Page 105 of Caught Between Two Billionaires
I’ve been with Christopher a million times in my imagination. If I had a dollar for every time he pressed his lean body over mine… I’d be rich with it, swimming in money.
The times with Sutton should have been the real thing.
They should have been reality, but this, this feels brand-new.
He doesn’t kiss me; that would be too easy for a man like this. He’s made of sharp edges, and he uses them to leave a mark. He bites at my mouth like someone long starved, made violent with it. Strong fingers grasp my hair. The groan he makes sinks into me—a barbed-wire sound. I’m pinned from all sides by him, panting in his hold, whimpering so he knows I don’t want him to let go.
It only seems to inflame him; he walks forward, forcing me back against the scaffolding, cold metal bars crossing my back. It’s too much, too much, and I take a swipe at his lips with my teeth.
Only then does he gentle. It’s like he was waiting for me to fight back, like that’s what he needed all along. Maybe that’s what he meant when he said save me; maybe I have to hurt him to do it.
I pull at his white dress shirt, his jacket, but he’s made too solid to move. The only way to reach him is through my mouth, and I nip at him wherever I can reach—his lips, his chin, the angle of his jaw. He sucks in a breath, but it doesn’t sound like pain. It sounds like someone who’s felt something too good, and he backs up that impression by pushing his hips against me. There’s an outline there, unmistakable. Hot and hard against my belly. Sutton is large, but Christopher is made of steel—not just in his cock, but his abs, his arms. Everywhere I can reach, he’s forged with fire.
Except for his throat. There the skin is tender, almost velvet, with a late-night bristle that burns my cheek. I slip my tongue out to taste him; he’s elemental earth. He vibrates at the slickness, tilting his head back so I can reach better. I move down, down, down in defiance, pressing my lips to the hollow at the base, feeling his heartbeat move through him.
“Please,” he says, and he sounds so lost. He sounds like I feel most of the time. I never imagined that Christopher Bardot would bare the most vulnerable part of his body.
Never imagined that he would beg.
This is someone always in command, the smartest man in the room, the most determined. And when he cedes control to me, power rushes through my veins. I can do anything if this man needs me.
Anything except decide what to do next. Despite the wildness of our threesome in the Den, despite Sutton’s creativity, I’m not really that experienced when it comes to sex. I don’t really know what normal sex looks like, and I’m pretty sure that’s not what Christopher would want anyway.
He solves the problem by pulling away long enough to yank off his jacket. He lays it down over the dusty floor, ruining the expensive fabric. “For your knees,” he says, and I remember the salt-sweet taste of his cock in my mouth. I drop down, too eager, but then he’s beside me. Under me.
And I realize that none of Sutton’s creativity prepared me for this—for Christopher lying flat on the bits of rubble, only half-shielded by his jacket. For my knees on either side of his head, padded by his jacket, the pale peach cotton of my dress spread out over him. It’s only shock that has me reeling back, only shock that has me gasping, “No. Wait. Don’t.”
Even so I’m not expecting him to actually stop, to push my skirt away long enough to ask in hard, explicit terms, “You don’t want me to lick your cunt?”
My hips react in a visceral way to the word cunt; they rock forward as if asking for his tongue, needing it. Sutton pressed me up against a wall and held me there. Christopher ordered me onto Sutton’s cock and fucked my mouth. There’s a certain amount of helplessness I can pretend in those situations—I didn’t know his mouth would make me orgasm. I couldn’t predict his lap would have a stiff cock pointing up.
And even if those kinds of nonexcuses only work in my head, I didn’t realize how much I was relying on them before now. Before now when I have to place my body over Christopher’s face and lower my sex to his mouth. There’s too much action involved, too much knowledge.
I can’t, I can’t, at least until he says, “I’ve been dreaming about this. Since that night I held you naked in the cabin. I knew I shouldn’t think about you that way. I had just pulled you out of the goddamn water, but it was all I wanted. I dreamed about you waking up and kneeling down on top of me. I dreamed about how you would taste—salty from the bay, sweet from your sex. I’d lick you and lick you until you were dripping down my face, until I was slippery with you, and then you’d come, riding me hard enough I’d barely be able to breathe, and I’d reach down and grip my cock. That’s all it would take. I’d just hold myself and come while you moaned my name above me.”
