07BarteredPainThe BillionairesWifeARE Read Online Free

already kissing me again,
obscuring whatever sweet, soft revelation I was about to uncover with the magic
of his touch, and I closed my eyes.
    His body moved against mine and
he broke away again, planting kisses against my throat, his hands smoothing
over my breasts, circling my ribcage, as if he could hold all of me in the
palms of his hands. My own fingers tangled in his rich, dark hair, and I
couldn't help but sigh as he lowered himself to the floor, kneeling before me.
    I was wearing a skirt again, a
heavy wool thing, and again I wore no panties. I was so thoroughly his that I
didn't even think about it now. I was so trained to want his touch that I
almost never wore jeans any more. The realization sent a tiny spark of
apprehension through me, but then Anton ran his fingertips lightly up the backs
of my thighs and I pushed it away, unwilling to examine it.
    Slowly, he lifted the hem of my
skirt and planted a warm, chaste kiss on my mound, letting the skirt fall over
his head as he moved his hands to my ass cheeks and began to massage them in an
insistent rhythm. The rhythm of sex, of thrusting. I moaned as his tongue
escaped his mouth and dipped into the delta of my thighs, hot and wet against
the nub of my clit. He took up a soft, relentless pattern, thrusting his tongue
over my clit where it hid, mashed between my closed legs, until my knees
weakened and I parted for him.
    Pressure on my hips had me
backing up into his desk, and he lifted me up until I sat on the edge. Parting
my thighs with the palms of his hands, he exposed me to the cool air, my
soaking pussy quivering with the sudden change in temperature.
    "Lean back,"
he instructed. I did so, placing my palms flat on the desk behind me as he
spread the lips of my pussy with one hand.
    I watched as he
studied my inner folds, almost clinically, but the darkening of his eyes told
me all I needed to know. If I reached one foot down, I would find an erection
as hard as a rock in his trousers.
    "You are
beautiful," he said then, breaking the tense anticipation of the moment.
Placing one long, lean finger on my clit, he traced small, slow circles around
it with the tip. Each stroke sent a shudder through my body, and I couldn't
resist. I was putty in his hands. Throwing my head back, I let him circle,
circle, circle me, commanding my pleasure with a single point of contact. I
sighed and moaned, spread out on his desk like a banquet, until his tiny,
sweet, merciless circles spiraled out, out along my limbs, curling in my belly,
and I came in small, short bursts.
    He stood, undoing his
trousers with a practiced motion, then reached up and helped me out of my
skirt, letting it fall to the floor as he inched my shirt up over my stomach
until it bunched beneath my breasts.
    “Lie back,” he said,
and I did. Defying him didn't even cross my mind now. All I wanted was
pleasure—his and mine. His hands circled my ankles and brought my legs up,
perpendicular to my torso, and pressed them together so my pussy was open and
exposed to him. Languid and content, I lay on the desk as he coated his cock in
my slippery juices, preparing myself for entry.
    But he didn't enter
me. Instead he slid his cock between my legs, letting it glide against my
sensitive clit, and began to fuck my thighs. His arms wrapped around my knees
like iron, and I gripped his desk as he pleasured himself with my body. The
soft head of his dick slipped against my clit over and over again, my world
narrowing to the point between my legs. His belt buckle slapped against my ass
with each thrust, and I writhed, aching for him to fill me. He was like
a drug. I was an addict.
    Then he stuttered in
his stroke and grunted, thrusting harder. Warm cum spurted from his cock in
quick, short bursts, spattering up my stomach, marking me as his. I wiggled,
needing completion, and without comment he reached down and plunged a finger
into my pussy, pumping me hard and fast as his cum cooled on my skin, his cock
still rigid and