Her Billionaires(36)

“Yes?”

Then he reached for her and in one fluid movement stripped off her shirt, his eyes lighting up as her skin shone in the light. She hunched her shoulders forward, a bit embarrassed to be so exposed in bright, unrelenting sunshine.

“Don’t,” he said, his hands cupping her breasts, fingers playing with the light-pink lace at the top of her bra. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Alarm raced through her veins, mixing with the endorphins from the orgasms she’d just enjoyed, leaving her cotton-headed and puzzled.

“Don’t hide yourself. Oh, Laura—you are so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as he leaned forward, unclasped her bra, and pulled off his own t-shirt. Within seconds he had unveiled himself completely, his body nude before her, and he gestured for her to do the same.

She had to stand to slide off her skirt and she sucked in her lower abdomen, wishing she’d spent more time on pilates than dead-lifting, the pain of each fat roll of excess ruining her arousal.

Until Mike said, “You’re like a model in a Renaissance painting. Perfect and real.” He pulled her hand and brought her down to the blanket, kissed the nape of her neck, and she melted.

She was real.

As she grinned, she took one experienced hand, making sure she had his full, erect attention now. She ran her tongue over her lips, savoring the pleasure she was about to give, so the first touch would be perfect, not too dry or bothersome—and, of course, all-too-real.

She clutched his swollen rod in one hand and teased his tip with her tongue, ripples of muscle under his rib cage going crazy. Flicking the tip until he groaned, she perfected the friction level all the way down, completely aroused by his excitement. Thick runner’s legs shifted, the hair against hair like the sound of light sandpaper, and his face was open, languid, even, as she touched him.

No one—not even Dylan—had made her feel this comfortable with her own sexuality. So pure. So real. So alive. Mike was so present with his arousal, so into the moment of her hand, her mouth—her.

Returning her attention to the tip, firming her grip and tonguing the soft rim of his mushroom, she knew he was getting close. Her hand rubbed the base of his cock while she very gradually moved her mouth up and down on him, accentuating the sensation of the roof of her mouth, her tongue and her lips, pumping him with her hand and hoping that she could give him the same pleasure he’d so beautifully given her just moments ago.

One of his hands touched her head, stroking her hair encouragingly, the fingers trying to tell her something she already knew—this was good. Great. Amazing. She took her time to extend his pleasure, for making love on this blanket at the top of a mountain, jet trails above them the only testimony to civilization, was a once-in-a-lifetime event. She wanted to make it perfect.

She continued this motion, going gradually faster and faster as his fingers tightened in her hair. She gently touched his balls, knowing she was on the right track when she began to taste him as he released that little drop of fluid, and she groaned with enjoyment. She took him into her mouth as far as she could, as her fingers clutched the base of his cock while continuing to stroke it, his athlete’s body tensing and clamping without regard for anything but the pending release.

She blew more air on the sensitive skin while milking him, and he groaned, neck muscles tense with the agony of holding back. She was ready to give him the release he so desperately needed and licked her palm to get ready for more when a firm hand covered hers.

“No. Not like this. I want to be in you,” he commanded. It wasn’t a request. Laura was more than ready to comply, but he beat her to it.

He searched for her clit, finding her willing again. “You make me want to take you right here, right now, in the wild open, Laura.” A completely new wave of arousal came out of nowhere, slamming her, making her want to fuck him for the rest of time. Or, at least, for the next hour. She wanted to straddle him, to ride him, to feel that Greek-God body on top of hers, to be together and come together and so much more.

“Climb on me, Laura. I want to touch you,” he said, pulling her gently onto his hips. She was so wet as she reached beneath her, straddling his hips now, the little scalloped edges of muscle where his abs met his hips too tempting not to touch. As her fingertips brushed there he shivered and nudged her just so— making the tip of him go in her. It felt like sinking into the perfect, hot bath, like the first bite of a chocolate torte in a cafe in Paris, like—so cliched!—like coming home.

To a home you didn’t know you had.