Her Brother’s Billionaire Best Friend (Her Billionaire #1)

Chapter FOUR

(Charlotte)

There I was, fully naked in the arms of the hottest guy I’d ever seen, and he was adorably shocked by my request to suck him off.

“Oh, that’s what strikes you speechless,” I teased him. “Not me stripping naked less than an hour after we met?”

“I—”

I slipped my arm around his neck and pulled him down. When he went in for a kiss, I dodged him, bringing my lips close to his ear. “No, the thing that shocks you is learning that I want you to come in my mouth and let me gulp down every drop.”

A shiver went through him.

“I don’t know if you can handle me,” I went on, and ran the tip of my tongue over the curve of his ear. “You were so sure of yourself before.”

“You’re treading dangerous ground,” he warned, leaning back. “Or water, more aptly. But I’ve done things you couldn’t imagine in your wildest fantasies.”

“My fantasies are pretty wild,” I countered, all the while thinking, show me. Show me all those dirty things you’ve done. Do them to me.

He slowly backed me toward the edge of the pool. “Have you ever been tied down by three men who touched you and fucked you and worked you over with toys and their mouths until you were on the very edge of orgasm, only to have them stop and then do it over and over again, all night long? Keeping you on the edge but denying you until daylight? Until you were pleading and begging in tears, promising that you’d do anything if they’d let you come?”

“Holy fuck,” I eeped out.

“I have,” he said with a smirk.

“Wait, with three men?” Had I found a fellow pansexual?

He nodded. “There were times I had a dick in my ass, one in my mouth, and someone’s lips wrapped around my cock.”

I didn’t know how to respond beyond, “I’m glad that happened to you. And that I’m getting to hear about it now.”

“Do you still think I’m unqualified?”

My back bumped against the wall and the gentle underwater nozzle that produced a current on the surface of the pool. “If I say yes, will you tell me another story?”

He grinned. “You liked that one, did you?”

I nodded, and he boosted me up to sit on his knees, to kneel on his thighs. Then he eased them apart, bringing me down so that the jet of water rolled over my bare cunt. I shifted position until it hit my clit directly and patiently waited for another story.

“I’ve kept a woman restrained on a Sybian for two hours. By the time she used the safe word, her voice was barely a whisper, she’d screamed so long.” He slipped a hand between my legs and found my clit. With a practiced thumb, he drew the hood back and exposed my raw nerves to the gentle movement of the water.

“I’ve held parties where every available surface was covered in fucking bodies. I’ve been tortured and tormented and experienced pleasure so intense I thought I would die.”

I whimpered; the slow and steady stream of water over my clit sent piercing shocks through my pelvis, but it wasn’t enough.

“And I’ve given people that kind of pleasure, Charlotte,” he whispered beside my ear. “I could give it to you. All you have to do… is ask for it.”

His teeth pinched my earlobe and I moaned, “Please.”

I’d assumed I had the control between us. After all, I’d initiated everything. I’d been the one to boldly get naked and extend the invitation. But I suddenly had no power at all; there was no doubt in my mind that everything he’d said was true, and I wanted that pleasure he promised more than I wanted to win some kind of playful competition.

The stuff he described put my few threesomes to shame.

He lifted me out of the water entirely and sat me on the ledge. “Spread.”

That one word, that obscene command, gripped my brain and my body responded automatically. I scooted to the edge and watched in disbelief as he lowered his mouth to my vulva. I stifled a gasp, too aware of how sound carried on quiet night air.

“No,” he admonished me. “You’re not going to stay quiet. I don’t care who overhears you. I want people to overhear you. If it’s not the talk of tomorrow’s breakfast, I didn’t do it right.”

Was he some kind of sex psychic? The thought of being discovered, of people watching me or hearing me get off, fueled many of my fantasies. Though I knew no one could see, he was right, they could probably hear me, at least the upper-floor suites. Every now and then, a raucous laugh drifted up to us from the balconies below. People were still late-night partying. They would definitely hear me.

