The Villain (Boston Belles, #2)(78)

“Is this supposed to be funny?” I asked in a thin voice. He patted the corners of his lips with a napkin, still staring at his plate.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll plan my evening accordingly.”

“Have fun,” I gritted out, this time not bothering to hide my disappointment.

“I intend to.”

I didn’t expect a visit from him that night.

To his credit, he managed to hold himself off until half past eleven. I’d listened to him through the adjoining wall of our rooms, going about his evening. Typing on his laptop. Flipping sports channels. Taking business calls.

Finally, there was silence. A knock on my door sounded a few seconds later. I loved that he always asked to come in, never assuming, never demanding.

I opened the door.

We stared at each other for a beat.

“Did you call me?” He frowned.

I suppressed a smile. “No.”

“I thought I heard your voice.”

My chest filled with something warm.

All I did was shake my head. This time, he had to work for it.

“I came for…” He broke off, running his fingers through his silky brown hair, furious with himself. “I don’t know what the hell I came for.”

“Yes, you do,” I said softly.

I wanted to hear it from him. That he enjoyed it. Us. That he didn’t only do it because we were supposed to, but because it made him happy.

God knew it made me happy.

Too happy, maybe.

He leaned down to kiss me. Letting him off the hook was tempting, but for the sake of his synthetic grass heart, I put a hand on his chest, pushing him away.

“Say it.”

His downturned lips flattened, and his eyes hardened. He snapped his knuckles, something I’d noticed he tried not to do when there were other people in the room. He was hanging onto his control. Barely.

“I came here to make out with you middle school style. Happy?”

“Very.” I pulled him by the white V-neck of his shirt into my room, closing the door behind us.

On that night, and the four nights after it, all we did was kiss and fondle and explore. He sucked my nipples until they were too raw and sensitive for me to wear a bra the next day, and I gave him hand jobs while we both stared at my small hand wrapped around his cock in awe.

When my wrist started hurting, I graduated from hand jobs to blow jobs. At first, Cillian was skeptical.

“I like your hands and mouth where I can see them,” he drawled.

“I’m not a rabid animal from the wilderness.” I laughed.

He gave me a jury’s-still-out-on-that sort of look, which made me laugh even harder. I bit down on my teeth.

“Sree?” I asked, my voice was muffled. “Nrro teeth.”

Grinning down at me, he got up from the bed, standing up and lowering my head with his hand until I was on my knees in front of him.

“Fine. But we’ll do it my way. I’ve got requirements.”

“Shocker!” I gasped. We both laughed. Then I said, “I’m listening.”

“Lick it first. Thoroughly.”

He released his cock, velvety, throbbing, and impossibly hard. I captured it in my fist, my fingers barely creating a full circle, and began licking it shaft to tip. He groaned, fisting my hair and tugging on it roughly.

“Faster.”

I obliged.

“More tongue. More saliva. More.”

He ordered with that sharp, princely twang he had that made him sound like the ruler of all things. I did as I was told, getting so wet, I selfishly wished he’d choose not to come, toss me into bed and enter me, Aunt Flow be damned.

“Well,” he said calmly, even as I was doing my best to drive him nuts with my tongue and mouth. “I was going to keep the line between respectful wife and my flings firmly drawn, but I suppose…”

I groaned, continuing to suck and bobbing my head back and forth eagerly.

I want to be your everything. Your sexy nymph and virginal bride.

“I suppose the line has already been crossed. Choke on my cock, you beautiful slut,” he finished his musings by grabbing my hair harder and began to fuck my mouth ruthlessly. Each time, his tip hit the back of my throat. And each time, I almost came when it happened. My eyes got teary, but only because my gag reflex was on high alert.

“Tap my thigh twice if you want me to stop.” His voice hovered above my head. I didn’t want him to stop. I sucked harder, more greedily, taking him all in, moaning like I never had before. I could tell he was getting close to his release. His thighs began to quiver, and that male scent of sex hung thick in the air.

Though he seemed like the type to finish in the mouth, my husband pulled out of me, came into his fist, then tenderly—almost longingly—used his cum-covered fingers to wipe my hair from my face, tilting my chin up.

“That was good,” he said. “You get an A+, Flower Girl.”

“Then why didn’t you come in my mouth?” I tried very hard not to whine and, in my opinion, almost succeeded.

“Instinct, I suppose.” He was already getting dressed. “Escorts have been known to steal billionaires’ sperm. My ground rules are I always bring my own condoms and never leave my cum unattended.” He lowered himself to his knees, so we were almost eye to eye. “Now, how about I return the favor and eat that sweet pussy?”