The VIP Room(88)

To my surprise, a second set of eyes only made me hotter. I could feel the molten heat of my *, the moisture gathering so quickly I thought it might begin to run down my inner thighs.

How long would Dylan make me wait? Was the waiter going to stay? I hoped not. As arousing as it was to be on display like this, Dylan on his own was more than I could handle. Throwing a stranger into the mix would be way too much.

I heard a few murmured words and the sound of the door shutting. Then one set of footsteps coming in my direction. I was pretty sure the waiter was gone. Dylan moved so quietly, I didn’t know he was behind me until I felt the tip of one long finger trace the lips of my swollen *. Without thought, I surged back, wanting more of him. The finger disappeared.

“Don’t move.”

I obeyed, too desperate for his touch to think about defying him. It would be no hardship for Dylan to find another woman to satisfy him if I couldn’t do what I was told. But I didn’t want another man, I wanted him—and to have him, I would have to be obedient. Submissive. I’d never thought about playing this kind of game before in real life, never imagined it would get me so hot outside of my fantasies.

But then, it wouldn’t have if I’d been with anyone else. I knew that. Of all the men I’d known, only Dylan had ever made me mindless with arousal. I fought to control my shaking, to keep completely still.

A moment later I was rewarded by the touch of his hand to my hip. Then, I felt the length of his body against my back, still clothed in his suit, as he pressed forward and filled his hands with my breasts. He kneaded them, stroking and pinching my nipples, twisting them back and forth until tears of frustrated arousal ran from the corners of my eyes.

“These are perfect,” he whispered in my ear. “You have perfect breasts.” I moaned, almost sobbing with need.

“Please. Please.” I didn’t even know where the words were coming from; some deep part of myself wanted more than the tepid orgasms I’d had before I’d met Dylan. I wanted this-the intensity, the rich, luscious pleasure of having him touch me. Still, I needed more. I needed his cock. I needed him to f*ck me.

“Is this what you want?”

Hot, hard, velvet skin brushed against my inner thigh just below the curve of my ass, leaving a streak of moisture behind.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, please. Please, Dylan.”

The head of his cock homed in on my *, nudging into my heat, teasing me. I was so wet, he didn’t have to take it slowly. But he did, easing his way in with subtle, rocking thrusts that filled me so gradually I was incoherent with need by the time he filled me to the root.

He stayed there, unmoving except to brace one hand on the window beside mine, his cock stretching me almost to the point of pain. Somehow, I managed to fight my instincts to move against him. He must have known what a struggle it was, because he dipped his head to mine and said, “Good girl. Now you get your reward.”

His strong white teeth bit the shell of my ear, the tiny flash of pain welcome in the midst of so much pleasure. His free hand closed over my breast, squeezing and teasing my hard nipple, sending shooting sparks straight to my clit. When he began to thrust, I think I screamed from the glory of it.

I forgot all about being shy, or quiet, or still. I moved against him, arching my lower back to take as much of his cock as I could, moaning and crying out from the sheer liquid ecstasy of his length splitting me open.

Dimly, I heard Dylan let out his own groans behind me. My orgasm had been building for so long I didn’t realize how close it was until it hit. Every touch, every tease since the restaurant had layered on top of one another until I was drowning in my own hyper-aroused body.

It seemed like only a few breaths between when he entered me and when I came, my * clenching down on his cock so hard it hurt, screams torn from my chest, my release so strong I almost blacked out.

My limbs went weak; the only things holding me up were Dylan’s hand on my breast, my palms against the glass, and his hard cock inside me. I was still coming, my * pulsing around him, my hips rolling in involuntary thrusts.

Dylan’s teeth locked onto the side of my neck in a grip of possession as he pounded out his own orgasm, filling me with his release.





Chapter 9





Dylan





She was a revelation. The entire night hadn’t been what I’d expected. I pulled out of Leigha’s clinging * and stepped back, taking in the sight of her lush, curvy body, damp with perspiration, flushed with passion, our come dripping down the insides of her thighs.

She was innocence debauched, her dark hair tousled, her eyes still closed, those pink lips parted as she gasped for air. I’d known she would be good. That was why I’d suffered through a half an hour with her ridiculous family. I’d had no idea she would be this good.

Leigha was gorgeous. She was a real woman, beautiful, with real curves and real responses. Her soft, heavy breasts were a dream all on their own. Add in that tight, eager *, and she was perfect. Her intelligence and sweetness were only a bonus.

Whatever I’d thought I was getting myself into when I’d proposed being her date in exchange for her body, things had changed.

She thought this was just for a weekend. She thought I would let her walk away. Before the next two days were over, Leigha Carmichael would learn. She was mine, for as long as I wanted her.