Serving the Billionaire (10 page)

He repeated the same path he’d followed before, over my hip and down my abdomen, but this time he didn’t stop. He trailed his hand down my abdomen, slowly, making me crave every centimeter, until he arrived, finally, where I wanted him, and slid his fingers along my wet slit.

I moaned. It broke out of me without my permission. After so long, what felt like a million years of waiting, he rolled his thumb over my clit, and it felt even more incredible than I’d imagined. I had been swollen and hungry for this since we left the club, and the long wait had driven me to the brink. If he kept touching me like that, I was going to lose all control.

And that was what he wanted, after all. So why fight it?

“Ah, careful,” he said. “You don’t come until I let you.” He rubbed my clit in slow circles, deliberate and practiced, and I knew I wasn’t the first woman he’d touched like this, but in that instant, I wanted to be the last.

It was a stupid thought, and I put it out of my head immediately. I was a cocktail waitress. He was a billionaire. We were having a fun night together. That was all there was to it.

It was easy not to think about it, to sink into the sensations running through my body. Carter touched my pussy with one hand, and with the other, played with my nipples, one at a time, switching to the other when he’d teased one to a hard peak.

“God, the things I want to do to you,” he murmured in my ear. “Tie you up, hold you down. Spank you. Make you scream. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, because I would, and we both knew it.

He pinched my clit between two fingers, and I felt his other hand slide down my body, slow, slow, and then his fingers rubbed at my entrance, rubbing my slickness into my skin. I held my breath. He pushed a finger into me, or—was it two? I couldn’t tell. I was stretched open, split apart.

“I can’t, I can’t,” I heard myself saying, and I meant that I couldn’t hold out, that I was going to come even though he hadn’t said I could.

“I know,” he said, and circled his fingers over my clit. My body was tight as a bowstring, every muscle tense, and I clenched around his fingers inside me, wanting, shaking, and then he said, “Come for me now,” and I exploded into light.

It rolled over me, through me. I shook hard, squeezing his fingers, throbbing, and I knew I was making noises, but I didn’t let go of the headboard. Not even for a second.

“That’s right,” he said. “Let it happen.” I heard his voice dimly, like he was speaking in another room. The muscles in my thighs twitched. My toes curled.

When it ended at last, I opened my eyes and stared into darkness. Carter had taken his hand away from my clit and was running his palm up and down my thigh. The fingers of his other hand were still rubbing slow circles inside of me, sending delicious aftershocks running through my body.

Carter drew away, and I heard the telltale sound of a condom wrapper. It was really happening. I was going to have sex with one of the richest men in the country. The mattress shifted as he moved behind me, and then his hands curled around my hips, and he tilted my ass up.

“You should see yourself,” he said. “All pink and slick, ready for me.”

I was past embarrassment. I moved my knees apart, opening myself for him, eager to feel his cock sliding into me. I hoped he wouldn’t make me wait any longer.

He drew the blunt head of his cock along my slit, using it to rub at my clit until I squirmed against him. He dipped into my entrance, just a bare millimeter inside, and then out again, and I gasped aloud from wanting him.

“Not yet,” he said. “What is it that you want, Regan?”

“You,” I said, and angled my hips up hopefully.

“Tell me what you want,” he said. His hands flexed on my hips, fingers digging into bone.

He was going to make me say it. I closed my eyes, even though he couldn’t see them, as though my eyelids would give me some protection from the humiliation of what I was about to say. “I want... I want your cock,” I choked out. “I want you to—I want your cock in my pussy.”

I shook, speaking, and he bent down and pressed his lips to the back of my neck. “You sound like you think you can tell me what to do,” he said. His lips brushed against my skin.

“No,” I said, babbling now, “I don’t, that’s not what I think, you just.” I forced myself to stop, and swallowed. “Please. I want you to. Please.”

“Say my name,” he said.

“Carter,” I said, “
please
. Please fuck me.”

He laughed softly, and straightened again, and thrust his cock fully inside me in one long, smooth thrust.