When Matthew’s tongue touched me again, I let go. “Oh fuck!”

I didn’t have to embellish a thing. He swiped his tongue around my already throbbing clit, licking up one side and down the other, never moving his focus to the tip while I gasped and moaned and squirmed. He pulled my legs over his shoulders, leaving me to lean back on my elbows and, when those could no longer hold me up, to lay flat on the cold, bumpy tile of the pool deck. His tongue never sped up or slowed down, letting me anticipate the spots I liked best. I tried to move my hips to urge him along, and he gripped them in his big hands to hold me still and tight against his mouth.

Then, as my muscles began to tighten in my thighs and stomach, as my toes curled, he sucked my clit into his mouth and tapped it relentlessly with his tongue.

“Oh god!” I shouted, my hips bucking against his face despite his best efforts to immobilize me. Every nerve drank in sensation, drowned in it. The humid air on my cool, wet skin became a caress, the void of black sky above us enveloped my vision and met with the starbursts of red at its edges. Every bit of information my brain took in dove straight to that tiny piece of flesh beneath his mouth, and it became the agonizing center of my world before I broke with a loud, guttural moan.

And he didn’t stop.

I could only lay there, helpless and pleading, as he drove his tongue into my pussy, fucked me with it while my body burned. He nudged my clit with his nose, and I thrashed at the overstimulation, which only seemed to encourage him. He released my hips and reached for my hands, gripping my wrists and further immobilizing me as he forced me into that breathless moment of suspension, the second before I would come again, so close—

He stopped and let me go.

Dizzy and confused, I pushed myself up. Did he think I’d finished, and he couldn’t tell?

“Go to the couch,” he said, moving toward the shallow end of the pool.

I rose on trembling legs that barely supported me as I made my way to the seating area. Every step threatened to make me come while I walked.

“We need condoms,” he explained. “Touch yourself. But don’t come until I get back. In fact, don’t come again until I give you permission.”

A stuttering laugh burst from me.

He strode up the steps from the pool and didn’t look at me as he headed toward the door. “I’m serious. Be a good girl.”

My jaw dropped. Had he guessed I was into being bossed around, or was he bossy? And why, despite several very fun encounters where I’d played a meek and submissive partner, did I want to be a very bad girl because he asked for the opposite?

I went to the couch and laid down as he’d instructed, spreading my legs to feel the aching, dripping flesh between them. I mimicked his earlier tongue trick with my finger, circling around my clit slowly rather than using the strong, fast touch I’d employ to get myself off. Still, lying fully naked outside, knowing the people on their balconies had definitely overheard me having possibly the best orgasm of my life, was enough to make every touch treacherous. He wanted me to wait? That was fine. I could wait.

I pushed two fingers into my cunt, gripping down on them at the thought of his cock entering me. It would be so much better than my fingers, so much bigger and deeper. When I returned my fingers to my clit, I felt even emptier than before. I’d never been so turned on, so ready and willing to do anything to get fucked.

I got closer, closer to the edge, almost there, when I remembered what I wasn’t supposed to do. I jerked my hand away and huffed in frustration, gripping the sofa cushion to stop myself from reaching for my orgasm.

“Did you do what you were told?”

Matthew’s voice startled me, and I sat up. He tossed a box onto the coffee table and dropped into the armchair, making no move to touch me. He watched me as I lay there, panting.

“I did.” My voice was suddenly hoarse, and I badly needed a drink of water.

I didn’t need to ask. He stood and went to the bar, retrieving a glass bottle of mineral water. It immediately began to sweat in the heat, condensation rolling off it.

“You sound parched,” he mused. “Don’t get up.”

“I can’t drink laying down,” I rasped.

“I know you can’t.” He knelt beside the couch, and I reached for the bottle, but he drew it back, out of my reach. “Patience.”

