Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 1(35)

I nodded.

I watched as he reached down to the hard little point of my breast. Then my breath caught as he pushed his pointer into his thumb, and then flicked me.

Pleasure laced with pain shot out across me, darting straight from my nipple to my heart, and I cried out.

"Too much?" he asked. "Nod if yes."

I remained perfectly still, and I heard his breathing pick up the pace.

"Good," he said. He ran the brush over the now throbbing nub, soothing it. I was so wet between my legs it was a miracle I wasn't just dripping down my thighs. He flicked me again, then soothed me, flicked and soothed, flicked and soothed, over and over, until I was crying out and twitching with each burst of pleasurable pain.

At last he stopped, then ran his fingertips over my back and side. He traced the swell of my ass and reached around, brushing his fingers against my quivering cunt, feeling the soaking wetness there.

"Ah, Sadie," he breathed. "You truly are alive." He shifted, moving around to my back. God, why wouldn't he let me touch him? I needed to touch him. I wanted his cock in my hands, in my mouth. I'd never wanted anyone like I'd wanted Malcolm Ward, and the wanting was all the more potent because he didn't seem to want me to have him.

"Hmm," he said suddenly. "I need a new brush. But I have forgotten a place where I could store my used brushes. I truly am an amateur."

His voice had a wicked undertone, and my pulse quickened. Was he going to do what I thought he was going to do?

Hot breath gusted between the cheeks of my ass, caressing the tight puckered entrance there. Then he slid his tongue over my asshole, soft, sensuous, layering it with moisture, so that when he finally pressed the rounded tip of the brush handle past the tight ring of muscle, it went easily, and I moaned and quaked around it.

"Do you like it?" he asked me. "Nod if yes."

I nodded.

"Good."

I heard him select another brush, and then he began to swirl it over the mounds of my ass, dragging paint here and there, tickling and teasing me until he rinsed it out and then inserted it alongside the first one. Then another, and another. Slowly he stretched me out, and I quivered with desire to be used so. My pussy was melting. I needed him inside me, but I knew he wouldn't give me what I wanted yet.

He selected another brush. "I like this part of you," he said.

There was a pause and I almost opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but then he swiped the bristles of the brush over my burning slit and I squeaked as they flicked against my clitoris.

"This part is very alive," he said. "It almost has a mind of its own." He flicked my clitoris with the brush again and I groaned at the intensity of the sensation. The pleasure coiled and curled in my belly, and I felt myself beginning the long, slow climb up to the top of the mountain, and when I finally let go I would plunge into pleasure. My mouth watered, my body strained, even as I struggled to stay still. The brushes in my ass filled me up. and I ached to feel the same in my tight core.

"I'd like to watch you come," Malcolm said. "Would you like that? Nod if yes."

I didn't want to nod. "Yes!" I cried.

He reached around and flicked my nipple again, and I bucked and shrieked. So much more intense, so much more satisfying, now that he was touching me where I most needed him. He began to flutter the bristles of the brush over my slit, gathering the slick juices there, as though he were loading the brush with paint, and when he dragged it over my clit as if he were layering paint onto a canvas I couldn't help but cry out and writhe under his tender attention.

With every cry, he sent a lance of pain over my nipple, and with every jolt of that incredible sensation I bucked and wailed as he flicked my clit faster and faster, until I couldn't tell the pain from the pleasure and it was one and the same. "Malcolm!" I cried out as I coiled tight and then burst apart, shattering into a million pieces. Each piece fell to the floor, and I collapsed against the cloth when it was over, my quivering pussy still aching and wet, begging for his cock to enter me.

Slowly he slid the brushes from my ass, and I felt the emptiness that followed their loss keenly. Panting, I felt sweat rolling down my brow and sheening my back, and when he ran his hand over the skin there, I shuddered with pleasure.

"Good, good," he murmured. His own voice was throaty with desire. Would he finally give me what I wanted?

His hands guided me until I was curled up into a fetal position on the floor, and then he turned me over and spread me out. Sweat cooled in the air, and I tried not to stare shamelessly at the bulge in his jeans. His full lips were parted, and again he dipped a brush into paint. Putting it to my skin, he swirled up around the outside of my breast, shimmying and spiraling up and up, over the inside of my upper arm. "I wonder if I could make a tattoo you would love," he said, almost to himself.