I cried out. It felt huge, and for a moment, I was convinced I was being split in two. The stretch was painful. I’d been prepared for pain, intellectually, but actually feeling it in such an intimate part of my body was distressing in a way that I hadn’t considered. I gripped the headboard tight and breathed shallowly through my mouth, hoping it would pass.

After several long moments, the pain eased. In its place, pleasure began building again, coiling in the pit of my belly. Blind, there was nothing for me to focus on but the feelings coursing through my body. I had to surrender myself to sensation.

Behind me, Carter said, “You’re tight. Been a while?”

I stifled inappropriate laughter. If only he knew how long it had been. “You could say that.”

He didn’t reply. He withdrew slightly, just a few agonizing millimeters, and then moved his hips against me again, pushing into my waiting body. I felt the stretch, and the heat, the solid length of him deep within me, and the way his fingers clenched on my hips, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” I asked, trying to sound light and teasing, and instead sounding plaintive. I didn’t want him to keep teasing. I wanted him to pin me to the mattress and have his way with me, as they said in old movies. Blindfolded, clutching the headboard, I felt strung out and jittery, no longer myself or in control of my reactions. If he fucked me, I thought, the world would make sense again.

“I think I’ve kept you waiting long enough,” he said. “You’re hungry for my cock, aren’t you? I want you to tell me how much you want it.”

I blushed again. It amazed me that I was still capable of being embarrassed at this point. “I want it,” I said.

He drew out and thrust in again, slowly, teasing. “How much?”

“A lot,” I said, “okay, Carter, please, I can’t wait anymore, I
need
you—”

It worked. Whatever it was I said, he finally gave me what I wanted. With no warning, he pulled out and
slammed
into me, his hips crushing against my ass. I cried out, startled, and held tight to the headboard as he established a punishing rhythm. He pounded into me, pausing each time he bottomed out to grind his hips against me. I was helpless, caught between his cock and the headboard, able to do nothing but hold on and wail.

I always thought that sex would be awkward, the first time, and painful; something to get through, like a visit to the doctor’s office. Not this, with Carter behind me and building waves of ecstasy flowing through my body. I hadn’t imagined anything like this.

Carter moved one hand from my hip and slid it between my legs, rubbing at my clit in time with his thrusts. As swollen and sore as I was, after hours of arousal and two orgasms, I felt myself begin to build toward the peak again. I shifted my hips from side to side, both trying to get away from him and trying to get his fingers to move exactly how I wanted them to. I was overcome. I couldn’t speak, or see, or do anything but let Carter force my body to respond, like he’d been doing this for years and knew every way to touch me, every way to make me lose my mind.

It should have taken me a long time to get there. It was usually one and done for me when I touched myself, and a dim part of me was surprised at how I responded to Carter’s touch. My body wasn’t surprised at all, though. It knew that it belonged to Carter. As his fingers moved faster, it became harder and harder for me to maintain a coherent train of thought, and soon I abandoned the effort altogether and let myself become a mindless, yearning thing, bracing myself against the headboard and pushing back into Carter’s every thrust.

“You’re there, aren’t you?” he said, and I was, I was: he knew me better than I knew myself. I was there, and I wanted him to send me over the edge, but I couldn’t, not without his permission, without his words telling me that it was okay.

I whined, high in my throat, the only communication I was capable of at that point. If I could have spoken, I would have babbled praise and pleas, begging him, asking me to finally, finally let me come on his hard cock.

He rolled his fingers over my clit again, expertly, and said, “Come for me now, Regan.”

I had to obey him. I had no other choice.

It seemed to last for an eon. Whole universes were created and destroyed while I shuddered and clenched around his cock. I squeezed my eyes shut so hard that I saw bright geometric patterns behind my closed eyelids. My pussy throbbed and pulsed, alternately pulling Carter deeper and pushing him out. I had never felt anything like it.

“That’s right,” Carter said, from some distant planet, his fingers still moving on my clit. “You’re being so good for me.”

He thought I was good, and that was all that mattered. I held onto the headboard so hard that my fingertips tingled from the lack of blood, and felt my body respond to Carter Sutton like it had been created for that exact purpose.

