bundle of sheer fright, she found herself flooded with shame – shame and despair. And most of all a massive adrenaline rush that just kept screaming, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out now.

She tiptoed, holding on to the straps of her heels, making sure she had her purse, her scrunchie pulling her hair together quickly so she didn’t look quite as ridiculous as she felt as she handled the walk of shame, clicking the door as quietly as possible.

The hallway was empty as she tiptoed down the stairs in her stocking feet and then finally found herself outside in the cool night air, the streetlamps illuminating, indeed, her walk of shame back home. Fortunately, there were cabs floating around at 3:30 in the morning hour now and she grabbed one, completely ignoring every comment that the cabbie made, hoping like hell he could read the fact that she had leaned back against the bend of the backseat and closed her eyes, wanting to be left alone.