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“I’m about to make you come, my little sun.” He presses his fingers over my clit and I gulp loudly. “Right here, right now.”
“And if I don’t let you?”
His laugh is low and sultry. “Care to find out?”
Fuck. Why is it so hot when he gives me orders?
“What’s in it for you?”
“I get to watch.”
My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head as my core squeezes tightly at his words.
Byzantine notices my reaction and takes advantage, carefully slipping his hand into the front of my leggings. His eyebrows rise, pupils dilating when he realizes I’m not wearing any underwear. He licks his lips. The sight of him like this, so damn salacious, I forget how to breathe.
Brain scrambled, I settle back under the blanket, trying not to move or give any tells about what Byzantine is currently doing to me. My head falls onto the pillow and I sigh deeply. His fingers gently graze the sensitive skin, his fingers wet with my arousal when he brings them back up to my clit, massaging it in small quick circles.
Byzantine leans over. “This is what’s about to happen.” His breath is hot against my ear sending shivers down my arms. “Feel these two fingers stroking your clit? I’m about to slide them into your tight little cunt.”
My heart pounds, desire roars inside of me as he continues to play with my hard bud with perfect precision. “Now, you’re going to close your eyes like you’re taking a sweet little nap and then take your own hand and replace mine with yours. So while I fuck you with my fingers, you’ll play with yourself and you won’t stop until you come all over my hand. Got it?”
I stifle a whimper and give him a small nod. He leans even closer, his hot tongue running across my pulse point before leaning back in his seat, one hand between my thighs and his cellphone in the other.
My breath stutters as I close my eyes and pretend to nap. As if I fucking could.Meanwhile, my hand finds my way to his as Byzantine’s fingers slowly slide inside of me, my pussy eagerly clenching around him.
His arm is at an angle that doesn’t give Byzantine much mobility but it’s just enough for his fingers to pulse in and out at a mind-meltingly slow pace and it’s taking everything in me not to jerk forward and push his fingers deeper inside of me. I’m so turned on, I know this won’t take long.
I keep my eyes closed as I strum my clit faster and faster, desperately trying to move as little as possible under the blanket. With my eyes squeezed shut, every other sense is heightened. My entire focus is zeroed in on his fingers pumping in and out of me.
Byzantine then slips his middle finger out and replaces it with another as he slowly strokes up my ass, gently pressing at the entrance there, stimulating but never entering. This sends a slew of new sensations barrelling through my body as I’m finally pushed over the edge.
I breathe out a small moan as my eyes fly open and find Byzantine watching me with such heat that my back arches off the seat, biting my bottom lip hard, my eyes wide.
I try to catch my breath while I fall back into the seat. Slowly, he pulls his hand out of my leggings and wipes his hand on his jeans. Somehow the sight of him doing that, along with the look he’s currently giving me is so fucking debauched, I lose all speaking ability.
“You loved that didn’t you?” he says.
I nod, my brain still blown to pieces.
“I knew you would.” He leans over and whispers, “Next time, it’ll be my cock instead of my fingers.”
Lust splinters me open as I watch him settle back into his seat, his phone still in hand.
Half an hour later, we land in Midnight Cove and I follow Byzantine off the plane, my legs still weak and boneless from his fingers and filthy words alone.
A private car waits for us outside of the airport and I lift my eyebrow inquisitively at Byzantine. He simply shrugs as if a private car with a driver is no big deal.
From the car window, I watch the scenery roll by, excitement swirling inside of me while he reaches for my hand from across the backseat. As if always seeking some type of touch or contact. My walls continue to slowly crumble anytime he does.
When we arrive at the hotel, I take a moment to reel in my shock at the sight of it. I look over to Byzantine, placing my hand on my chest in mock outrage. “You must be kidding.”
Byzantine leans across the seat to kiss my cheek. “Only the best for my little sun.”
He leans back over and steps out, leaving me stunned. Byzantine beats the driver to my door, helping me out and towards the hotel, leaving our bags for the driver.
Byzantine checks us in while I take in our surroundings, mesmerized by the ritz and glitz of what feels like the fanciest hotel I’ve ever stepped foot in. The lobby is huge, made almost entirely out of glass, even the elevators. And the fine dining restaurant to our left with its maître d’ and waiters dressed to the nines has me straightening my back just to feel like I belong here.
When we get to our room—no suite—I’m near speechless. The view faces the sprawling ocean and it’s breathtaking. “Jesus Byzantine, you really are rich aren’t you?” I tease.
