His Needs
Billionaire Blind Date
Book Two
Jacinda Chance
Copyright © 2016 Jacinda Chance
All Rights Reserved
This book or any portion of it may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or people, living or dead, is a coincidence.
More from Jacinda Chance
Billionaire Blind Date Series:
His Greed
His Needs
His Passion
His Longing
His Desire
Coming Soon:
A Hard Man: A Billionaire Romance
Snared: A Bad Boy Romance
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When I relaxed and lay flat again, my fingers simply resting where they were and no longer teasing, Grant exhaled loudly. “Did you ever get yourself off so good before you met me?”
“Never,” I admitted.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smug half-smile as he stroked a hand up from my knee to my breasts, where he lightly pinched my nipple. “That’s because you, this body . . . it’s like you were designed just to belong to me.”
He sucked a breath in sharply through his nose, and his nostrils flared as he exhaled. “Like you were meant to be mine.”
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
One
Two - Sophie
Three
Four
Five - Grant
Six - Sophie
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven - Grant
One
Sophie was a natural, she was genuine. And I knew I had her under my spell from the moment I touched her at the restaurant. I was going to introduce her to things I truly enjoyed but didn’t waste on other women who lied and moaned and writhed only because they wanted my approval or my money.
I knew Sophie wouldn’t pretend.
I slid my finger over the smooth leather of my belt, could feel it wrapped around my palm, hear the snap, imagine her gasp, her soft cry. I shuddered, imagining the sweet, desperate sounds she’d make while begging me for more.
And then begging me to stop.
I buzzed at the door to her building, and she didn’t keep me waiting. She didn’t even ask if it was me, just let me in. I heard the lock click on her apartment door when I was still a few steps away. So I didn’t knock—I turned the knob and stepped in.
Sophie took a few slow steps backward, surprised, her cheeks flushed, looking pinker than ever against the white of the terrycloth robe she wore. It was closed, however, hiding the pendant I’d given her. The gold chain disappeared down into her cleavage.
I locked the door behind me and slid my suit jacket off. As I tossed it over the back of one of her living room chairs, she cleared her throat.
“Do you make a habit of demanding invitations and going into people’s homes without knocking?”
She tried to sound stern, but I knew better. This was all for show.
“Do you make a habit of buzzing people in without verifying it’s them, unlocking the door for them to enter, and then complaining when they do?”
The way her mouth dropped open was kind of adorable, but I wasn’t in the mood for adorable.
“Let me see your tits, Sophie. Open your robe.”
Her jaw muscles clenched. She was about to try to protest and gripe about me demanding such a thing, but I held my hand up to stop her and stepped forward until I stood in front of her.
“Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”
I lifted my hands slowly enough that she could have stopped me if she’d really wanted to. As I suspected, she didn’t. I pulled the tie of her robe and let the end drop. My hand slid inside to push the halves open. Then I let both hands slide up and push the edges far apart, revealing her round, gorgeous tits to me, the nipples dark pink with arousal. The pendant hung heavy and deep green against her chest.
“Oh,” I breathed, without meaning to. I stroked the fingers of each hand down one breast, letting them glide over the nipples. My cock tented in my pants, a little uncomfortable already.
“Fucking work of art,” I said, and then met her eyes with mine. “You, as an artist, must have appreciated this when you looked in the mirror?”
Her eyes held surprise, as if I knew some secret. “The necklace is gorgeous,” she said softly.
“It’s just a rock on a chain, Sophie. But put it on you . . . amazing.”
She blushed and looked down for a moment, shy again. Her hands pulled at the edges of her robe to close it, but I grabbed her wrists.
“No, don’t cover yourself.” I leaned close and let my lips brush hers. “After what I did to you in that bathroom, you ought to be showing yourself off to me at every opportunity.”
I gently pushed her hands down and away, and pushed the robe wide open again. The pendant wasn’t a red handprint or a welt, but I felt like she wore my mark. Like I’d claimed her body, almost more than when I’d fucked her in the men’s room.
That would have to do for at least a little while longer.
“Turn around,” I said, and licked my lips when she turned quickly and I pulled the robe out of the way to reveal her curvy, supple backside, set off by the dark, wavy hair hanging down her back and the bright white of the fabric. My god, that ass. I’d seen it, but I hadn’t focused on it the way I’d wanted to, until now.
Maybe it was for the best that she didn’t jump at the chance to show herself off to me. I could never let her know just how far she could go, just how much she could manipulate me with her perfect body, her lips and eyes and hands, if she wanted to.
I told myself she couldn’t, but with my cock pounding in my pants and my mouth watering for a taste of her, I couldn’t deny how she affected me.
“Has anyone ever reddened that perfect ass, Sophie?”
