Dirty Billionaire (Page 32)

And then he stands and steps away. As uncomfortable as the last few moments made me, I’m missing his touch already. I open my mouth to protest, but his lips press against my hair.

“Don’t you fucking move. I’ll turn that ass red if you’re not in this exact position when I get back.”

Okay, if I was turned on before, now I’m panting like a bitch in heat. And I’m no longer thinking I shouldn’t want this. I don’t care. I just want him to get his ass back here now.

I don’t dare move a muscle, even though a part of me is sort of warming up to the idea of Creighton turning my ass red. Where the hell are these thoughts coming from? Oh yeah, my lady parts.

Creighton doesn’t make me wait long. I don’t even lift my head when I hear his footsteps crossing the living room. I might twitch a bit when he lays his big hand on the small of my back, but it’s only because every contact with his skin lights up nerve endings I never knew I had.

“Good girl.” His hand lifts and I relax, just in time for me to jump when a swat catches me just under the curve of my ass.

“What was that for?” My voice comes out in a hoarse squeak, and I’m not willing to even admit that sound can come from my body.

“Because I can.”

I melt back into the couch. Jesus. This man.

Melting takes a back seat when I feel something cool and sticky coat the area that was previously designated as a no-go zone.

“Um, what are you doing?”

“Whatever I want. And it’s just lube, sweet girl.”

Uh . . . just lube? What the hell do we need lube for if we’re not going there just yet? I don’t voice my question because something is pressing against me there.


“Hush,” he says. “It’s just a small plug. Not much bigger than my finger. I want to fuck you with your ass filled.”

I suck in a breath. Holy. Shit.

But I don’t protest. I don’t think I have two functioning brain cells left to rub together at this point, because I’m a mess of nerves and physical reactions. Like the arousal coating my thighs and surely leaving slick spots on the back of the leather couch. But any concern over that leaves the building when the plug breaches the muscle and slips inside.

The breath I just sucked in heaves out of my lungs. He might claim that plug isn’t much bigger than his finger, but he clearly doesn’t get that in my ass, it feels huge.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

The slight burn subsides and it slips the rest of the way inside, anchored by the flared base. Creighton presses against it, and I shoot up onto my tiptoes.

A sharp smack lands on my ass, and Creighton’s hand on my shoulder guides me back over the couch.

“Now we’re ready.”

I don’t bother to agree, because his other hand is slipping between my legs to experience exactly how drenched his detour into deflowering the back-door virgin territory has gotten me.

He must have removed his clothes, because I feel nothing but hot skin and hard man pressing against me from behind. The hand on my shoulder slides up the nape of my neck and grips a handful of my hair.

The head of his cock slides along my entrance and I shift back, trying to help it slide inside. His smooth lips skimming along my earlobe are a counterpoint to his gruff words.

“You’re never going to forget what I feel like inside you. I’m going to fuck you until you feel me with every step.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” I whisper. I can’t even believe I’m saying it, but I’m nearly mindless with need for him. I don’t want to be teased, I just want him. Now.

“You naughty fucking girl,” he says, dragging his teeth down the tendons of my neck.

I expect him to slam into me, but instead he presses in slowly, and I savor every inch as he gives it to me. I offhandedly realize that he’s being thoughtful because of the . . . um . . . accessory he’s introduced into this situation, which makes him feel even bigger than I remember.

Holy wow. Why don’t guys with small packages insist their girls wear these? Or maybe it’s only Creighton’s generous equipment that feels impossibly large.

His careful handling of me doesn’t last beyond the first few thrusts. It could be the moans that I can’t keep from spilling from my lips. It could be the word harder that somehow finds its way into those moans. Regardless, Creighton’s grip on my hair tightens, and he does exactly what he’s promised—he ensures that I will never forget what he feels like inside me.

Thrust after thrust, he presses me into the couch, and his hand slides around my front and down to cover my clit. With every jolt forward, I feel his cock bottom out, and I buck against his hand.

“Holy fuck,” I scream as my entire body begins to convulse with pleasure.

Holly’s pussy clamps down on my cock, and I swear to God, lightning is shooting down my spine. My balls spasm and I let loose, filling her with everything I’ve got, yelling the word mine when I come.

Fuck yell. I roar.

She’s slumped over the couch, limbs unmoving. If it wasn’t for the whimpering moans of pleasure, I might think I fucked her unconscious. Which I have no aversion to doing.

If her cunt strangling my cock is any measure, I think she came at least three times. Maybe more. It was everything I could do to not shoot my load after a half dozen strokes. Even without the butt plug, her pussy is tight, probably the tightest I’ve ever had.

And with that wicked addition, I succeeded in ruining myself for any other woman. No other pussy will do. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. This woman’s cunt owns me.