The Billionaire's Toy

I say it like it’s a joke, and yet I know I have way too much riding on his answer. He doesn’t brush it off, and doesn’t laugh. He meets my eyes, that fiery heat rising through me as he stares. “Yet.”

The music changes again, faster and more urgent. I dare to ask the question, “Would you like to do something?”

Andrew spins me so my back is pressed against his chest, his arms holding me against him while we dance, hips and bodies in time with the music, and now his lips are at my ear. “You have no idea the kind of things I want to do.”

He slips his hand in the side of my dress, and I gasp. Blood rushes to my face as his hand strokes across my stomach, lifts to cup my breasts. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night. You were absolutely everything, and it took everything in me not to fuck you right there in the middle of that gallery.”

“I would have let you,” I moan.

His chuckle makes me shiver. “I know. That’s why I had to leave. I couldn’t do it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I were near you.”

His hand drops, teasing a little bit lower. “What changed?” I manage to ask. I can’t even think while his hands are on me.

“I’m tired of fighting it.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out as a moan. “Thank god.”

Andrew’s voice drops even lower. “I saw you that night. I saw how everything turned you on. You were in the middle of a room crowded with people and you didn’t care. You like to be watched.”

Heat rises to my cheeks and I shake my head. “No, not by everyone. Just you.”

“Is that so? Because I think you love it. I think that the idea of being caught with my hand inside your dress excites you.”

My eyes flutter closed, and I try to protest, but I can’t because he’s right. The idea that someone—anyone—in this crowd of dancers can see what he’s doing to me turns me on. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?” he whispers, not waiting for an answer he already knows. “You would have let me take you in the middle of that gallery. And now?”

I arch my back against him, “Please.” It comes out like a prayer, begging him to just give me this, even if there’s nothing else. I need to know what it feels like to have him touch me.

His hand slides further down my stomach, and I shudder. His hand is getting closer to where I want it, to where I need it. Andrew needs it too. I can feel how hard he is behind me, his hips pressing against my ass while we dance.

“You think I didn’t think about this when I gave you this dress to wear?” he asks, voice in my ear. “Because I did.” His hand slips lower, fingers dipping between my legs, teasing and searching. I thought about what it might be like to touch you, to feel that fire.” A finger slips inside me, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against his shoulder like I’m enjoying the dance. But god it’s so much more than that. His finger is deep inside me. Andrew strokes his thumb across my clit. His whole hand moves, pressing against me and into me again and again, and I’m so wet that it’s dripping down my legs. How many nights have I thought about this? How many times have I done exactly what his hand is doing and wishing it were him?

“I’ve never done anything like this,” I breathe.

“What?” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Danced?”

“Yes I’ve danced…” He moves his hand and my words run dry. Pleasure ripples through my body, and I can’t even take a breath. “I’ve never…”

He smiles against my skin, “Come in the middle of a crowded room.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

Andrew laughs, dark and sensual, “Oh, yes you are. And you’re going to fucking love it.” He slips a second finger inside me, and my knees buckle. The only thing keeping me standing is his arm around my waist and his fingers in my pussy. I’m not even dancing now, just standing pressed against Andrew, and no one has noticed. But they could. This dress is to thin not to see that his hand is inside it. Not to see the way his arm is moving, fucking me, grinding his palm against my clit.

It’s everything I wanted it to be. More. Pleasure coils in my gut, and spills over into my veins. I’m so close, I can feel it, and Andrew doesn’t slow down. He pumps his fingers into me, curling them deeper, hitting my G-spot so I’m panting with every movement. “Oh god,” I say, and I think I might scream with the mounting pleasure. If I scream everyone will know what’s happening and I’m not sure if I want to hide or if I want everyone to see and oh god this feels so good I can’t hold on.

Andrew growls in my ear. “Come. I want to feel you come on my hand. I want it dripping down your legs in the middle of all these people.”

His words send me over the edge and my body goes rigid with the orgasm. Fiery pleasure rips its way through me, and I bite my cheek to keep my voice inside. He keeps fucking me, letting my orgasm pour over his hand and down my legs and onto the floor. My body is covered in tiny spasms and aftershocks, each one caused by the way he keeps teasing my pussy. A stroke, a brush across my clit.

