Dirty Billionaire (Page 24)
“Don’t pretend you don’t like the idea, because your body has already spoken. Let me show you.”
Shaking my head doesn’t help because his questing fingers are already drawing my slickness to my back hole. My muscles twitch at the zings of pleasure.
Staring up at me, he presses one finger against my asshole. I try to remain unaffected, but it’s a losing battle. I bite my lip to hold in my moan, but it escapes anyway.
“That’s right, baby. I’m going to finger-fuck this tight little virgin asshole, and you’re going to come on my face while I do it.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper as his touch tests and then breaches the ring of muscle. Tremors rip through me as his finger presses in.
“That’s a good girl. You take it. You take everything I give you.”
I don’t remember moving my hands, but they’re cupping my breasts and tugging at my nipples, desperate to spread sensations of pleasure.
His finger slides deeper and begins to thrust as his mouth lowers to my clit once again. The vibrations of his groans intensify the sensations rioting through my body. When I feel a second finger circling my entrance, I stiffen, but a nip to my clit distracts me from the flaring nerve endings.
My head thrashes from side to side against the cool tile wall, pain and pleasure mixing and sparking as he thrusts with his fingers and toys with my clit with his tongue, teeth, and lips.
This man owns every one of my senses, and I lose myself to his forbidden touches as he forces me higher and higher until I shatter.
When I release Holly, she slides down the wall, her head dropping forward onto my shoulder. We’re both on our knees under the pounding spray of the shower, and I wonder if every time I touch her I’ll feel like I’ve found the goddamn Holy Grail. It’s a little unnerving, and not at all a feeling I’m accustomed to.
I stand, carefully helping her to her feet. I wash us both and shut off the water before wrapping Holly in a giant fluffy robe. It swallows her small frame, and in her blissed-out postcoital state, she looks like a sated goddess.
I carry her to the bed and settle her on a mountain of down pillows. My chest tightens strangely at her sleepy smile, and I feel the need to beat on it like fucking King Kong. I am the opposite of sated. I’m revved, ready to fuck her into oblivion, and feeling like I’m the goddamn king of the world. Her orgasms fill me with this insane power trip, like I could tear down buildings with my bare hands and then reassemble them with only my willpower.
A light snore comes from the bed, and I glance over to her again. Her head lolls to the side in sleep, and her mouth is slightly open. I’m a horny bastard, and I can’t wait to feed my dick between those lips again and watch her swallow everything I give her.
I think of the way her tight little ass clenched at my fingers, and I love knowing that I’m going to be the first man to sink my cock inside it. These possessive urges surprise the shit out of me. I don’t get possessive, because I don’t get attached. Ever.
I shove them all down, back to wherever they came from, and head to the shower to jack off.
When I wake up from my cat nap after the most amazing shower sex I’ve ever had—actually, the only shower sex I’ve ever had—I decide it’s time to deal with the consequences of my New Year’s Eve decision. The label has blown up my phone with calls and messages all day, and when I finally take Morty’s call, I have to hold the phone away from my ear because his words are getting louder and louder, and more and more of them are curses.
“You fucked up everything, Wix! We had it all planned. We spent fucking money on this proposal to make it media-worthy, and then you were goddamn MIA. What the hell are you thinking marrying some fucking billionaire instead of toeing the line like I told you to? You don’t get to make those decisions. I make the decisions.”
When Morty finally takes a breath, I open my mouth to speak. But Jim must be on another extension or in the same conference room, because he breaks in.
“What’s done is done. There’s no going back now, and even if we could undo this Vegas farce, it’d be even worse. JC looks like an ass, but at least a heartbroken ass is sympathetic.”
“She shouldn’t have done anything in the first place! This is fucking ridiculous. I swear you did this just to piss me off!” Morty’s yelled words are starting to hurt my ears.
“I told you I wouldn’t fall in line,” I finally say. “You didn’t listen to me.”
“You don’t get to have an opinion, Wix. Your ass is going back to Kentucky!”
Jim breaks in again. “Come on, Morty. We talked about this. Sending her back to Kentucky isn’t going to do anyone a damn bit of good.”
For the first time since I answered the phone, a feeling of relief slides through me.
Morty grumbles, still unwilling to concede completely. “Well, she better fall in line from here on out.” Finally addressing me again, he says, “You better not miss a show, a practice, a radio spot, a meet and greet, or even a frigging meeting, though, Wix. I will yank you off that tour so fast, your head will spin, and then you can go crawling back to your billionaire husband and remember the career you could’ve had.”
“I won’t miss anything. You have my word.”
“I’ll be checking up on every single thing. You see if I don’t.”
“I got it.”
“Good. Now quit fucking up everything and go write some goddamn songs for your next record. You still owe me six.”
“Six? What are you talking about?”