All That He Desires (The Billionaire's Seduction Part 2)

by Thorne, Olivia

  “Yes,” I said in a quavering voice, when the truth was actually No. I wasn’t sure at all.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think you do.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “The truth?”

  When he said that, it was confirmation I should have never asked. I most definitely wasn’t going to like the answer.

  Still, I’m stupid that way.

  “Yes.”

  His face relaxed into something like resignation, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  I frowned. “You don’t know?!”

  “No.”

  “Well – give me an estimate, then.”

  “It’s over fifty for sure. Probably closer to a hundred.”

  I felt like I was going to be sick. My stomach twisted and churned with nausea.

  I was just one more in a long line of conquests.

  This was nothing special… I was just bimbo #97 to him.

  How stupid was I, exactly? Handsome, rich, smart, funny, charming… he’d probably had women throwing themselves at him his entire life. Hell, I’d slept with him right away, and I never, never, never did that, not ever. And I was thinking this was going to be a fairytale?

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID –

  His voice broke into my interior monologue of abuse and self-loathing.

  “I told you you didn’t want to know,” he said as he leaned the side of his face on one balled-up fist.

  He was right.

  I didn’t answer.

  My internal struggle was obviously playing out on my face, so he just kept talking.

  “I get to pick the piece of clothing, right?” he asked, reaching up for his top button. He could tell I wasn’t happy – in fact, that I was miserable – and was basically going through the charade to keep the situation from becoming any more uncomfortable than it already was. “I think I’ll – ”

  “How many in the last six months?” I blurted out, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  He tensed slightly. In fact, he looked more uncomfortable now than before. “That’s two questions. You said one question, one piece of – ”

  “I changed my mind,” I answered, straining to keep my emotions in check. “I want to ask another question.”

  “Because the first one was so pleasant for everyone involved.”

  I ignored him. “How many in the last six months?”

  He sighed. “Including tonight?”

  Now I was getting angry. “Yes, including tonight.”

  He stared into my eyes, no hint of a smile on his face.

  “One.”

  12

  I didn’t understand at first. The math didn’t register.

  But he slept with ME tonight – that’s one – but I asked about the last six months – and he still said one –

  “I’m the first woman you’ve slept with in six months?!” I cried out.

  Suddenly my heart lifted.

  I guess I should have kept in mind that I was still #97 or whatever, but the fact that I was number one in the last six months was something.

  It let me think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t an average Friday night for him.

  And it quieted the little voices in my head calling me stupid and idiotic.

  “That’s three questions,” he smiled.

  I think he was smiling because he knew it was back on. He’d snatched victory out of the jaws of defeat with his answer, and he knew it.

  But why had he looked so tense before he told me?

  I hemmed and hawed. “Technically, I’m… I’m just asking you to clarify your last answer, that’s all.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Then… yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, you’re the first woman I’ve slept with in six months,” he snapped, getting slightly annoyed.

  “You’re telling me the truth?”

  “Yes!”

  Maybe he thought he was betraying some sort of weakness, that he was admitting he wasn’t the Mythological Stud he wanted others to see him as.

  I felt nothing but relief… until another, less appealing possibility came to mind.

  “You didn’t turn gay the last six months, did you?” I asked, suddenly afraid.

  He tipped back his head and roared with laughter.

  Then he brought his eyes back down to look at me.

  “That’s four questions!” he complained. “I am NOT answering any more questions if you win the next hand!”

  “Just answer it!”

  “NO, I’m not gay! Why would you ask that? Do I seem gay to you?”

  “No… but technically you said you hadn’t slept with any other women the last six months… but you could have slept with guys and still be telling the truth…”

  He shook his head like an annoyed schoolmaster. “I haven’t slept with anyone else but you for the last six months, and I have never slept with any men. There – is that clear enough for you? Do you feel better now?”

  Actually, I did.

  In fact, I was pretty freaking happy.

  I guess it was silly – it didn’t change his final number – but I didn’t care. I didn’t feel like a fool anymore.

  There was the possibility that this still meant something to him.

  That it had been special, and not just some tawdry conquest he would forget tomorrow morning.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to suppress a smile.

  He looked at me from underneath his scowling eyebrows, then shook his head again. “You owe me two questions.”

  “One. I owe you one.”

  “Whatever. Doesn’t matter, you’re not going to win again,” he said as he began to shuffle the cards.

  13

  The next hand I had a pair of sixes. I thought about staying in… but couldn’t bear to lose both my bra and panties. Not at once.

  So I folded.

  I tried to stay cool and calm, but I was dreading what was going to come next.

  And, strangely enough, I was incredibly turned on by it, too.

  I’d never experienced such a weird mix of emotions.

  Terribly insecure, but badly wanting him to make me undress.

  Afraid of what he would think of me if it was ‘all just hangin’ out’… and desperately wanting him to see me and want me more.

