Page 14 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

And with that, my cock is bursting to break free.

Nothing but soft, fair skin, perfectly symmetrical breasts, wine-pink nipples that are already hard enough to cut glass, and that small birthmark next to her navel in the shape of a heart.

And what might be the most perfect pussy I’ve ever seen.

Before I can decide what I want to do first, she licks her lips and signals at the tent in my pants.

The way she looked at me when she first saw me was flattering. The way she is looking at me now is something else entirely.

I reach for my belt.

Her eyes follow my hands as I undo it and let my slacks fall to the bathroom floor in a slick whoosh. I step out of them, hook my thumbs into my boxer briefs and push those down too, just to below my hips.

Just enough to free my solid, hard cock from its confinement.

“Do you want it?” I ask as I take hold of it in my hand.

“Yes,” she whispers. “God, yes.”

And I give her more. A demonstration, or teaser if you like, of wrapping my hand around it, my fingers not touching, and slowly sliding up the entire length.

“Oh.”

I smirk. “Problem?”

“No.” Her eyes flick up to mine. “Definitely not.”

There it is. A response sexy enough, needy enough, to make my lips smirk and my hard-on throb.

I step out of my boxer briefs and kiss her again, walking her backward into the shower until the water catches us both. She lets out a surprised laugh against my mouth as it runs over her hair and shoulders, and I swear that laugh might be as sexy as every moan she has made so far.

If I let my cock have its own way, I'd be inside her and pumping in two seconds flat.

But I want to enjoy her, savor every kiss, every moan, every scream.

I move my hands over her. Her waist. Her hips. Her ass. Every soft curve she was standing in front of that mirror criticizing before she knew I was there.

When my hand moves over her stomach, she pulls it in.

I sense it immediately and glance down at the exact place she is trying to make smaller.

She, like every woman who has nothing to be ashamed of, doesn’t like her body. Because some young, dense idiot of a boy claiming to be a man made her feel less than. It’s bullshit.

So with my eyes on hers, I put my hands on her hips and lower my mouth to the softness of her stomach, leaving no part out. I kiss from one side to the other, around her navel, then press my mouth to the little heart-shaped birthmark.

Something shifts in her eyes and she studies me, but she doesn’t pull away.

Good.

I move lower.

By the time I drop to my knees, her legs are open, inviting me to come closer. Begging even.

I kiss the insides of her knees, making my way north. All the while, I look up at her every couple of seconds, making sure the light is still green. The dark magic in her eyes, her parted lips, and the small pants emitting through those lips tell me not to stop.

As I get closer and closer to the spot I really want to have my mouth on, the spot I am aching to taste, I hook one arm around her thigh and pull it over my shoulder.

I haven’t even touched her yet. Only the heat of my hot groan has grazed her. But it’s enough for her thighs to part more. For her to hold her breath in anticipation.