Patience? I was thirsty and hot and miserably turned on, and now I was supposed to be patient? The man was a—

Sadist.

He pressed the cold glass to one of my taut nipples, and my body reacted like I’d been shocked with a cattle prod.

“You know you can tell me if you don’t like something,” he said casually, lifting the bottle and repeating the action on my other breast. “You don’t have to go along with anything you don’t like.”

“I wouldn’t go along with anything I don’t like, anyway.” My clit strained and throbbed for attention, but when I moved my hand, he pushed it away.

“I like to give orders,” he went on, dragging the bottle down my stomach. “I like to play games.”

“Lucky you,” I whispered, fully aware of the path the bottle was taking. “I like taking orders and being played with.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He parted my labia and pressed the neck of the gently sloped bottle against my clit. “Do you like to pretend to struggle? Do you like to beg someone to stop when you don’t mean it?”

“No.” That part always had made me a little nervous. It took a lot more trust than I had in me to make someone think I was in distress, and they should keep going.

“Then all you have to say is no. Or stop. And I’ll know that you mean it.” He rolled the bottle a little and I clamped my thighs together. Then he stood, went back to the chair, and said, “Fuck yourself with that.”

What?

“You’re thirsty. You want water. I’m telling you that you can have it… after you’ve fucked yourself with that bottle.”

I could say no. I could tell him I wasn’t into that. But he sat watching me, lazily stroking his big cock, clearly wondering what I would do in this scenario, how far I would go.

If it had felt like he was trying to test me, to see what he could get me to do for his own gratification, I would have balked at it. But it didn’t seem like that at all. The request came from a place of pure horniness and a desire to revel in it.

And that always made for the funnest kind of sex.

I picked up the bottle and examined it. I’d never heard of the brand, but the glass tapered into a teardrop with a cap atop the slender neck. I ran my thumb over the metal ridges; nothing was sharp, nothing would snag me. I made deliberate eye contact with him and popped my mouth over the top of the bottle, then released it and ran my tongue around it.

“We’ll get to that,” he promised with a grin.

I laughed and sat up, positioning myself against the back of the couch and my feet at the edge of the coffee table. I let my knees fall wide apart, so he could see everything. Then, I pressed the cap of the bottle against my opening and pushed it inside.

The glass was colder than I expected, and the perspiration eased its way. Not that I needed much help; the wetness of my pussy was audible as I withdrew the bottle again, sliding it in further, this time. The gradually sloping shape made it a somewhat ineffective sex toy, but that wasn’t the point. The naughtiness of it was the point, and my performance was rewarded with a hitch in the rise and fall of his chest as his hand sped up on his cock.

I fucked myself with the frustratingly thin neck of the bottle, my vision narrowing with desperate need as I watched his big fist rolling his foreskin back and forth. I thought I could imagine what he would feel like inside me. Probably as hard as the bottle but not cold. Hot, rigid, stretching me impossibly. I used the fingers of one hand to rub my clit in quick circles, moving my hips in time with the tempo set by his hand. My toes curled. My feet cramped. I didn’t realize I’d been vocalizing a series of high, breathy pants until he said, “I hope you’re not about to come.”

The interruption knocked my impending orgasm back. I blinked at him, disbelieving. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I told you not to,” he said, cheerfully teasing me. He rose and came to sit beside me on the couch, reaching over my thigh to retrieve the bottle that was still inside me. He lifted it up and my cheeks burned with uncharacteristic embarrassment at the sight of the milky-white fluid streaking the glass. Somehow, that’s what made it seem like I’d gone too far. Like I’d revealed too much of myself, too fast.

He held my gaze as he swiped his tongue across the glass, his mouth bent in a wicked smile. Then he unscrewed the top of the bottle and handed it to me. “You were thirsty, right?”

I brought the bottle to my lips and drank deeply, grateful for the water and for the moment to think.

I may have gotten in over my head with Matthew Ashe. And I was going to go so much deeper.