The Billionaire Bargain #1(17)
He stood.“Lacey, wait—”
“A lovely, lovely evening, just like, surprising lovely, almost shockingly lovely, lovely, really, I have to go—”
I made it into the hall, and then his hand was on my shoulder. He spun me around, pressed me against the wall, and kissed me like he was drowning and I was his last breath of air.
NINE
The touch of his lips lit a fire in me, heat burning through my veins, my skin flushing from my face to my neck and my breasts, his tongue teasing gently against my mouth. I kissed him back, savoring the taste of him, opening and letting his tongue explore, gently at first, and then urgently.
I gripped his strong shoulders and pulled him closer, loving the feel of all that muscle, all that power, beneath that fine fabric, beneath my hands. I felt so small against him, cherished and desired as his hands clutched at my hips with fierce possessiveness, as if I were the only thing he wanted, as if he would never let me go.
I felt his arousal long and hard against me as he ground his hips against mine, and I moaned into his mouth, breaking away for a second to nip at his ear.
He gasped, and I began to nibble lightly on his neck, reveling in those deep gravelly moans that worked from his throat, groans that made my nipples harden and my * clench in anticipation. His hands slid teasingly across my stomach, making small circles before traveling upwards to my breasts, tracing their curves through the thin silk, my nipples hardening further against the soft fabric and the teasing pressure of his fingers as I whimpered.
Then they slid lower, down between my thighs. Oh God.
“Do you want more?” he whispered, teasing over my pajama bottoms, and all I could do was nod.
“Say it,” he demanded huskily.“Say that you want me touching you.”
“I want it,” I breathed, the words leaving my mouth before I was even aware I had planned to say them.
His hands slid down and under the hem of my pajama top, lazily making their way up my stomach, his fingernails lightly running over my skin, stroking my stomach, tantalizing me with just a brush of my breast, just a slight dip below my waistband…I pushed myself against him, eager, no, desperate—I needed him to touch me, to grab me, to take me— He grabbed my hip with his left hand and pushed me back against the wall, just too far away to press myself against him, just close enough that he could keep tormenting me. He bent his head, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck like a brand, and I whimpered.“Please…”
“Say that you want me,” he growled.“You want me inside you, you’re wet for me.”
“I want you,” I whispered, all my breath stolen by the intensity of his gaze.
He sucked at my neck and I almost sobbed at the sensation, like an electrical line between where he touched me and my nipples and lower: I was sopping wet between my legs and I wanted him so badly, he sucked harder at my neck and his fingers began making slow lazy circles over my breasts, not quite touching where I wanted them to, where I needed them to— “I want you, Grant” I said again, and he pinched my nipple hard and I bucked against him, crying out.
I could feel his smirk against the skin of my neck as began to lick and kiss and nip in earnest, his breath coming in hot hungry pants that set my skin on fire as he traveled downward, his tongue dancing under the neckline of my pajamas and then oh God, that perfect mouth closing over my nipples through the silk, through the sheer mesh of the lingerie, sucking lightly, so lightly, still teasing me, making me beg— “I want you!” I pleaded. I strained to press against him, but he was too strong.
Oh God, I needed to touch him so badly. I slid my hands down his strong shoulders to squeeze that perfect ass; he grabbed my left arm, but I was too quick with my right and before he could stop me I was rubbing his cock through his trousers, squeezing that thickness, my mouth watering at the thought of getting down on my knees and taking him between my lips, sucking on the head and running my tongue over the sensitive underside, his hand fisted tight in my hair as I took him deep into my throat— “Naughty girl,” he murmured,“getting ahead of yourself.”
But he didn’t stop me. And he sounded a little out of breath himself.
“Please, Grant,” I whispered.“Please, please, let me just, let me—ah!”
He was sucking my nipples hard through the fabric again, his lips intent, my brain shorting out as he teased my sensitive tips with his teeth.
“Grant, we—”
He pulled my pajama top up and slid the bra down, and then his mouth was on my breasts, no fabric separating us, nothing but the sensation of his hands and his lips and his tongue and his teeth on my skin, squeezing me, tasting me, marking me— One of his hands dipped into my pajama pants and pressed against me through my underwear; I was already dripping through it. His fingers circled my clit and I arced into his hand.“Please, oh please, so good, it feels, it feels, it feels—”
He cut off my words with a passionate kiss that left me as dazed and shaking as what his hands were doing, and then before I knew it he was on his knees in front of me, looking at me as though I were a triple-decker chocolate cake. As if I were a supermodel. As if I were a goddess.
He ripped my pajama pants down and devoured me with his eyes, those stormy seas become mirrors that reflected my desire back at me. His hands trembled as they framed my hips.
“Look at those panties.”