Billionaire Boys Club 5 : Romancing the Billionaire(51)

The realization that this was probably no more than a quick release for her dashed his erection faster than anything. He continued to press his face against her br**sts, heartache nearly destroying him. He was touching Violet's skin, breathing Violet's scent, his fingers buried in Violet's pu**y.

And yet, it still wasn't enough. He wanted her heart.

But when she rubbed against his hand, sliding his fingers up and down the folds of her sex, he knew she needed this. Hadn't he said this would be about her, not him? It should be, and so he'd pleasure her even if it broke his own heart to do so.

So he kissed the sides of those soft br**sts and looked up at her, easing a finger forward until it dragged against the hood of her clit.

She nearly jumped off of his lap, crying out, "Oh!"

Now, that? That was beautiful. He rubbed over it again, even as she squirmed against his hand, half trying to pull away and half trying to brush against his fingers harder. When she arched her back again, his mouth latched on to one of her ni**les and he sucked hard even as he rubbed her clit, enjoying the tiny wail that escaped her throat. His sensitive, delicious, lovely Violet. He could never get enough of her, never have enough even if he lived to be a hundred years old. 

And he wanted more. Jonathan released her nipple with an audible pop, pleased to see the tip wet and gleaming from his mouth, and a dusky red from his sucking. "I want you to lay back on these chairs for me," he murmured, still gliding his finger back and forth across her sensitive clit.

"W-where?" Violet panted, glancing around the small cabin.

"Here." Jonathan reluctantly pulled his fingers from her sweet, wet warmth and dragged her off of his lap and onto the seat next to him. She sat there, blinking and dazed, still drugged by passion.

"Do . . . do you want me to lie down?"

"Nope." He grabbed the waistband of her pants. "But these have to go, because I'm burying my face between your legs."

She gave a shuddering gasp and fell back against the leather seats, her heavy br**sts bouncing with the movement, and for a moment, Jonathan wanted to go back to them, to suck and tease and lick them until she was crying out all over again. But the scent of her arousal was in his nostrils, and he wanted more of her. Fighting his own need again, he tapped her hip. "Lift, please."

She did, and he dragged the pants off her h*ps in one smooth move, until the fabric bunched at her thighs. Her h*ps were exposed, the sweet, rounded curves of them just as generous and beautiful as he remembered, the thatch of hair between her legs wet with need above her creamy thighs. His mouth watered at the sight.

One more tug, and the pants were at her knees. She wiggled a bit and kicked them off, then pressed back against the seat, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. "What do you want me to do now?"

"I want you to scream my name," he told her in a low voice, pushing forward. She was seated in the leather airline chairs, the armrest pushed up so they made a little couch, and it didn't leave much room for him. That was fine. All he needed was a place to kneel. He pushed her legs apart and slid to the floor, kneeling there.

And then her thighs were spread before him, and the lusciousness of her was inches away, and he couldn't resist. Like a starving man, he dropped his mouth to her and began to feed.

Her gasp of delight was almost as delicious as the taste of her on his tongue. Hot, musky, and just a bit sweet, he couldn't help his own groan as he lapped at her warmth. She'd always had the prettiest pu**y he'd ever seen. Soft, beautiful folds that surrounded her cl*t and her core like it was a flower. He pushed his tongue deeper between those folds and savored each long, delicious lick.

There were few things on earth better than Violet DeWitt's pu**y on his face, and he intended to savor every moment of this. Each flick of his tongue brought more of her slickness to the fore, and he lapped it up as if she were his favorite treat. Each brush of his lips against her skin told him something: where she was the most sensitive, what nips made her shiver in response, what brought more of that sweet honey to the forefront for his tongue. He studied her like he'd studied poetry, analyzing each sound, each phrase, and then memorizing it for later.

But for now, he wanted to worship at her clit, that tiny center of desire. He tilted his face and angled his mouth, heading for it like a beacon, and began to kiss and lick it with small, methodical strokes. He knew from the past that she liked a slow and steady build. Violet never got off fast, but when she did get off, it was magnificent. He wanted to see that again, and so he took his fingers and parted the lips of her sex, spreading her before him like a feast, and focused his attentions on the cl*t that poked out, begging for attention.