Serving the Billionaire(21)

I felt the same electrical charge that I’d experienced the first night I met him, when he said Stirred, not shaken, and it was like an earthquake had shaken the ground beneath my feet. Whatever else happened, whatever words or actions passed between us, I would never forget the pure, uncomplicated desire that came over me when I looked at him.

It was easy, then, to let him draw my panties down my thighs, down my calves, down to my ankles, where I stepped out of them and left them lying on the carpet in a limp puddle. I had nothing to lose. And the way he looked at me, lust burning hot in his eyes, made it hard to feel embarrassed. My body was nothing special, but the look in his eyes made me forget that, somehow. I wanted him to look at me.

My underwear gone, he drew his hands back up my legs, from ankles to calves, marking teasing lines along the sensitive skin behind my legs, and up the backs of my thighs to my bare ass. His hands cupped the flesh of my ass and skimmed up over my hips, and down to slide his thumbs along my groin. My mouth was dry, and my heart raced. I had never wanted anyone as much as I wanted him.

“Such a good girl,” he said, breaking the tense silence, and leaned forward to kiss the curve of my hip.

As his lips touched my skin, I heard myself moan.

“Good,” he said, as if I’d answered a question, and drew away. My thighs quivered. I was wet between my legs, and hungry for him, but I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted. I didn’t even have words for it. I just knew that I wanted him, and I would do anything he asked for.

He lifted the black thong from where it lay on the sofa and held it out to me. “Put it on,” he said again, and this time I took it from his hands.

I bent over and stepped into the thong and drew it up my legs, taking the place of the panties I’d discarded. Mr. Sutton sat and watched me, his hands on his thighs framing the heavy bulge of his erection. The sight of it intensified the white-hot longing in my belly. He could lie to me with his words and the looks he gave me, for all I knew; he could be lying to me all the time, and I would never know—but he couldn’t lie to me with his body.

I pulled the thong into place. The vibrator was a hard lump between my legs, and I reached down to adjust it, settling it between my labia. It nestled against my clit just right, a solid pressure, and I could imagine what it would feel like when he turned it on.

The thought made me shiver. I would be exposed, helpless, before all of his friends—shaking with pleasure, unable to control myself.

He could do anything to me, and I wouldn’t stop him.

I wouldn’t want to.

“Let’s test it, shall we?” he asked, watching me closely. “I wouldn’t want to have a defective model.”

“Okay,” I said, every thought driven from my brain.

“Sit down beside me,” he said, and I sat, mute, obedient. He slid one arm around my shoulders and drew me toward him, cradling me against the side of his body. I’d never been so close to him. He was warm and solid, a muscular heat all along my right side, and I went limp against him, letting him take my weight. He could hold me up for a while.

“Are you ready?” he asked, turning his head so that his mouth pressed against the top of my head, and his words were a warm gust against my hair.

I nodded. I wasn’t sure I would be able to speak.

He might have said something, but I didn’t hear him; he might have done something with the remote, but I didn’t hear that, either. I heard the blood rushing in my ears, and I felt the sudden, subtle vibration start between my thighs. It wasn’t much at first, just a pleasant humming, and I turned my face into him, resting my hot cheek against his chest.

“I think you need more,” he said, and I felt the humming increase, until it was more of a buzz. It felt good. It made my clit throb. I squirmed, trying to shift the vibrator slightly so that it would rest against me exactly right, exactly where I wanted it.

“That’s right,” he said, even though I hadn’t spoken. I was hot all over, buzzing like a bee, and I lifted one of my hands to fist in his shirt, crumpling the expensive fabric, but I didn’t care anymore. I wanted to feel him. I wanted to leave my mark on him. Some sort of proof that this had actually happened. Was happening.

I couldn’t breathe. I opened my mouth to suck in a lungful of air.

“That’s right,” he said again, and I shuddered against him, overwhelmed.

And then it stopped. I opened my eyes and turned my head upward to look at him. He gazed back at me, expressionless. The throb between my legs lingered even in the absence of any vibrations. I wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of the words.