Page 65 of Caught Between Two Billionaires
This man, so proud and so strong. He says please like a man kneeling at my feet.
And I come like a goddess being worshipped, the pleasure fire-bright in my clit and spreading out to my body in waves. Christopher rides my climax with quick thrusts that take me deeper. There’s no air here, but I don’t need it, don’t need to breathe, only need Christopher—and I cling to him. I grasp at him, hungry, desperate, as his body stiffens and pushes, once, twice, and he cries out, hoarse and broken.
Exhaustion makes me collapse back on the bed, my eyes closed. Sleep laps at my skin, threatening to drag me under. God, I can’t fall asleep right now. I shouldn’t, but my body doesn’t understand that. The last thing I feel is Christopher’s lips against my forehead, like a benediction as I sink into sleep.
When I wake up, it’s still dark in the room, no beam of light from between the two heavy drapes. There’s a warm body underneath me, muscles waiting. My hand clenches in springy hair on a broad chest. Before I look up, I know it’s Sutton. A slice through my chest, realizing that we’re alone in the room. Sometime after taking my virginity, sometime after kissing my hair, he walked away. That’s what he always does. He probably has some academic reasoning in his head about how it’s actually protecting me, walking away, instead of breaking my heart again.
“Morning,” he says softly.
“Christopher?”
“He left. Are you feeling okay?” He means the virginity thing, which I want to brush off as nothing. Not a big deal. Only a social construct, except it feels distinctly physical right now. There’s a dull ache between my legs, a reminder of where Christopher has been.
Beneath a white sheet I can see that Sutton’s hard. “I’m fine. What about you?”
A flash of teeth as he smiles. “Don’t worry about me.”
I’m worried about the way Christopher interrupted us in the hallway. About the way he interrupted us last night. We must have reached the part where it hurts him.
My palm brushes over the muscled ridges and flat plane, down to where his arousal burns against my hand. He sucks in a breath when I grasp him with my fist. This part I’ve done before, playing in the basements of boys I could barely remember after the fact. They weren’t as big as Sutton Mayfair. Not nearly as controlled either. He lets me stroke him, down and down, the rest of his body still like a predator coiled to strike.
“You’re sore,” he says, his voice like rocks grating against each other.
“Not,” I say, which is a lie. It doesn’t matter, this ache between my thighs. I want to feel Sutton; maybe more than that, I want him to feel me.
He looks like he’s about to argue the point, and God, he could prove it. If he touched me between my legs, I would probably flinch. So I press my lips against his chest, to the side, lips open and teeth grazing him. His body jerks, no longer controlled.
“Damn,” he mutters.
“It’s just the two of us,” I whisper.
It’s just the two of us, which means we can finally get this right. Now, when I’m still fragile and sore from Christopher, it might finally be enough to free me from wanting him. If only I could want another man. If only I could want Christopher and have him, that would be enough.
He holds himself back, but only barely. Those muscles that look handsome beneath his suit have turned into something far more feral. He’s part animal now, vibrating with need. “Shouldn’t touch you like this. Should give you a break.”
The memory of those blue eyes watching Christopher comes back to me. He was trying to prove something letting him be the first, but I don’t know what. That he might be first, but Sutton would be last? I don’t know what he’s playing, but there’s far too much thinking in it.
So I let my thumb brush over the tip of Sutton’s cock, smoothing precome over the blunt satin of him, feel the shake of his body—and the moment when he breaks.
Firm hands grasp my body and turn me over, facing down. I pushed him toward this, but it’s still a surprise to feel him arrange me, knees beneath my body, a pillow supporting me. He pushes inside me without preamble, and I’m glad I can hide my soft cry of pain in the mattress.
“Harper,” he says, his voice rough-edged with desire.
“I’m okay,” I manage to gasp, because I’m stretched and aching—but I’m telling the truth. I can survive anything to feel Sutton come apart. “Please, Sutton. I want you.”
He groans his surrender, covering my back with his body. “Christ.”
His cock pushes against the walls. He’s thicker than Christopher was, or maybe I’m just that sore now, but either way I wince with the effort to let him in. Until his large hand delves beneath my stomach and between my legs. He finds my clit with rough fingers, his touch knowing and merciless. He pinches me hard enough to distract me from the stretch. Hard enough that I’m pushing back so he’ll give me more.
