Page 68
Story: Her Billionaire Boyfriend
“I know it does,” I whispered. “I rememberthe rehearsal dinner. The storage room. You were so wet.”
“Ah!” she yelped, bucking her hipswildly.
“It’s more fun this way, isn’t it?” I cuppedone of her breasts and circled her nipple with my thumb. I workedthe hose around in a circle too. “It’s not like putting on a showat the resort. If someone caught you here, you would feelashamed.
“Imagine it,” I went on, kissing her throat.“How guilty you would feel. How filthy and embarrassed.”
“Mm-m—” she stammered, but she couldn’tfinish before the next orgasm hit her. She let out a long, defeatedmoan. “Mercy!”
I pulled the hose away and quickly hit thevalve to divert the water back to the faucet. “Four?”
“Three,” she shot back, panting.
“I was so close.” I screwed the showerheadback on and hung it on its hook. “There. You can get all clean,first.”
“What about you?” The direction of her gazeindicated that she wasn’t talking about the order of showers.
“Oh, this?” I gave my aching shaft a fewteasing strokes. She wanted me to fuck her as much as I wanted tofuck her, but I enjoyed being denied as much as she did. “We’lltake care of this later. Right now, let’s get cleaned up fordinner.”
So I could get her good and dirty later.
* * * *
I couldn’t stop giving Charlotte sidelongglances as we made our way downstairs. Her dress, which I’d firstmistaken for black, was a deep green silk that hugged her bodyelegantly, little wrinkles of ruching draping from the smoothcentral column of the bodice to disguise the precise outline of herfigure. The crew neckline and lack of sleeves gave her an air ofeffortless glamor, as did the pulled-up hairstyle she’d copied froma video tutorial. My fingers itched to play with one of theartfully loose tendrils that brushed her subtly made-up face.
“You’re sure this is all right?” she askedagain, adjusting the shoulders of her gown. “I’m not toofancy?”
“I’m wearing a tuxedo,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but without a tie,” she muttered.“Which is right there in the phrase ‘black tie,’ so how am Isupposed to know which rules apply?”
“You look stunning,” I said firmly.
We made our way around the curve of thegrand staircase, and voices drifted up to us from below. Small,childlike voices, but with the robotic, practiced high-societycadence learned from their parents.
My niece and nephew were eight and ten,respectively, but they spoke like contemporaries of KatharineHepburn.
“Uncle Matthew,” Bennett addressed me,turning from his sister as if I had interrupted their conversationon the stock market. “So nice to see you again.”
“Yes, we barely see you aside from Christmasand Easter,” Briony added.
“And the regatta,” Bennett reminded her,adding, “We didn’t attend this year, because Mommy was at thespa.”
“Oh, I bet she was.” I caught a sidelongglance at Charlotte’s face, trying to gauge her reaction.
My sister’s children had all the warmth ofan Edward Gorey drawing and the physical appearance to match. Itdidn’t help that their nanny dressed them like escapees from aVictorian asylum for criminal children.
Bennett’s brown hair was slicked down from aside part that ended with Edgar Allan Poe–style curls at his ears,and he wore short pants with his dinner jacket. Briony’s longblonde hair was pulled back from her face with combs, and hervelvet dress sported wide triangular flaps of lace at thecollar.
They looked exactly like what I would expectto see if I walked into an abandoned, burned- down schoolhouse.
“Bennett. Briony.” I nodded to them each inturn.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to yourguest?” Briony asked in her haunting little voice.
“This is my girlfriend, Charlotte.” I put myhand at the small of Charlotte’s back and nudged her to stepforward. The children each offered her their hands to shake.
“Delighted to meet you,” Bennett said.
“Ah!” she yelped, bucking her hipswildly.
“It’s more fun this way, isn’t it?” I cuppedone of her breasts and circled her nipple with my thumb. I workedthe hose around in a circle too. “It’s not like putting on a showat the resort. If someone caught you here, you would feelashamed.
“Imagine it,” I went on, kissing her throat.“How guilty you would feel. How filthy and embarrassed.”
“Mm-m—” she stammered, but she couldn’tfinish before the next orgasm hit her. She let out a long, defeatedmoan. “Mercy!”
I pulled the hose away and quickly hit thevalve to divert the water back to the faucet. “Four?”
“Three,” she shot back, panting.
“I was so close.” I screwed the showerheadback on and hung it on its hook. “There. You can get all clean,first.”
“What about you?” The direction of her gazeindicated that she wasn’t talking about the order of showers.
“Oh, this?” I gave my aching shaft a fewteasing strokes. She wanted me to fuck her as much as I wanted tofuck her, but I enjoyed being denied as much as she did. “We’lltake care of this later. Right now, let’s get cleaned up fordinner.”
So I could get her good and dirty later.
* * * *
I couldn’t stop giving Charlotte sidelongglances as we made our way downstairs. Her dress, which I’d firstmistaken for black, was a deep green silk that hugged her bodyelegantly, little wrinkles of ruching draping from the smoothcentral column of the bodice to disguise the precise outline of herfigure. The crew neckline and lack of sleeves gave her an air ofeffortless glamor, as did the pulled-up hairstyle she’d copied froma video tutorial. My fingers itched to play with one of theartfully loose tendrils that brushed her subtly made-up face.
“You’re sure this is all right?” she askedagain, adjusting the shoulders of her gown. “I’m not toofancy?”
“I’m wearing a tuxedo,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but without a tie,” she muttered.“Which is right there in the phrase ‘black tie,’ so how am Isupposed to know which rules apply?”
“You look stunning,” I said firmly.
We made our way around the curve of thegrand staircase, and voices drifted up to us from below. Small,childlike voices, but with the robotic, practiced high-societycadence learned from their parents.
My niece and nephew were eight and ten,respectively, but they spoke like contemporaries of KatharineHepburn.
“Uncle Matthew,” Bennett addressed me,turning from his sister as if I had interrupted their conversationon the stock market. “So nice to see you again.”
“Yes, we barely see you aside from Christmasand Easter,” Briony added.
“And the regatta,” Bennett reminded her,adding, “We didn’t attend this year, because Mommy was at thespa.”
“Oh, I bet she was.” I caught a sidelongglance at Charlotte’s face, trying to gauge her reaction.
My sister’s children had all the warmth ofan Edward Gorey drawing and the physical appearance to match. Itdidn’t help that their nanny dressed them like escapees from aVictorian asylum for criminal children.
Bennett’s brown hair was slicked down from aside part that ended with Edgar Allan Poe–style curls at his ears,and he wore short pants with his dinner jacket. Briony’s longblonde hair was pulled back from her face with combs, and hervelvet dress sported wide triangular flaps of lace at thecollar.
They looked exactly like what I would expectto see if I walked into an abandoned, burned- down schoolhouse.
“Bennett. Briony.” I nodded to them each inturn.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to yourguest?” Briony asked in her haunting little voice.
“This is my girlfriend, Charlotte.” I put myhand at the small of Charlotte’s back and nudged her to stepforward. The children each offered her their hands to shake.
“Delighted to meet you,” Bennett said.
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