Dirty Billionaire (Page 13)

My brain short-circuits when she slides one hand down toward her clit and strums it with her thumb. Now that, I didn’t see coming.

Oh no, you don’t, baby girl. That pussy became mine the second we entered the room. She needs to understand whose rules she’s playing under.

“You touch yourself again and I’m going to spank that cunt until you come, and then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Her hand stills, and her eyes widen in shock. The innocent surprise in her eyes is quite possibly the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. But as much as I’m loving those eyes, I want her back in the position I initially envisioned fucking her in.

“Get back on your hands and knees.”

She blinks a few times, but follows my order.

Goddamn, that ass is a work of art. I smooth my hands over it, cupping each cheek. I slide my dick between her legs, coating myself in her slick heat.

Does she realize she’s pushing her ass toward me? I can’t help but smack it again.

Her whimpers and moans shear through my remaining threads of self-control. I wanted to take it slow, tease her to the brink, but I can’t wait. I fit my cock to her opening and bury myself to the hilt in one thrust.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, and I can hardly hear it over the blood pounding in my ears.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I’m gripped by the tightest¸ hottest pussy my cock has ever had the pleasure to know. It’s a fucking religious experience. And yes, I’m aware I’m going to hell. It takes me several moments to gather myself and hold back the orgasm rising in my balls already.

Fuck. This woman could unman me, but that’s not fucking happening.

I pull back and pump into her, fucking her with long, sure strokes. Her inner muscles flutter and clutch at my cock as I angle to hit her G-spot. She’s clawing at the sheets and meeting my every stroke by pushing her ass back against me in perfect rhythm.

She rides the same wavelength as me, even as she rides my dick. It’s carnal fucking poetry, and I’ve never felt anything like it in my life.

I decide to push her further. I slide one hand around her hips and tease her clit with my thumb. She clenches tighter, harder, and I fight to keep my orgasm in check. I swirl my thumb lower, coating it in her slickness. Her tight little asshole is teasing me as I fuck her, and I can’t stem the urge to get a little piece of that too. I pull my hand away.

“Touch yourself. I want your fingers on that little clit of yours, but don’t fucking come until I tell you to.”

Her head jerks in what I assume is a response, and I grip both hips with my hands before sliding my slick thumb to her ass. The moment I circle the pucker, she stills.

I wait for the protest . . . but it never comes.

I continue thrusting and she resumes her counterthrust, and maybe even tilts her ass higher, further baring my target. I would bet my company that she’s never been touched there. When my thumb breaches the tight ring of muscle, her moans turn to plaintive screams, and her cunt clamps down on my dick in a stranglehold.

“Fuck!” One more thrust. Two. And I’m lost.

I shoot my load, and for the first time in my entire adult fucking life, I feel like it drains every single brain cell from my body.

We both collapse onto the bed, and I roll us sideways so I’m not crushing her with my weight.

She doesn’t even realize it, but this nameless woman just brought me to my knees. And I can’t fucking wait to experience it all over again.

I wake slowly, rolling over to reach for the woman beside me as I had three other times last night, but my hand hits cold, empty sheets. My eyes snap open to confirm what I’m feeling.

She’s gone.

I sit up in bed, shove a hand through my hair, and survey the room. No sign that she’s ever been here.

Rolling out of bed, I pull on my crumpled suit pants, wrap a hand around my morning wood, and squeeze it in an effort to calm it down. I’d prefer to be going for round number five with her, but she’s fucking gone.

I pull on my shirt, telling myself that I don’t care, and if she were any other ordinary one-night stand, I wouldn’t. But last night was anything but ordinary.

And I wasn’t fucking done with her yet.

My inner monologue sounds altogether too close to a petulant child, but when you get to my level of wealth and success in life, you get used to having pretty much whatever the hell you want.

And I want her—right now, tomorrow, and until I’ve had enough—which I can’t imagine happening anytime soon.

I check the bathroom. Nothing. Not even a stray hairpin or smear of makeup on the counter.

Grabbing my wrinkled suit jacket, I let myself out of the room. There’s nothing but a destroyed bed and used condoms left inside anyway.

At the front desk, no amount of bribes or threats will get the name the reservation was made under. Apparently the Plaza prides itself on always offering the utmost privacy for all its guests.

Moralistic bastards.

Frustration grips me until my Machiavellian brain begins to formulate a plan. I refuse to admit defeat.

My lips tug with a smile. I know exactly how I’m going to handle this.

Merry fucking Christmas to me.

I just hope my “wife” is ready for what’s about to happen.

“And tonight’s top story: Billionaire playboy Creighton Karas has published a missed connection that has gone viral, and there’s no doubt as to why. Most of it we can’t read on the air, but the gist of it is, he spent Christmas Eve with a woman who he claims is going to be the next Mrs. Creighton Karas. The posting requests that the lady in question, whose name and number he didn’t get prior to or following their . . . encounter, show up at midnight on December 31st at the location of the tryst, which he claims only this particular lucky lady would know. Mr. Karas will be waiting with an engagement ring—and prenup—in hand.”