Two - Sophie
I was beside myself while I waited for Grant. First, I’d been disappointed that he hadn’t called, and when he did finally call I was so flustered when I saw the number I felt like a teenager being rung up by her first crush.
I could barely believe I’d taken a topless picture of myself and sent it—only remembering at the last moment to avoid getting my face in the shot. And then his demands. Invite me over.
I was tempted to stand firm and say no, until I realized I didn’t want to. I liked how taken he was with the way I looked. Damn it, I loved it. And there was the fact that he already knew my address, and didn’t sound like he’d take no for an answer. If I hadn’t invited him, I suspected he would have shown up anyway.
So I ended up standing in front of him, exposed and vulnerable, his hands on my body once again. Looking at what he wanted, getting what he wanted, and chiding me when I hesitated.
Why did this make me so wet?
Has anyone ever reddened that perfect ass, Sophie?
I turned back to him, my arms coming up to cover my breasts in shock. “What? Of course not.”
“You’ll love it. The sound of skin slapping skin, the way the blood rushes to the surface, enhancing the pain . . . and pleasure. The way it’s sensitive for a couple of days after, and every time you sit or you
r clothes rub against you, you’ll remember my hands on you . . . my belt . . .”
One corner of Grant’s mouth turned up, and he took my wrists in his hands to lower my arms again. “I don’t like that. Stop hiding yourself from me.”
“I—it’s uncomfortable, standing here like this.” Like it had been in the restaurant bathroom—at first.
“Is it? That why you’re wet and aching for me to touch you?” Grant slipped two fingers between my legs—not inside me, just to slide into the crease. I gasped and stepped back a little, but he stayed with me, his fingertips pressing against my tender places and sending heat right to the point of touch.
He held his fingers up to show me how slick they were.
I licked my lips and tried not to let my nervousness show, but I couldn’t help it. “Grant, I’m not used to this kind of . . . thing. Being treated this way.”
“What way?” He touched my bottom lip with the fingers shining with my juices and gently rubbed side to side. “Like a beautiful woman who was made for pleasure? Who was just made to be fucked?”
I gasped, and couldn’t help the way my tongue slipped out to lick my lip. As I tried to look down, he caught my chin so I couldn’t.
His eyes gone dark with lust, he asked, “How many times have you touched yourself since I fucked you, Sophie?”
Three
“I . . .” I shook my head, but couldn’t make myself deny it out loud. I didn’t want him to know that I had, but he seemed to see right through me.
“Every day?” he asked, stepping forward so that I would step back. “Just in the shower, or on waking up?”
“No, I—”
“I know you have,” Grant said, moving faster now, basically backing me into my bedroom. “You’ve thought about what I did to you, how I made you feel, and touched yourself in ways you probably never have before.”
That was true. I’d masturbated before, hadn’t everybody? But it lacked the thrill of doing it while thinking about how he made me come, or pretending the hand was his.
The backs of my knees came up against the side of my bed. For a moment, I wanted to step forward and push him back. It seemed like an invasion. A man I didn’t invite into my bedroom. That passed quickly and was replaced by a thrill at the idea that he’d just waltzed right in as if he’d been in there many times before.
And he had, in my imagination.
“Show me now.” Grant gripped my upper arms and pushed until I sat on the bed, and then he helped me lie on the bed, on top of the robe, until my head was on my pillow.
He pushed the robe open so that even though my arms were still in it and I lay on it, my entire front was exposed. His hands slid down my breasts, squeezing as they went, and then he let his fingers drag over the pendant that lay between them. They traveled down my stomach and stopped when his palm rested between my thighs, covering me.
“I want to see how you’ve touched yourself, Sophie. Let me see.”
He removed his hand and sat on the edge of the bed by my calves, and waited.
“Grant . . . I—can’t.”
He stroked a hand up my thigh. “Of course you can. Your pussy aches right now just thinking about it. “Spread your legs.” Grant pushed my legs apart, caressing my inner thighs as he did so, and then slipped his index finger just inside my crease to stroke over me. I gasped at the zip of pleasure that gave me.
“You’re so ready for it, baby. Put your hand near mine.” His fingertip tapped me again while he waited for me to slide my hand to my lower stomach, my fingers nearly reaching the ache that tightened as he teased me with little circular motions.
Then Grant took my hand and slid it down so that my fingers were in place. His grip on my wrist was almost tight enough to be painful. “Do it now.” His voice came out gruff, demanding—a tone that didn’t allow for refusal.
I let my middle finger slip into my folds and rub. That satisfied him enough that his grip on my wrist loosened, and he let go.
“Good girl,” he said. Grant leaned back on his hand and watched, focused on what my fingers were doing.
Part of me was horrified and embarrassed. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, putting on a show of fingering myself for Grant or any man. Another part of me threw herself into it, tapping and rubbing and even lightly pinching my clit, letting every bit of sensation build into what felt like would be an amazing orgasm. The fact that I felt self-conscious about letting go like that in front of him only made it hotter.
