Buy Me Sir(73)

But none of that matters.

What matters is the way she’s looking at me. The shock in her eyes as she realises I’m being serious, that this beautiful stone really is for her.

“One of your collection?”

“Yes.”

“Is this your favourite?” she asks, and I know I’m definitely fucking insane when I answer her.

“One of them.”

“Thank you. I’ll treasure it,” she says, and then she smiles.

My emotional discomfort eases the moment I see the pleasure in her eyes.

She loves it just as much as I do, maybe even more. She tips it to the light and the red inclusions sparkle.

She sighs a happy sigh. “It’s lucky,” she tells me.

Her contentment makes me smile. “How do you know?”

She stares me right in the eye as she answers, and I was right. Her fucking soul is swallowing mine whole.

“Because it’s from you,” she says.





Chapter Twenty-Five





Melissa



I can’t stop staring at the opal.

I was expecting months of hard work, months of giving my best just to feel him kiss me and mean it. I was expecting the angel hair quartz to be nothing more than an ice-breaker, a token hint that we have something in common.

I wasn’t expecting to be lying at his side with one of his prized collection gripped in my fingers a week later.

I’ve seen this stone.

Three across, two shelves down. I polished its little plinth last Tuesday.

I feel bold with this treasure in my hand. I feel like anything is possible. It really is lucky, I know it is.

And so am I.

“I love the suit,” I tell him. “But I’d love you more out of it, please.”

My voice is a whisper tinged with desperation as I reach for his tie. I pull it loose, and he kisses me as I push his jacket from his shoulders. My fingers fumble with his shirt buttons, the opal still gripped in my palm as I sweep my hand over his chest.

He is beautiful.

He is everything.

My breath is shallow as he pushes me onto my back and kicks his trousers off. Skin on skin feels divine, his cock hard against my thigh as he lowers his mouth to my nipple. I stare at his mouth as he flicks his tongue, and it takes me by surprise as his fingers find my clit.

“You’re going to come for me until you’re exhausted,” he tells me, and I moan for him. His fingers sink inside, and I feel a pressure as he moves them. “Until you’re exhausted,” he repeats and I nod.

His fingers are fast and deep, the pressure inside grows intense, building higher and higher until I can’t keep still. My legs wriggle and my ass bucks from the bed, my throat making stupid groans as I grab at the sheets.

His arm pistons. I can hear how wet I am.

“Nice and wide,” he whispers, and I spread my legs for him as wide as they’ll go, not caring that I look like a frog. Not caring that my hair is sticking to my clammy forehead, or that I’m probably wearing more red lipstick on my chin than my mouth.

He kisses my belly as he lowers himself down the bed, and his arms wrap around my thighs and pull my pussy to his mouth.

He sucks. He sucks right on my tender clit with his fingers inside me, and it’s too much.

I grip his hair as I come, and he likes it, he growls at me and sucks harder. I wrap my legs around his shoulders and pin him tight, and he likes that too. He slides a finger into my ass as I buck for him, and I cry out over and over.

I worry as I catch my breath, worry that tonight should be about his pleasure, not mine. But his cock is so big as he gets up to retrieve his case, his eyes hungry as he unclasps it on the bed and takes out a massager.

He plugs it in behind the nightstand.

“Until you’re exhausted,” he says again, and turns it on.

The big purple head of it buzzes. He trails it across my tits and it vibrates all the way through me. It tickles my belly on the way down, and I’m already crazy when it reaches my clit, already hissing as I know what’s coming.

He lies at my side, my thigh sandwiched between his, his cock at my hip as he presses the massager tight against me. He nuzzles my neck, and his mouth is at my ear, his breath warm and raspy.

“I want to know what turns you on,” he tells me. “You’re going to tell me.”

“This…” I whisper, and he nips my ear.

“I want to know what you think about when you play with yourself.”

“You,” I tell him, and he nips me again.

“Don’t lie to me, Amy,” he growls, but I’m not. I tell him so.

He turns my face to his, and I tell him again.

“You. I play with myself and I think about you.”

“That’s…”

“Crazy,” I tell him, and I don’t care. “I know. But it’s true. And I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”