Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(55)
Author: Jessica Clare

His head fell back on the blankets and he groaned.

Violet made a soft sound of pleasure low in her throat, and with one hand on his shaft, the other moved to his sac and began to massage it as she continued to suck on the head of his cock, rubbing it with the tip of her tongue. She pumped him with one hand, leaning over him, and then began to take him deeper, working him into her mouth with slow, easy motions. She loved teasing him with her lips and tongue, his c**k filling up her mouth and making her stretch to take him in.

“Violet,” he groaned as she squeezed her hand around the base and continued to suck him deep. “I’m not going to last.”

She released him with an audible pop. “Poor baby,” she murmured, not sorry in the slightest, and leaned down to give him another wicked lick. “Is big bad Violet going to make you lose control?”

His fingers dug into her scalp. “She is. She’s a wicked woman.”

“Mmm, I like that,” she said in a low voice, and then bent over his c**k again to take him into her mouth once more. This time, when she took him deep, she felt his hand press against the back of her head, a silent suggestion for more. She was happy to oblige, pumping him with her mouth over and over again.

Then, she felt him tense underneath her. “Violet, I’m going to come—”

She made a little hum in her throat, to let him know that was all right, and sucked him deeper.

With a curse, she felt him buck, and his c**k hit the back of her throat. Then, she felt his hot seed spurt, pouring down the back of her throat, and he gave a pained, ecstatic groan. “Oh, God, Violet.”

She pulled off of him slowly, swallowing his spend, and then gave the head of his c**k a parting kiss. That, she decided, was entirely too fun. “You certainly didn’t last long for a man who can torture me for hours on end.”

He groaned and threw an arm over his forehead, still panting. “I can’t help it. You have an incredible mouth.”

“Flattery,” she teased, then slid off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to brush my teeth, and then we’re going to go check out room 433,” she called to him, feeling rather satisfied with herself.

He groaned again and didn’t move from the bed. “Give a guy a minute to recover?”

“A minute,” she teased again. “But only that long.”

—

Violet returned to her own hotel room to get dressed.

She’d snuck out of Jonathan’s room wearing not much more than a towel and dashed to her own room, which was just a few doors down. Thank goodness they had the whole floor to themselves. Then, after she’d dressed and fixed her hair, Violet stared at her reflection in the mirror, blushing. Her neck was covered with bright red hickies that her short hair didn’t quite sweep over. That was going to be rather obvious to the world, wasn’t it? But . . . she kinda didn’t mind it. Slipping on a pair of shoes, Violet headed back out of her room and Jonathan was waiting for her in the hallway.

Downstairs, the girl at the front desk had bad news for them. “I’m afraid room 433 is occupied.”

“It’s important that I have that room,” Jonathan explained, pulling out his money clip and dragging crisp hundred-dollar bills from the stack. “What will it take?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the girl at the desk said apologetically. “I can contact the people currently in the room and see if they’re willing to switch, but I can’t force them to.”

Violet put her hand over Jonathan’s money, lowering his hand before he could start flinging money at the girl. She smiled at the front desk attendant and then snagged Jonathan’s arm, dragging him away. When they were out of earshot, Violet suggested, “Why don’t we go up and ask if we can talk to them for a minute?” They didn’t need the whole room, just the painting.

Theoretically. They could still be wrong about it.

Jonathan looked over at Violet and then nodded, putting his money away. He pulled her under his arm, casually dragging her against his side. “Let’s see what we can do, then.”

A few minutes later, they’d headed up to the fourth floor and found the room they were looking for. A “Do Not Disturb” tag was hanging from the door.

“Oh, no,” Violet said. “Maybe we should come back later.”

Jonathan ignored it and knocked on the door.

She winced, anticipating an angry man showing up to berate them. A minute passed, and then she heard someone shuffling to the door. It opened a crack a moment later, the chain still on the door, and an old man peered out at them. He stared at Violet and Jonathan. “We have enough towels.”

“I’m not here with towels, sir,” Jonathan said, smiling.

“We were wondering if we could see the painting in your room,” Violet interjected. The man was looking at them rather suspiciously, and the last thing she wanted was for him to call the front desk and get them kicked out of the hotel. It didn’t matter how many rooms Jonathan was renting; if he harassed the other guests, he could still get booted.

The man shook his head, and started to close the door.

Jonathan stuck his foot in the crack. “I will pay you ten thousand dollars to give us that painting on the wall.”

The man’s eyes widened.

“It’s true,” Violet chimed in. “He’s loaded. I promise. Show him, Jonathan.”

On cue, Jonathan took out his money clip and waved it at the man.

He stared at it for a moment longer, and then held out his hand. Jonathan removed his foot from the door and handed the man the wad of money. The door shut and Violet felt a twinge of worry. What if he didn’t open it again?

But a moment later, he did, and Violet and Jonathan smiled nervously at the old man, who was dressed in nothing but an undershirt and a pair of old boxers. On the bed, his elderly wife sat, wearing a floral bathrobe, the remote in her hand.

He gestured that Violet and Jonathan could enter.

“We just want the painting,” Violet said quickly. This was so awkward.

“Take it,” the man said. “It’s an ugly thing.”

“Thank you,” Jonathan said, and strode for the bed. Violet bit her cheek to keep her face impassive as Jonathan pulled the painting off of the wall, nodded at the old couple, and then headed out the door. She trailed behind him, holding in her excitement. Jonathan was unreadable, his face stone, as they walked to the elevator.

When the elevator doors shut, he turned and grinned at her. “That went well.”