I try to gain control of my breathing. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve done something now.”

He chuckles, his tone low and full of promise. “Want to do some more?”

9

We crash into the small room off the club together, and before the door is even closed, Andrew’s mouth is on mine. I can feel him everywhere, his kiss running through my entire body, and even though he just gave me the best orgasm of my entire life, I want more.

“It’s my turn,” he says. “I’ve never done this before.”

It’s too easy. I smirk up at him, “What, sex?”

He laughs, loud in the small closet we’ve shoved ourselves into. “No, you were right before. I’ve never crossed this line with anyone that’s worked with me. I’ve never wanted to. But now…”

“Are you saying that I’m special?”

He presses me against the wall, his body on mine, and kisses me hard. I feel all that hunger pour into me in this kiss. “You’re more than special. You’re everything.”

This time I’m the one kissing him. I’m pulling at his suit because I want it off. I want him closer to me. I want all of him the way I’ve wanted him since that very first day. My hands find his belt, and I manage to get it undone while we’re still kissing. I reach inside his pants and feel him, hot and hard and long, and he groans into my mouth. “I want to see you,” I say. “All of you.”

“You will,” he promises as he rolls on a condom. “Later.”

He grabs the skirt of my dress and hikes it up around my waist, and then he’s lifting me and sliding in and oh god he’s so big and it feels so perfect. The rough cement of the club wall digs into my back as he starts to move inside me, strokes fast and desperate. He wants me just as I much as I want him, and even though I want more of him, I need this. This release of everything that’s built up between us for the last month. Long looks and pretending to come and my endless nights with my vibrator.

The vibrator will never compare to the real thing.

I wrap my legs around his waist as he fucks me breathless. I can’t speak, I can’t moan, only feel. The way he’s stretching me open as he presses deeper into me, his face buried in my neck. He’s never slept with one of his models before. I’m the first. The only one he’s wanted like this.

The thought runs through me to the core, and the realization rockets through me, spiking my arousal even higher. He’s risking his reputation to be with me, and he doesn’t care.

Andrew’s hands dig into my ass, pulling me against him as he thrusts, and his cock hits that spot deep inside me that sends off sparks and makes me see rainbows. He doesn’t stop, pounding steadily into me, and I come again. This time I do cry out. I say his name and yes and please more, and he gives it to me, fucking me into the wall as he comes too.

Neither of us moves, frozen in the moment with each other, simply breathing. “I don’t want to move,” I say.

&n

bsp; “I do and I don’t,” he says, giving me a smile. “I want to stay buried inside you forever, and I want to take you home and memorize your body with my mouth.”

My breath goes short and my fingers tighten on his shoulders. “I changed my mind,” I say. “Let’s do that.”

He chuckles. “Your friend won’t worry?”

“Are you kidding?” I roll my eyes. “She’ll throw us a fucking parade.”

He laughs, taking my hand and pulling me toward the back entrance.

Andrew’s apartment is predictably gorgeous. A downtown apartment overlooking the High Line with clean lines and a truly impressive number of windows. I can’t imagine how much it would cost to live here, but I’m going to enjoy it.

“Welcome,” Andrew says, ushering me inside. “Make yourself at home.”

Now that we’ve gotten the frenzy out of the way, there’s an ease between us. We’re going to fuck again, and I will make him keep that promise about his mouth, but there’s no rush now. We both know that we’ll get there.

He takes his jacket off and hangs it up, and steps into the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks.

“Just water, thanks.” I peek my head into rooms, the apartment is spacious, and I have the urge to continue exploring until I poke my head into what is clearly his workspace. The entire room is covered in piles of fabric, swatches pinned to giant fabric boards on the walls. There are a couple of mannequins with finished designs and piles of sketches. It’s a huge contrast to what I’ve seen in his studio and the rest of the apartment. The creative frenzy and mess doesn’t even seem like him, yet here it is.