“Yeah,” he growled as my fingers moved faster. “I should make you stop now, Sophie, for being so reluctant to start, for telling me once again that you couldn’t do something. I should stop you and not let you come for hours, make you pay for trying to disobey, hmm?”
I didn’t know if he was going to or not, but the thought that he might made me more desperate to come. “No,” I whispered as my muscles began tightening into what I knew was the last ratcheting up of tension right before the pleasure would hit.
“There you go again, telling me no. We’re going to have to do something about that.” He shook his head, but sounded pleased. “But for now . . . show me how you make yourself come.”
He used his deep, demanding voice, and the moment he said come I arched my back, flicked my swollen flesh harder than before, and came with a shout. My muscles spasmed and clenched as the pleasure spread out from my core into the rest of me, my thighs trembling with the intensity of it. I rubbed little circles anew, sending a second and third wave of pleasure throughout my body.
When I relaxed and lay flat again, my fingers simply resting where they were and no longer teasing, Grant exhaled loudly. “Did you ever get yourself off so good before you met me?”
“Never,” I admitted.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smug half-smile as he stroked a hand up from my knee to my breasts, where he lightly pinched my nipple. “That’s because you, this body . . . it’s like you were designed just to belong to me.”
He sucked a breath in sharply through his nose, and his nostrils flared as he exhaled. “Like you were meant to be mine.”
Grant stood, and it was only then I realized just how far his pants bulged in front. He unzipped his fly and pulled himself out, the skin a dark pink with a darker head—I wondered if he ached with that need or if it felt different than that. He took my hand and pulled so that I’d sit up and then stand, the robe still on me and hanging open. Then Grant sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back on one hand while stroking himself.
“Let’s see if your mouth is as remarkable as the rest of you, Sophie. Suck my cock.”
I got onto my knees in front of him and leaned forward, licking my lips. I hadn’t really gotten to touch Grant, aside from him being inside me, and feeling the hard muscles of his stomach against my back. I reached for him to replace his hand with mine, but he shook his head.
“No hands. Just that mouth.”
He held himself up for me, so I pressed my lips against the shining head and slid them over and down until my lips met his fist. He groaned, so I swirled my tongue against the underside, licking as I sucked and slid back.
“That’s it, that’s good.” He let go and leaned back on both hands.
I glanced up to find his dark eyes narrowed as he watched me, and heat spread through me as our eyes locked. It was odd and awkward to do it without using my hands, I couldn’t take him all the way in or help things along by stroking, but I did the best I could, sucking harder and faster as his hips started to move.
His hand touched my head, his fingers sliding into my hair. He gripped it, not too tightly, but enough to push and pull so that I moved my head how he wanted.
“Mmm, your mouth was made to be mine, too,” he growled. I didn’t fight the grip in my hair, even when he leaned up and put both hands on my head, directing my movements and pushing me further down on his cock each time. I could feel him harden in my mouth, the skin tightening more, and braced for the hot tang of him to hit my tongue.
> But Grant pushed until he slipped from my mouth and stood, grabbing me up in the same movement, and before I could think about what he was doing, I was pushed face down on the bed. My feet were still on the floor, and my robe was still on my arms but pushed to the side so my bare bottom was in the air.
“And your ass was made for my handprint.”
I shouted in surprise as his hand smacked down.
Four
“Grant!” I put my hands flat on the bed to push up and get away, but a hand pressed firmly between my shoulder blades, pinning me down.
“Sophie,” he said calmly. “Trust me.”
“I don’t want—”
“You don’t know what you want, baby.” Another stinging smack. My skin felt hot and tingly where his hand had been.
“Stop!” I reached behind me, trying to find his hand or his wrist, or to block him from being able to smack me again. But the hand that pinned me down grabbed both of my wrists together and pushed them against my lower back.
“You’ve already said I can’t so many times . . . yet you always could. And you’ve loved it all. You’ll love this, too. Trust me.” He leaned down and whispered into my ear. “But go ahead and struggle if that’s your thing.”
With one hand he held my wrists in place so that I could barely move them together side to side. I tried for leverage with my feet, but he was too strong. Another blow that stung more than the last. None had been unbearably painful. It was all more embarrassing than anything.
After the fourth or fifth smack, with me still trying to pull or push away, his hand came down half on my ass and half on the tops of my thighs. Something about that spot added a depth to it. It stung like hell, but the idea that his hand was so close to my core . . . that I was so exposed to him while he did this and I couldn’t get away . . .
Another stinging smack, this time hard enough that tears prickled behind my eyes. “Ah!” burst out of me, and Grant groaned.
His Needs (Billionaire Blind Date Book 2) Page 1
