Billionaires in Vegas

I want my husband.

“Remember. Don’t look away.” Fingers are beneath my clothes now, pushing into my folds and coming so close to my entrance that I’m starting to squirm. “I want to see the exact moment when you come. If you don’t look away, you will come.”

Oh, shit. Ian plays the best games in the bedroom.

If I’m not looking away, then neither is he. I really am traveling elsewhere now. Deep into his eyes, which swirl in both lust and love the longer this plays out. He loves me. He wants me. He loves to want me. What other man will look at me this way?

The best part? How comfortable I feel with him. I don’t care how I look. I don’t care what kind of sounds come out of my throat, my mouth, anywhere else on my body. Because he doesn’t care. He thinks it’s all gorgeous, cute, whatever. It turns him on when I make a mousey noise that indicates I’m so ready for him to fuck me that we could do it right here and now. I’m making that noise as I speak. I can’t help it when his finger buries itself between my folds and he strokes my clit in the most dreamy, languid way.

My legs pull up and spread. My pants press against my skin at this angle, but that only intensifies how I feel. Ian’s hand pressed against my mound. His fingers exploring my depths as his mouth purses around my nipple. Eyes never leaving mine. We are making a connection that even we rarely have. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul? Well, he’s seeing every inch of my soul right now. He may say he doesn’t want a piece of it, but he’s getting it, whether he likes it or not.

“Shit,” I murmur, my eyes threatening to shut.

Ian immediately stops stroking me. “Don’t close your eyes.”

My arms pull against the handcuffs. “I won’t.”

“Good. Are you going to come for me?”

He resumes his movements, every slide of his fingers easier than the last. I know I’m ready. Every inch of my body wants to give in to orgasm. Fuck, I’m easy, especially when it’s him stimulating me. All he has to do is touch my clit and look at me like he’s going to eat me alive, and boom, I’m gone. Or at least damn close to it.

“Faster.” My whisper is lost on the air. “Please.”

“You want me to go faster?” Instead of getting what I want, Ian halts, his fingers inside me to the second knuckle. I’d be embarrassed at how easily he achieves this, but what do I have to be ashamed of? “Do you think you can handle that and still look me in the eye?”

“Yes!”

He braces himself on his other arm, so high above me that I struggle to find those hazel eyes again. When I do, he thrusts his fingers in deep, and I’m squirming like this is my first time experiencing such a thing. And by squirming, I mean wiggling around as the metal handcuffs clank against the headboard.

“You’re the prettiest picture,” Ian says. “I love seeing you come undone like this for me... in your power suit, of all things.”

Do you know how difficult it is to maintain eye contact right now? It’s really fucking hard. I want so badly to close my eyes and stop thinking about anything. I want to slip away and embrace the hot white light ready to claim me. But heaven forbid anything be that simple around here. I’ve gotta keep my eyes open and focused on the man bringing me pleasure, because otherwise he’ll take it away from me. The sneaky bastard.

“Fuck me,” I mutter, because I have to do something. My hips buck forward, then back, then forward again, daring him to go deeper. “Holy...”

You ladies must know how ridiculous it is to try to keep your eyes open while you climax. Yet when the man of your dreams says he wants to see the exact moment it happens in your eyes? You do it. You buck up and make your body obey. Obey him. Why would you want to disappoint him? Why would you want to ruin a perfectly good moment?

So while my body is awash in pure pleasure, I stare into his eyes, my mouth agape and my body rolling over and over again. He lets me ride it out on his fingers, but his demeanor remains unchanged. While he doesn’t look impressed, I know he is. He wants to fuck me. He’s playing cool, because he wants me to think I married a cool guy.

Honestly, he could have the goofiest grin in the world on his face right now, and I would still think he’s pretty cool.

“How about you give me these fingers back, love?” He acts like it’s near impossible to pull his fingers out. In truth, I don’t want him to. I want to feel his body in mine, becoming one with me, in any fashion. Instead I get his wet fingers on my chest, rubbing my own arousal into my skin which he quickly traces with his tongue. I just came, and yet here I am, ready to go again. Anytime now. It’s all good.