  I guess I should have taken encouragement from the way his mouth was open when I took off the skirt, but I have a short memory when it comes to self-confidence. Plus, there’s a big difference between half-naked and totally naked. My bra kept things nicely in place. I wasn’t sure how he would like the total package once I was on display for five minutes.

  I began to wonder if I could play with one arm wrapped around my boobs. After all, he never mentioned anything about not being able to cover up…

  But, once again, he threw me for a loop.

  14

  “Crawl to me,” he ordered, his voice sexy as hell and tinged with smoke.

  My eyes grew wide. “What?”

  “Get on the floor and crawl towards me.”

  “Uhhh… I don’t… do a lot of crawling…”

  “Quit making excuses and get on the floor.”

  My heart beating wildly, I slipped out of my chair and slowly got down on my knees. At least the carpet was super plush; it was more like kneeling on a bed than on a floor.

  I felt like a fool. I felt stupid. I felt like I didn’t know a damn thing.

  “On all fours,” he growled.

  I lowered down like he said – and, immediately self-conscious, sucked in my gut. I did not feel sexy.

  I just knelt there for a second, biting my lower lip, wondering how I should do this…

  “Don’t do that,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “What?” I asked, absolutely confused. Was I doing it wrong already?!

  “Bite your lip like that,” he said, his voice… God, I don’t know how to describe it. Like he was trying to contain a volcanic passion.

  I stared at hi
m. “Why not?”

  “Because it makes me want to come over there right now and fuck you.”

  Whoa.

  Normally I don’t like cursing. I don’t do it.

  Much.

  Being stuck in traffic is the only exception. (Don’t you judge me!)

  It was repeatedly rammed into my head growing up that the use of profanity is crude, unladylike, and a sure sign of lack of intelligence. Only those with the inability to express themselves resort to bad words, my mother must have told me a thousand times.

  But when he said that…

  It makes me want to come over there right now and fuck you.

  Oh my God.

  I was wet within one second.

  The way he said it… like he was just barely able to keep from coming over and ravaging me…

  “You’re doing it again!” he said, his voice both desperate and angry.

  And I realized that, in my confusion and being overwhelmed, that I was doing it again.

  I stopped, and watched his eyes.

  They dropped from my lips and came to settle about a foot lower.

  I looked down, and came face to face (or face to breast) with my boobs.

  Gravity was definitely at work, if you know what I mean. Thank God I still had my bra on. It helped shape and keep things in place so I looked fuller and bigger, and not just like I was dangling in the wind.

  I hoped.

  I looked back up at him and found he was still staring at them.

  Hm.

  “Connor,” I whispered.

  His eyes drifted back up to mine.

  This time, I intentionally bit my lip. Then I ran the tip of my tongue along my lips, wetting them slightly.

  He groaned softly.

  I started to move towards him, slowly, one hand forward on the carpet, then the other. When I reached him in the chair, I sat back with my legs folded underneath me.

  He was breathing heavier. His eyes kept dropping down to my bra, then coming back to my face.

  I wanted sooooo badly for him to touch me, I could barely stand it.

  But I was going to make him suffer even more first.

  I brought my shoulders back and slowly pushed my breasts out. One of my raunchier friends from college had always shouted that out whenever a group of us girls took a picture together – Shoulders back, boobs OUT!

  From the way his eyes got wide and dropped down to my bra, I could see she had been on to something.

  “Do I get to go back to my seat now?” I asked coquettishly.

  “No, you stay there,” he said, his voice cracking, as he shuffled the cards for the next hand.

  He never took his eyes off me.

  15

  He won again.

  I knelt there next to the chair, waiting.

  Okay, here it comes… this is where he unclasps my bra and we go at it again…

  I was, needless to say, quite ready.

  But he didn’t do it.

  Instead, he traced his finger slowly down my cheek. So softly it tickled, but made the fire between my legs rage all the hotter.

  “What do you want me to – ”

  “Shh,” he whispered.

  I stopped talking and just stared into his eyes as he looked deep into mine.

  His finger moved slowly to the side of my head, where he gently caressed my left ear.

  I don’t know about you, but I have several weak points. One of them is my ears – not the earlobes, but the outer edges. Kisses there have a way of making my knees buckle.

  Apparently, soft caresses have the same effect.

  I moaned and closed my eyes – not because I wanted to stop looking into his gorgeous blue eyes, but because I couldn’t stop myself. The shudders going through my body made me react, and my eyes closed as my head tilted back automatically.

  His finger slowly traced its way down the side of my neck.

  Another knee-buckler.

  My muscles trembled and my skin became gooseflesh. I moaned a little louder.

  His finger softly caressed the curve of my collarbone… then the other… then curved back around and lightly grazed the top swell of my breasts.

  The inside of my thighs were aching, I wanted him so badly.

