The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

My body forgot how to work. I didn’t blink or breathe as he fisted himself and stroked down his length.

Holy mother of God, he was huge.

His enormous ego had to be at least partially backed up by big dick energy.

“Breathe,” he reminded.

I filled my lungs with air as I took in the erotic scene playing out in front of me. His gaze meandered over my naked body, drinking me in as his hand pumped leisurely along, pleasuring himself.

He used a finger from his free hand to point at me, and that demanding finger turned upside-down and curled back toward him. Once, then twice. He was beckoning me to come closer, and I had no choice in the matter. An unseen force propelled me forward.

“Stop.”

His sharp word could make the world stop turning, I was sure of it. I froze, one knee buried in the couch beside him, on my way to straddling his lap.

He peered up at me with his trademark disapproval. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I blinked, stunned. “I thought we were going to—”

“No, you are mistaken,” he said. “You haven’t earned the full privilege of my cock.” He set his cold hand on my hip and pushed me back. “On your knees. Your mouth will be adequate.”

“Adequate?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes.” He was indifferent to my shock, and his fingers dug in as he guided me down onto my knees in front of him. “I will show you how I like it.”

And then I was kneeling between his spread legs, my hand on one of his knees. Was he fucking serious? I used the most condescending tone I possessed. “I already know how to give a fucking blowjob.”

Macalister scooped a hand behind my head, his fingers twisting into the strands of hair at the nape of my neck. “Excellent.” He jerked me forward, thrusting my face into his crotch. “Then, demonstrate.”

I wished I didn’t like his bossy way, but—oh, how I did. His forceful tone, his arrogant demeanor, his critical eyes . . . it all worked for me. I’d spent a lifetime getting attention from everyone but the people I desperately wanted it from.

He was the first to reciprocate.

So, while I loved Macalister’s disapproving looks, I hungered to please him. I wanted him to find satisfaction, to be as consumed with me as I was becoming with him.

He made a tight noise of pleasure when I latched a hand around the base of him and prepared to take him inside my mouth. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t hide how badly he wanted this. His pupils were large and dark, and his chest rose and fell with his stilted breath.

I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and slid down on him.

The legs I was nestled between tensed, and he exhaled loudly, his gasp punching the silence. His hand was still on the back of my head, but there wasn’t any pressure or guidance there. His other reached out and grasped the corded edge of the couch cushion beside us.

Macalister’s cock was thick and hard, and when I closed my lips around him and sucked, he pulsed against my tongue. The sensation was vocalized in a pleasure-filled sigh, and warmth flooded down my limbs.

Would he moan?

Oh, my God, could I make him curse?

The idea thrilled me. I swirled my tongue around the fat head of him and was rewarded with a louder, deeper sigh. Heat buzzed through my body. Every reaction I caused in him gave me one in return.

It wasn’t all that comfortable kneeling on the hard floor with bare knees, and although his suit pants were undone, the tails of his dress shirt kept getting in my way. It was Macalister’s first blowjob in years, and I wanted to rock his world, so I backed off and fisted the top of his pants.

Our gazes met, and he understood what I wanted. He lifted, helping me pull his pants and underwear down over his hips, and then he sat forward on the edge of the couch, pushing his clothes down to his ankles. I was going to resume what I’d been doing, but he seized my face in his hands and crushed his lips to mine.

He’d said my mouth would be adequate, and it was clear he meant to use it in every way.

His kiss obliterated.

It could level buildings and decimate cities and win wars. I gasped into his hot mouth. When his tongue stroked against mine, I felt it between my legs. And as our kiss deepened, his hands moved, slipping down my neck and over my shoulders. His fingers flowed down my arms then inched their way onto my back.

I’d thought his kiss last night was the best of my life, but he topped it easily with this one. I was naked, held in his suit-clad arms while his lips were fused to mine, and his hands skated up and down my back. He trailed the hollow of my spine with the sides of his thumbs, and the way he touched me . . . it was reverence.