Billionaire Boss's Unexpected Child
“Yes.”
“Tell me. Yes, what?”
She blushes prettily and glances away, and I cup her chin and force her to look up at me. Her eyes are wide, and she licks her lips. I can’t help myself: I lean in and claim her lips again, and she whimpers as I kiss, lick, and nibble her full lower lip.
“Tell me, Samantha,” I repeat. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“I want that,” she whispers. I smile. I’m determined. She’s not going to play innocent with me forever.
“Want what? I want to hear you say it. You’ll say so much more before this is over. Tell me,” I say, and she responds immediately to the command in my voice.
“I want you to fuck me, Dante. Please,” she whispers.
Perfect. She is fucking perfect. My mouth crashes down onto hers again, and my only thought now is how many times I can make her come before I finally find the relief I’ve needed since that first moment at the Calla Club.
Chapter Six
Samantha
This is really happening.
Dante’s lips are on mine, hard, possessive, and all I can do is try to hold onto what feels like the last shred of sanity I have left. My heart is pounding, my stomach is twisting, and every cell in my body is screaming out for one thing: I need him to touch me.
As if he hears my silent plea, Dante cups my breasts in his big hands, and I let out a little cry at the sudden contact. He’s still kissing me, molding my breasts in his hands, and I can’t stop myself from th
rusting my chest forward, needing more of his touch.
And oh, he obliges. He rubs his thumbs over my aching nipples, again and again, and the sensation is sweet torture. I’m holding onto him for dear life, and he’s kissing me in a way I’ve never been kissed before, his tongue rhythmically sliding into my mouth in a way that mimics what he’s going to be doing to me soon.
And then he takes each nipple between his fingers and rolls them, pinching them, and the loud, needy cry that comes from me is like no sound I’ve ever made before. All I know is I want him to do that again, harder…and then he does, and I can’t help myself; I grind my aching pussy against his thigh, and he laughs in this low, dangerous way that sends shivers up my spine.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to ignore your sweet cunt,” he murmurs as he kisses, then nibbles and sucks, the side of my neck. He’s still pinching, pulling, rolling my nipples, and I’m holding onto his shoulders.
His lips move from the side of my neck to my shoulder, and then he’s placing warm, open-mouthed kisses over the roundness of one breast as he continues torturing the other with his fingers. When his lips close over my nipple, all I can do is release one long, helpless moan, and I feel him laugh against my aching, swollen flesh. He’s sucking and biting and pinching and pulling, and then he starts on my other breast.
“Dante,” I murmur.
“Mm. I like the way you say my name. Say it again.”
“Dante,” I say, and I feel like I’m begging and praying all at the same time.
His mouth releases my nipple with a little “pop,” and then he’s licking his way down my stomach until he’s kneeling in front of me. My hands are on his shoulders, still, then I’m gripping his hair as he starts nibbling on the curve of my hip.
“No, this won’t do. Very distracting with the way you’re tugging my hair, Samantha.”
“I— I’m sorry,” I manage. He rises and looks me over, and then he seems to come to a decision.
“Over here,” he says, leading me to one corner of the bed, the tall wooden post of the four-poster bed at my back. “Put your hands up and hold the post. Don’t let go.”
The tone in his voice leaves no room for argument, and I can’t think straight anyway, so I do it, raising my hands and gripping the smooth wood of the bed post.
“Fuck,” he growls, and the hungry look in his eyes has my stomach twisting. I can only imagine what I look like, my hair messed up and falling over my shoulders, my breasts thrust out at him from the way I’m standing gripping the bed post, wearing nothing but these ridiculous tiny red panties and the red spiky heels I wore to the gala.
“Spread your legs a little,” he growls, and I do. I’m blushing, nearly mortified at the wanton way I know I look, but I don’t even think of saying no. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Dante to touch me again.
“Good, Samantha,” he murmurs. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
And then he’s in front of me again, placing hot kisses over my stomach, my hips. I can feel him biting at the side of my panties, taking the flimsy fabric between his teeth, then nibbling his way along my hipbone. He’s on his knees, his face level with my pussy, which is throbbing, aching. I can feel the wetness between my thighs, and there’s only a second to be mortified at the thought that I bet he can see it soaking through my panties, when he places his mouth over my silk-clad mound. I give a startled, needy cry at the sensation, and I feel like I’m going to come right then and there. He’s licking my pussy through the silk of my panties, long strokes that have me thrusting my hips forward, needing more of him. He pushes his tongue hard right to my clit, and I scream, falling apart at the sensation, bucking my hips forward. He keeps licking me as I ride out my orgasm, and then I’m weak, aching, able to stand only because I’m holding on to the bed and because he’s forcing me to stay up, his face still pressed to my body.