Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(37)
Author: Jessica Clare

She was obscenely gorgeous.

“You are so lovely you steal my breath,” Jonathan told her reverently.

He watched her tremble against him, her fingers digging against his lower arms where she rested them. “That . . . that’s not another poem, is it?”

“That’s me,” he said bluntly. “Speaking to you. You’re gorgeous.” His gaze devoured her, the heaving br**sts, the taut ni**les, the smooth skin. “May I touch you, Violet?”

Her fingers went to his neck, played with his hair. “Will you tell me more poetry?”

“Anything you want,” he agreed. Anything so he could get his hands on her.

“I’d like that.”

He racked his brain, trying to think of something that came to mind that would suit the moment. He normally had a sharp memory for these kinds of things, but with Violet straddling him, her br**sts inches from his wanting hands, it was difficult to concentrate. He mentally went down his list of favorite poets anyhow. Not Frost, his personal favorite. He didn’t tend to romantic moments. A few love poems came to mind, but he suspected that if he started vowing love to Violet—however poetically—she’d skitter away again. The first few lines of a filthy poem by John Wilmot he’d memorized in college sprung to mind, and he began to speak. “‘Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,’” he began, his voice husky. The next line was “I filled with love” but he modified it. “‘I filled with lust, and she all over charms.’”

Her eyes shone as he began to recite, fascination in her gaze.

Jonathan’s hand traveled up her arm and to her shoulder in slow, deliberate motions as he recited the next stanza. “‘Both equally inspired with eager fire, melting through kindness, flaming in desire. With arms, legs, lips close clinging to embrace, she clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.’”

Surprise flickered on Violet’s face and she laughed, the sound sweet and pure. Her br**sts jiggled with her laugh, and he was momentarily speechless at the gorgeous sight. “‘Sucks me to her face’?” She echoed, giggling. “Is that supposed to be poetic?”

“It is,” he said, a bit of a smile on his own face. He tried to tear his gaze away from those magnificent br**sts and failed. “This is also the only poem I know of that uses the word ‘cunt.’”

“Cunt? Really? How?”

“Patience, my lovely,” he said with a playful wag of his eyebrows.

She snorted and tilted her head, regarding him with amusement. “I’ll try to be patient.”

“You’re interrupting my seductive moment,” he chastised her.

“Seductive? That was supposed to be seductive when you talk about sucking people to your face?”

“It gets better, I promise.”

She nodded, biting her lip to contain more laughter. “I’ll do my best not to laugh, then.”

“Laugh all you want,” he told her. “It makes your br**sts bounce very enticingly.” She sucked in a breath at his words, and he was pleased to see the soft desire return to her eyes. His hand went to her waist and brushed against the soft skin there, and he felt her tremble. “Shall I go on?”

“Please,” she whispered, all laughter vanished, replaced by need.

His fingers caressed her shoulder and then moved to brush against the curve of her mouth. “‘Her nimble tongue,’” he continued in a low voice, “‘love’s lesser lightning, played within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed swift orders that I should prepare to throw the all-dissolving thunderbolt below.’” Before she could laugh at the newest absurd euphemism, he went on. “‘My fluttering soul, sprung with the pointed kiss, hangs hovering o’er her balmy brinks of bliss.’”

And he trailed his fingers down her neck to her breastbone, and waited.

A whimper escaped her throat. “If you don’t touch me—”

He leaned in and kissed her mouth gently, feeling her br**sts brush against his own bare chest. “‘But whilst her busy hand would guide that part which should convey my soul up to her heart, in liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er . . .’” Jonathan trailed off as she burst into giggles. “I think I forgot what this poem was about,” he said sheepishly. “All I remembered were the dirty words.”

“Jonathan Lyons,” she said, sliding her fingers over the lines of his shoulders playfully. “Have you been reciting me a poem about premature ejaculation?”

Hell, this was embarrassing. “I might have been.”

She giggled again, and damn, he loved that sound. “By all means, please keep going.”

Since he loved her laughter almost as much as he loved her whimpers of desire, he did. “‘In liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er,’” he repeated. “‘Melt into sperm, and spend at every pore. A touch from any part of her had done’t: Her hand, her foot, her very look’s a cunt.’”

“Mmm, there’s the naughty little cunt,” she said, sliding a finger over his nipple playfully. “It’s almost . . . sweet, really, the way it’s used in the poem.”

He took her hand in his and pressed his mouth to her palm. “It’s true, you know. Every look, every touch from you and I feel like losing control.”

The amusement in her eyes quickly spun back to desire. “Still after all this time?”

“Worse after all this time,” he told her. “Because now I know what it’s like to wake up without you.”

Her breath caught. “Jonathan—”

“Hush. Tonight is about me giving you pleasure. Let’s not think about anything else.” He gently kissed her palm again, and then placed it on his chest, over his heart. Then, he brushed a knuckle along her jaw and slid it down to between her br**sts to distract her.

“All right,” she said softly, her gaze rapt on him.

He forgot about everything but the need to pleasure her, and, his eyes locked on hers, he grazed his knuckle over the mound of her breast, circling one nipple slowly. “I remember these br**sts,” he told her in a low voice. “I remember the taste of the tips on my tongue, the weight of each breast in my hand. I remember how they bounced when I thrust into you. And I know how sensitive the undersides are,” he said, tracing his knuckle down and curving it over the rounded slope.

She shivered in response, arching against his touch. Her eyes closed, and it was clear to him that Violet was determined to lose herself in the moment.