  Then his finger moved up my throat, lightly over my chin, and touched my mouth, slowly, softly caressing my bottom lip.

  “Take me in your mouth,” he ordered, his voice husky with restrained desire.

  My stomach fluttered as my eyes popped open.

  He wants me to… to go down on him?

  I wasn’t ordinarily used to being ordered to do that on command, but… this wasn’t an ordinary Friday night for me by any stretch of the imagination.

  And the idea of having his gorgeous shaft between my lips again… well, I hoped it would quickly get detoured to another part of my body.

  My eyes looked over at his pants zipper.

  There was a huge bulge pressing against the material, at what I’m sure was a very uncomfortable angle for him.

  I raised my hand to his thigh –

  He caught my wrist in his other hand, the hand that had not been tracing along my body.

  “No,” he whispered. “Take my fingers in your mouth.”

  I frowned a little.

  He wants his fingers sucked, but not the… uh… other thing?

  He extended his middle finger to join the forefinger, then brushed my lips and slowly eased between them.

  I stared into his eyes as I let him penetrate me.

  “Show me what you’d do to me,” he ordered, his voice barely louder than his breathing.

  The slow-boiling urgency in his voice made me forget my confusion and hesitation.

  I began to suck.

  I wet his fingers first, slowly moving up the length of them. Then I moved backwards, running the tip of my tongue along the underside.

  I started to go faster, the way I might if I were trying to pleasure the, uh, ‘real deal.’

  “Slow,” he whispered.

  So I slowed down, moving at an incredibly sensual pace. I moved my hands up to the base of his fingers and began to caress the top of his hand and lightly tickle his palm with my fingernails.

  From the groans and pained expression on his face, I think he enjoyed it.

  Because his fingers were a lot (a LOT!) smaller than his shaft, I had way more margin for error and more room to work with. Less performance pressure, you might say.

  And I didn’t have to concentrate on doing the best job possible because, hey, there was no way in the world he was going to have an orgasm from this.

  And I didn’t have to worry about… um… being too good and having things end unexpectedly, if you know what I mean.

  For the first time ever, I paid attention to my own sensations: the velvet pressure on my tongue… him stroking sensuously inside me… the way he softly grazed the top of my mouth as I sucked on him…

  Strangely enough, by removing the most obvious sexual element from it, the act became as much about my pleasure as his.

  The entire time, we gazed into each other’s eyes. His were heavy and half-lidded most of the time, like he was hypnotized.

  It was incredibly sexy.

  And then I felt his fingers slide softly across my tongue, pause on my lower lip, and then slip away from my mouth.

  I felt real disappointment at having to stop.

  “Next round,” he whispered hoarsely.

  16

  He won again. Not surprising, because I could barely keep my mind on the cards, or my eyes off the front of his pants.

  Not only that, I didn’t fold – so I lost twice over.

  By now, I didn’t mind at all.

  He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his abs and chest. In the shadows cast by the candlelight, they looked like they could have been carved out of oak. I could also see the beginning of the curves of his lower abdomen, which led down to the part I so desperately wanted to see.

  My mouth watered.
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  “I thought I lost,” I said in a breathy voice.

  “You did,” he smiled, and took my hand. “Touch me here.”

  Again, I reached for the bulge in his pants.

  “Not there,” he said, and placed my hand on his abs. “Here.”

  I gave him a quizzical look and rubbed my palm over his skin.

  “No. The way you were touching my hand before, when my fingers were in your mouth. Tickle me. Tease me.”

  I gently traced my fingernails across his skin, brushing him ever so softly.

  His muscles jerked beneath my touch, contracting beneath the skin.

  I was so startled that I stopped for a second… and then I began to oh-so-lightly caress him again.

  He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and let his head hang off the back of his chair. A strangled moan escaped his clenched jaws.

  “You like that?” I asked, slightly amazed. The few guys from my past had never really been into soft touching – either getting or giving.

  “Yes,” he choked out, nodding as though he were in pain.

  A surge of power went through me.

  I could make him react like this?

  Just by touching him softly?

  Oh HELL yes.

  I withdrew my hand.

  He looked down at me in surprise. “I didn’t say to stop,” he said with a touch of annoyance.

  “I’m not going to,” I answered as I crawled around directly in front of him, pressed apart his knees, and centered myself directly between his legs.

  He was staring down at me half in shock, half like he was about to go crazy.

  I got very, very close to his manhood – my bra was basically grazing his fly (which made his eyes get big as saucers) – and braced my forearms on his thighs.

  And then I began to trace my fingernails very, very softly against the muscles of his belly.

  A strangled sound came out of his throat. He didn’t know what to do or where to look – at my breasts almost cupping the bulge in his pants, my teeth strategically biting my bottom lip again, or my fingers caressing the skin over his chiseled abs and gorgeous hip bones.

  I felt an incredible surge of power.