Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 1(45)

I couldn't have shaken my head for the world. Mouth dry, pussy wet, I nodded and closed my eyes.

Malcolm kissed my earlobe, and then let his tongue gently tickle the inner folds of my ear, his breath hot and harsh inside my head. My skin dissolved into shivers as he gave my belly a nudge with his cock, clearly wanting to be inside me now, but under my hands I felt him trembling, holding himself back. He wanted to fuck me badly, but he wanted to do it properly.

A hot kiss landed on the pulse point in my throat, where my jugular leaped with anticipation. Quickly, frantically, he placed burning kisses down my throat, drawing moans from my mouth as he reached up and cupped one breast in his hand before descending upon it and sucking my nipple into his hot, wet mouth. I cried out, holding on tight to him, as though I would fall apart at any moment and he was the only thing keeping me together. "Malcolm," I moaned as he nipped and nibbled at me.

He made an indistinct grunt of pure desire before dragging his fingers over the flesh of my back, massaging the muscles there and releasing the tension imprisoned in them. I cried out and quaked as his hands found my ass, squeezing and massaging, molding them together and pulling them apart. My quivering pussy lips opened and closed, and I ached deep inside, needing the pressure of his cock.

Then he broke away and twined his fingers with mine again, leading me over to the pile of clay beneath the wet towels that kept it pliable. Turning me to face him, he lifted me up onto the clay as easily as though I were a child, and I suddenly realized what he meant to do. He meant to fuck on the clay.

Clay as a medium is alive. Every push, every pull of it is recorded within the clay. A true record of the artist. And we were going to fuck on it. Whatever we did would be recorded forever on its surface.

The thought inflamed me and I opened my legs wide. Malcolm reached between them and ran his long finger over my slit, probing my wet, slick entrance. Then he reached around me and laid me back, gently letting me splay out across the clay. The warm air of the room caressed me, the warm damp towels beneath me were delightful, as though I were at a spa, about to be pushed and kneaded into bliss. And I was, I realized. Malcolm bent his sandy head to my pussy and gave me a lick and a kiss, as though saying hello to an old friend, then slid his hands over the backs of my thighs and lifted my legs into the air.

"Are you ready, Sadie?" he asked. "Nod if yes."

I nodded vigorously. I ached and quivered, needing him. It was almost surreal in that moment, knowing that I was going to get what I knew I had wanted from that first moment our eyes met across a crowded room. So corny. But true.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip as I felt him move between my legs. The soft, wet head of his cock slotted against my entrance, as though it were made for me, and then, slowly, he entered me.

It was bliss.

I cried out as he did it, my body curling and twisting, and I had to force myself to hold still, to relax and take the full girth and length of him. Three times he had to pause and pull back before gently pushing forward again, filling me up slowly, letting me become adjusted to his invasion. I wanted him to fuck me fast and hard, but I also didn't want this moment to end. I wanted him to enter me for the first time forever. I felt him inside me, and nothing else was real. In, out. In further, out. In, out, slow, steady, until at last I finally felt his pelvis run up against my soaked pussy lips and he was buried inside me.

For a long moment, we stayed that way, trembling with the sensation of each other. I was full to the brim, his thick, long cock brushing against something inside me I'd never felt before. It felt strange, but also delicious. I didn't want to move, because I knew if I moved we would fuck, and I knew that when we started, we would eventually stop.

But I wanted him inside me always. I wanted this feeling, this fullness. I needed it. I hadn't known I'd needed it until this moment.

At last I moaned and twisted, impaled on his body, my hands reaching up to my hair, tangling in it as I tried to comprehend the fullness of him.

"Ah, Sadie," he whispered. "I love to see you writhe and thrash. Let me make you scream."

"Yes," I begged back.

It was a surprise this time, when he flicked my nipple with his finger, but the pain and pleasure speared through me and I shrieked, my hips thrusting into him, and then he pulled out and pushed in, and we were fucking like animals.

His hips pounded into mine, small grunts escaping the back of his throat as he fucked me, and I was helpless under his assault. I moaned and writhed, my hands scrabbling for purchase on the clay, the towels slipping and sliding under me. I reached back and tried to dig in, feeling the clay give way under my grip as he plunged his cock deep inside me. Each time he bottomed out inside me the tip of his cock brushed over that sweet little spot that I hadn't even known existed and I shrieked. My head tossed as his fingers dug into my hips, my back arched. Beneath me the clay became more volatile, moving and slippery, like mud.