The Billionaire's Baby Negotiation

It was hot, deep and dirty. A pantomime of what he would do to other parts of her body, that hot tongue thrusting deep, creating havoc in her core.

Still poised on the edge of the couch, he kept her head tilted up as he stood, and then he moved forward, fisting his large erection, and guiding it toward her lips.

She parted them eagerly. Greedily, and took the shiny head of him inside. And then he canted his hips forward, pushing himself deeper into her mouth.

She sucked him greedily, wrapping her fingers around the base of his shaft and squeezing tight as she took in as much of him as she could.

This was her fantasy. From the submissive position, making this man weak with desire.

She had thought of it so many times. And while it felt new, while it felt like a first time, it also felt as if she had some idea of what to do.

She had read about the act, described explicitly, and her own mind had run wild with scenarios where she might end up in a position to do this to him. In a limousine. Shared on the way to a conference, for some reason. Beneath the boardroom table. After a tense negotiation. Yes. Her mind had well and truly been over this territory before. She was lost in it. In the rhythm. In the dark magic of it all.

And then suddenly he drew away from her. “Enough. It’s my turn.”

And he knelt down, lifting her up by the waist and sitting her atop the arm of the couch. He guided her to use her arm to brace herself on the back of it, and to use the other hand to grip the edge. Then he roughly parted her legs, one propped up on the couch, the other on the floor. And he wrapped his hands around, cupping her ass as he leaned forward and began to eat her.

It was not tentative. He devoured her like a beast, sucking her clitoris into his mouth, before pushing two fingers inside of her to create a hypnotic rhythm, lips and tongue working in tandem with his magic hands.

She writhed against his mouth, his beard rough on her inner thighs. His tongue hot and obscene.

“Gunnar,” she moaned, fisting his hair and rocking her hips in time with his thrusts.

“You can come now,” he said, sliding the flat of his tongue over that sensitized bundle of nerves, and making her world shatter behind her eyelids.

She couldn’t stop. Wave after wave of desire crashing over her. And when she was done, holding that same position, he shifted and pressed his arousal between her legs, teasing her as he rubbed the glossy head over where she needed him most.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Please.”

“What?”

“Take me, you monster,” she said, the words coming out random.

“Oh. That’s what you want from me, little Olive? You want me to take you and make this all go away?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

And then, he was right there, sinking into her, filling her. It was tight, but it was glorious.

And she let her head fall back. Her keening cry so loud it should’ve embarrassed her. But she couldn’t be embarrassed. All she could do was feel.

“It will never go away,” he whispered against her mouth. “You will want me. Always. You will never be free of this.” He began to rock his hips forward, going deeper, deeper still. And his thrusts became hard, erratic, and she thought she was going to die from the wave of pleasure that threatened to capsize her.

Then he lifted her up off the couch, still buried deep inside of her, and walked them both out of the room. He separated from her a moment, to lay her down on the bed, where she knew she was open and glistening and obvious to him, and she didn’t even care.

Then he was on her, over her, thrusting hard back inside of her and making them both cry out with the glory of it.

“You’ll think about me,” she whispered. “You’ll think about me forever. I promise you.”

“Then give me everything now,” he said.

And she found herself breaking apart again, shivering and shaking, this climax deeper, different than the first. And then, he snapped. He growled, fierce and like the Viking raider she knew he was in his soul, as he spilled himself deep inside of her.

It was done.

She had done it. It should be a thick, permanent line drawn beneath them.

Why then, did she shiver? Why was she trembling from the inside out? Why did she feel like weeping?