My orgasm ended at last, and I sagged to the mattress, hands still curled around the headboard. I couldn’t stay upright anymore. My limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

I felt his hands at the back of my head, untying the blindfold. He drew it away from my face and tossed it onto the floor. Then he drew out of me, and I cried out in wordless protest, already missing the feeling of his cock pressing me open.

“Hush now,” he said. He turned me over, gently, and eased me down onto my back. I squinted in the too-bright light of the bedroom. He was bent over me, a dark shape, and I felt him smoothing my hair off my forehead. I raised my limp arms and clutched at his shoulders.

“I let go,” I said, the only words I could summon.

He laughed softly and kissed my face. “That’s right. I didn’t tell you that you could, did I? I’ll have to punish you for that tomorrow.” He spread my thighs apart and slid back into me, holding himself above my body and rolling his hips slowly. “I’m going to come in your wet pussy, Regan. Would you like that?”

“Yes, yes,” I said, senseless, hungry, and held onto him as his rhythm fell apart. He slammed into me hard, twice, three times, and shuddered against me, panting raggedly, his cock pulsing inside of me as he came.

I lost track of time after that. I think I dozed off, and when I woke again, briefly, he was cleaning me with a warm cloth; and then he was rolling me onto my side and curling his body around me, turning off the light, and saying, “Sleep now.”

I slept.

I
woke from a comfortable dream about swimming pools and opened my eyes. I was in Carter’s bed, the duvet carefully tucked around my shoulders. I turned over, lazily reaching for him, but he wasn’t there. The bed was empty. I was alone.

I got up and dressed in my clothes from the night before, and then went in the bathroom to make sure I didn’t look too horrifying. My hair was a disaster, but I was able to smooth it down with some water and twist it into a respectable knot. With my coat on, I would look like every professional woman in Manhattan. Nobody would be able to tell that I was doing the walk of shame after the single hottest experience of my life.

God. The way he’d touched me, the way he’d laughed, low and pleased, when I begged him—

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t think about it now. I had to go home, and shower, and get ready for work.

It was hard to believe that in a few hours I’d be back at the club, serving drinks like nothing had happened. My universe had been upended. The world had changed. And there was no evidence of it, aside from the spectacular love-bite blooming in the hollow of my throat.

I adjusted my collar to hide the bruise. Slather on enough concealer and nobody would notice. Maybe I would wear a turtleneck, just to be safe.

I took a deep breath. My reflection looked just the way it always did. Nobody would be able to tell that I had been transformed.

I gathered my coat and purse and left the bedroom. I only vaguely remembered the layout of the apartment from the night before, but the hallway led me directly into the main room of the apartment, a large, open space filled with sunlight.

And Carter was there, sitting at the table, laptop open, a coffee mug at one elbow. He was already dressed, his suit jacket hanging from the back of his chair. My breath caught. I hadn’t thought—well, I hadn’t let myself think. I didn’t expect him to still be there, because it was better not to expect anything, and then always be pleasantly surprised.

He looked up as I came into the room. He didn’t smile; his expression didn’t change at all. “Regan,” he said, face smooth as the surface of a pond. “I didn’t think you would be awake so soon.”

My heart sank. So it was like that. “I should be going,” I said. I wouldn’t linger and embarrass myself.

“Have a cup of coffee, at least, before you leave,” he said, and my heart rose again, to rest somewhere right beneath my ribs. “It’s cold outside.”

I hesitated and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only 10. I still had time, but I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to stay and drink coffee with him. It seemed so
domestic
, and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I didn’t want myself to get the wrong idea. We’d had sex, and it had been fantastic, and now we would both go back to our separate lives.

“Blue Mountain, roasted yesterday and ground half an hour ago,” he said, and I took a step toward him without meaning to. I liked coffee, and I never got to drink the good stuff, just whatever swill was on sale that week at the grocery store. Carter probably had his coffee flown in directly from Jamaica. I would be an idiot if I turned down this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to drink a billionaire’s swanky coffee.