The Billionaire Banker(40)

Wear nothing.

She takes the bathrobe off, slips into the bedroom and stands inside the door. He is already there. He is dressed in grey trousers. His tie is loosened and his shirtsleeves have been haphazardly folded up his arms. His watch glints on his strong wrist. He goes to her and leads her to the big black armchair by the large mirror. She sees herself in the mirror. Nude.

‘Porcelain skin and fuck me now, blue eyes. How beautiful you are,’ he says, watching her through the mirror. His eyes are heavy-lidded and cloudy with desire.

Fully clothed he stands behind her. Gently, he hooks his handmade leather shoe underneath her right foot and lifts it. The leather is cool and smooth and the laces rub erotically against the soft sole of her foot. His shoe deposits her foot on the padded seat of the big black chair.

The position has exposed her sex in the most indecent way. She doesn’t recognize the woman in the mirror. She looks wanton and shameless. Now she knows why she is bald. There is nothing to hide behind. It is so shameful it is exciting. She looks away.

‘I want you to see what I am doing to you.’

She meets his eyes in the mirror. He kisses her neck and she moans and tries to turn towards him.

‘No, watch.’ She looks at the mirror. She is throbbing with excitement. She has willingly spread open her sex and allowed him access into her most intimate parts. She feels his fully clothed body brush against her. Vaguely: buttons pressing into her back…soft wool against her buttocks and thighs. Then his hand is moving towards her navel.

‘I love your skin. It is like the finest silk.’ His hand moves downwards without any resistance. All the while he is watching her watching herself.

His palm comes to press on her pubic bone. She watches the palm make circles. The circles become tighter and tighter until they are moving the flesh over her clitoris.

Suddenly his index finger taps at her clit. She shivers with helpless wanting.

‘Not yet,’ he whispers. ‘I will decide when you come.’

Then his fingers move quickly in a sweeping motion along her crack, gathering juice. There is enough there.

The lubricated finger circles the swollen, throbbing bud.

Watching him pleasure her is the most unexpectedly erotic thing she has experienced.

She gasps and longs for the feeling of being full. That feeling of having him inside her, but he does not give that to her. Instead he rubs around her sex, his fingers are cunningly methodical. The same movement again and again.

In minutes she feels the waves coming, but as she pushes eagerly towards them, towards release, his fingers stop, and even though she pushes her hips towards them, they stubbornly refuse to move, until the waves dissipate.

She sags against him, frustrated, and he slowly pushes his finger into her.

‘Wet, hot and tight,’ he says. She looks at his large hand; the thick, masculine wrist peppered with silky hair.

Again that longing to be filled, not with one finger, but with the magnificently thick, long shaft inside his trousers.

She bites her lip to stop herself from crying out, ‘Fuck me.’

‘Kiss me,’ he orders.

She twists her neck around and gives him her mouth.

His tongue enters it. She sucks greedily. A finger becomes two and increases speed. Just as she is beginning to enjoy the rhythm the fingers are withdrawing, slipping and sliding around the lips. He takes his mouth away. His other hand leaves her waist and cups her chin and makes it face the mirror. She stares at herself in shock. At his big hands moving and the glistening redness of her engorged sex—it is as if it is alive. A shameless greedy creature. And suddenly she is coming. Hard. She feels herself losing balance and his hand like a vice around her waist. She leans her head back against his chest for a moment.

‘Hold onto the chair,’ he says, and bends her over. He puts a hand on her back at waist level and pushes down, so her hips are angled, her sex is more exposed. She hears his zip and the soft sound of his trousers dropping. Putting his palm on either side of her face he turns her head and makes her watch what he is doing to her.

‘I want you to watch me fucking you.’

With wild eyes she looks at the image their bodies make as he grabs her by the hips and his proud cock disappears inside her.

‘Now, let me hear your cries. Purr for me, Lana,’ he commands and rams ferociously into her willing, dripping wetness.

She cries out with the sensations. The fullness, the depths that he has gone into.

It is surprisingly painful, but such is her need to have him inside that she welcomes the pain and pushes against him to take more of him. So he goes even deeper, until his thick shaft is buried all the way to the root. One hand falls on her back, pushing her into the armchair, while the other grasps her shoulder. The solid armchair rocks with his thrusts. Then the animal in him takes over. With bestial urgency he drives into her. Harder and faster. Grinding her against him. At that moment she is utterly possessed by the man. His to do anything with.