The Billionaire’s Passion (His Submissive #3)(2)
Author: Ava Claire

"I want you,” he said, his voice filled with heat. “All of you. All of the time. Is that understood?"

The blowing was making speech difficult, but I forced a "Yes sir" between my lips.

"Good."

His tongue went back to probing me, dipping in before darting back out, leaving me panting and completely at his mercy. There was nothing but the flicks and long strides as he took stock of me–and from the moans he released, I wasn’t found wanting..

Just when I got used to the rhythm of his mouth, he pulled back, his lips running along the inside of my thigh. His fingers took the place of his tongue, tracing up and down my labia.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice full of yearning. But when he gripped my thighs, prying them open wider, there was an urgency. Like if he didn’t have me, all of me, it would be the end of him.

I fell into the pillows, drunk off of him, knowing now without a shadow of a doubt that it’s the same for me. If I didn’t give myself completely and utterly to him, the world would stop turning.

He dove back between my legs, burying his mouth inside me and I felt my flesh beating against his movements. He drug his tongue along one wall, then the other, until the trails meet. He circled around my nucleus of pleasure, purposefully inching close to it before his tongue darted away. He turned it into a hardened knot, throbbing with anticipation. Begging to feel his kiss.

The rules went out the window and I tried to turn the tables, vaulting my h*ps to get my point across, but he just moved his mouth away with a deep chuckle.

He ran his hands along my thighs. "Is there something you want?"

"You," I panted. He plunged his finger back inside me and mixed it with his thumb, running over and around my knot. The sensations were divine, but I’d gotten a taste of heaven. Heaven was his mouth on me. Heaven was his tongue. "I need your tongue there."

He ejected his finger and placed it on top of my nub. "Here?"

"Mmhm," I sighed. "I need it right there."

Two fingers circled it and I let out a gasp as they became pinchers, squeezing it. I wriggled, futilely trying to close my legs as he brought me to the edge of agony and then released. But just as soon as I took a breath, he reclaimed the knot, pressing and tugging before beginning the cycle all over again.

"Jacob." I winced as he tightened around it again, the pressure bringing tears to my eyes. "Jacob, please."

His voice was nonchalant, like he wasn’t using his fingers as some sort of torture device. "As soon as you stop fighting me and submit, the pain will cease."

It was easier said than done. My body seemed to have a mind of its own, needs that confounded me. The pinching was painful, but that discomfort swirled among a sea of other feelings. There was arousal, weaving in and out the pain, like strands of DNA. Every motion sent sensations and desires sparking that I never knew I had.

My ni**les swelled at his fingertips digging into my thighs and juices flowed from me in a steady stream. The power exchange, this weird punishment, was turning me on.

Confused, exhilarated, I shut off the part of me that fought him and steeled my legs, forcing them to give into him. After a few moments of exhausting willpower, I gave in to the pain and kept my legs open.

As soon as my thighs stopped drawing together, he released his hold. Time stood still as I felt his mouth inching close to it. His lips parted and he breathed–no, he blew. Just his mouth sending gentle air over the swollen knot.

"Who’s in charge here, Leila? Whose needs supersede anything else?"

God he was so close. "Yours."

"That’s right." His tongue ran along the perimeter of it and I began talking gibberish. All the buildup thrust me head first into sensory overload and when he took it between his lips and suckled it, I hurtled to the pinnacle of pleasure. He thrust inside me in time with his mouth and I couldn’t hold back.

I screamed, the release shooting from the deepest part of me like a bullet, ripping my self doubt in two. This was irrefutable proof that I wasn’t dirty or unattractive. I was just waiting for the right someone. Waiting for him.

And he wasn’t done.

He rose up like some waking dream, eyes savage and muscles flexing. One hand kept me from collapsing into a post coital heap on the floor while the other steered his engorged desire inside me. I looked up into his face as he moved within me, the impassive mask long gone. He filled me, pounding and grunting and cursing until he surrendered.

We didn’t say anything for a long moment, just lied side by side until our labored breathing relaxed.

I turned my head and felt my body flush when I saw he was staring at me.

"Jacob," I said softly, tracing the line of his jaw. "I-"

Too late. He turned away, rising up and stretching his arms to the ceiling. "Shower’s sounding really good."

The sting of his brush off echoed through me, but I didn’t dwell on it. He’d stayed the night and with this morning…it was clear he had some feelings, some attraction to me. For now, that would have to do.

I pushed off the bed and padded past him to the minibar, letting out an ‘Aha!’ as I wielded a bottle of vodka. "I could use a drink."

He peered over at me with interest before a smile tugged the corner of his mouth upward. "A good, hard drink, huh?"

"Worse ways to start a day, right?" I winked. I glanced around for an ice bucket because even I wasn’t bold enough for the warm burn of room temp vodka. I found the plastic container then retrieved his crumpled white shirt and pulled it over my na**d frame. "Be right back."

I knew I looked just like fresh bowchickawow, but I didn’t even scope out the hallway before I moved toward the ice machine at the end of the hall. I felt sexier than I’d ever thought possible; powerful even. But my new found confidence was wasted since there were no gawking tourists or women with knowing smirks. It was practically deserted except for a cluster of men at the opposite end, probably talking about something other than the woman not wearing any pants.

I turned into the concession alcove and scooped a hefty amount of ice into the bucket. When I went to put the scooper back into the holder, it slipped between my fingers. I shook off the last few bits of sleep and bent over to pick it up.

The room lit up around me and I blinked, pausing before I stood up. That was weird. Kind of like a camera flash. And then it happened again.

My heart dropped like a stone as I slowly turned to face the photographer. No–photographers. The same men who’d been standing at the end of the hall.

"Miss Montgomery!" the first said in accented English before snapping a picture of my horrified face. "How long have you been sleeping with Jacob Whitmore?"