Dirty Billionaire (Page 31)

This is temporary, I tell myself. We both know it. Embrace it. And then move on.

“I guess it’s handy that I’m not done with you yet, either,” I say. It’s the honest truth. I want more of him before he finally gives me my walking papers.

Creighton loses none of his intensity as he lifts his other hand and frames my face. I think he’s going to lower his mouth and kiss me, but he doesn’t.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks again, this time much more quietly.

Disappointment fills me. I was actually looking forward to that kiss.


I snap my attention back to him. “I told you, I needed a guitar. So I went and found one.”

He drops his hands from my face, and I miss his touch as soon as it’s gone. I should dwell on that, but I don’t.

“Shit. I didn’t even think about that.”

“It’s no big deal. I found this little music store. The guy there was awesome. He let me play for as long as I needed.”

Creighton frowned. “You didn’t buy one?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a new guitar. I have two perfectly good ones waiting for me in Nashville, and I’ll be back there the day after tomorrow. The guy at Rudy’s told me I could come back tomorrow and play if I want.”

Creighton shakes his head. “You’ll have a new one here tomorrow. Just pick it out, and I’ll get someone to deliver it first thing. Your credit cards will be here too.”

Both of these statements floor me. “I don’t need a new guitar. And I don’t need your money either.”

His jaw sets, and his eyes drill into mine. “And yet you’ll have both. This is not a debate. If you don’t pick out a guitar, someone will pick one out for you.”

“Are you ever anything less than completely stubborn and arrogant?”

Creighton’s jaw relaxes as he smiles. “Never.”

“I think you’re way too used to getting everything you want.” I say it without heat, because we both know it’s the truth.

“Of course I am, and right now, I want you naked. I’m going to get that too.”

And there go my panties. “Is that so?” I eye his three-piece suit. “Because you’re certainly not naked.”

He reaches for the knot of his tie and tugs it loose. “That’s about to change.”

Did I think my panties were a lost cause before? Because when he slides the tie from around his neck and wraps it around his fist, knuckles flexing, my nipples tighten.

“Lose the jeans, Holly. I want you bent over the back of the couch so I can fuck you.”

My eyes go wide. I should be used to his bold statements by now, but I’m not. I’m not used to any of this. Not used to him.

He’s . . . too much.

But that doesn’t stop my hands from dropping to the fly of my jeans and unbuttoning them and dragging the zipper down. I shove them off my hips, and almost as if my body isn’t under my own control, I kick them aside. My socks follow, and I walk toward the couch.

“The rest of it too.”

My shirt and white cami are over my head and tossed to the floor in seconds, and I reach behind me for the clasp of my bra and it follows. I tuck my thumbs into the top of my underwear, about to shove them down, when he says, “Stop.”

I freeze.

Creighton’s presence is given away by the heat of his body as he steps within inches of me. I can feel him move, but I’m not sure what he’s doing . . . until I feel his teeth against my ass, separated from my skin only by the fabric of my panties.

“I want a piece of this gorgeous ass. So fucking lush. So fucking tempting.”

I remember what he said in the shower, and I tense. He reads my hesitation—I’m not sure how, but he does.

“Not like that, sweet girl. Soon. But not yet.”

He tugs my underwear down my hips and presses his lips against the spot where he nipped me. His big hand skims up my ass to my lower back, and he pushes me forward. My breasts connect with the cool leather of the sofa, and I gasp at the contact. Which contact, I’m not entirely sure—but I can guess.

A groan from behind me has me lifting my head, but the pressure against my back keeps me otherwise in place.

“Jesus, Holly. That ass . . . I may have to fuck you like this every day.”

Shivers course through me, and I can feel my arousal slicking down my thighs. Creighton’s tongue zeroes in on it and he wastes no time lapping it up, his mouth working between my legs.

I shift uncomfortably. I’ve never done . . . this . . . from this angle, and he’s getting dangerously close to the part of me that has never been touched by a tongue. But Creighton clearly doesn’t share my discomfort.

I lift my ass higher in the air, pushing up onto my tiptoes, trying to direct him without words to keep his tongue the hell away from my back door, and what do I get for my trouble?

A sharp slap stings the side of my rear.


I can feel Creighton’s lips moving between my legs when he says, “Stop squirming, Holly. If I want to lick this tight little asshole, you will not stop me.” At the word asshole, his thumb presses against the sensitive pucker, which is already slick with my cream and his saliva.

A shiver runs through me at his words and actions.

“Goddamn, I love your ass,” he says as he increases the pressure and the tip of his thumb breaches the tight ring of muscle.

My nipples? They could cut through bulletproof glass right about now. I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t want this. But God help me, I do.