Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(39)
Author: Jessica Clare

“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.

“Jonathan,” she sobbed, and when he looked up from her lap and saw her eyes, he saw need written there. Sharp, clawing need. He could relate. His own erection had returned, full force, and was pressing hard against the edge of the seat as he leaned over and lavished his tongue on her flesh.

“I’m so close,” she begged. “Please, please push me over.”

“I will,” he promised, and returned his mouth to her flesh, teasing the little stiff nub of her cl*t with his tongue. Her h*ps bucked against his mouth and his steady, slow licking motions, and he couldn’t resist sliding his fingers between the seam of her sex and searching for her core.

He paired two of his fingers together and teased at her entrance, circling it the way his tongue circled her clit.

She nearly came off of the chair in ecstasy. “Oh, God. Oh, yes!”

“Be still,” he growled at her, though his own h*ps were thrusting unmercifully, uselessly, against the edge of the chair that he was pressed against.

She nodded, clutching at the chair she rested on. She was a gorgeous sight, all flushed cheeks and pale skin, her br**sts heaving with every gasped breath, her hair a messy nimbus about her face. Her legs were sprawled wide with his face between them, and he wanted to memorize the sight of her like this, so full of need and so utterly beautiful that it made his heart ache.

“Please,” she said again, urgency in her tone.

He set upon her once more, back to the slow, steady licking of her surely aching little clit. He pressed his fingers into the well of her sex, having to stifle his own groan at the way her cunt clenched and pulled at him, as if she were trying to suck him in deeper.

Violet’s moans of pleasure grew louder, and so he began to pump his fingers slowly in and out of her, curling them ever so slightly and dragging them against the front wall of her core as he pulled them out, looking for the spot that would guarantee a deliciously brutal orgasm. The rhythm of his tongue against her cl*t continued, his pace picking up just a bit and matching her quick, panting breaths as if they were the metronome he had to follow. Gasp, lick, gasp, lick. Her juices covered his mouth, her scent was in his nostrils and coating his fingers, and he was in heaven. He never wanted to leave this spot, ever. If he died at this moment, he’d die a happy man.

But his Violet needed to come.

He crooked his fingers inside her and rubbed hard, and was rewarded with her choked cry of surprise. Ah yes, that was a new trick he’d picked up in the intervening years. He’d never done that to her before, and he was guessing that her other lovers had never bothered to try and find it. For a moment, he was filled with a vicious jealousy that gave way to a possessive sort of pleasure at the way she arched and sobbed when he brushed his curled finger against it again.

She was his. This was her, and she was all his. No man had touched her like him, and he was going to f**king give her the best orgasm she’d ever had.

So, fingers rubbing against her inner wall, he bent over her cl*t with a new fervor, increasing the strokes of his tongue to a new rapidity.

She made a wordless sound, noisy and completely unmindful of the fact that her cries were echoing in the cabin even as he sprawled between her legs, eating her out at thirty thousand feet in the air. Her h*ps moved, jerking, as if trying to follow his fingers, and he knew he couldn’t let up now. To do so would mean she’d have to chase her orgasm all over again, and the way she was clenching around him, the lips of her pu**y swollen with need, she was close. So close. So he continued, mentally chanting his own poem.