Page 25 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)
I felt a surge of triumphant pleasure rushing through me. For a second, I felt invincible. “Gotcha,” I whispered against his skin, my words tinged with the smugness of a cat that got the canary, the cream, and the whole darn pet store.
But triumph has a funny way of flipping on you. Suddenly, Matt’s hand was at the back of my head, and before I knew it, I was the one pinned against the back of the couch with him looming over me like some sort of erotic boogeyman.
“You’re so fucking cute when you think you’ve won,” Matt whispered against my lips, his breath hot and scented with the tang of arousal.
Then he was on me, his mouth devouring mine with an intensity that felt like being caught in a twister—I was pretty sure we left Kansas far behind.
Matt’s lips were a force of nature against mine.
He toyed with my lips and tongue as if they were his personal playthings.
When he sucked at my tongue, stars exploded behind my eyelids and every coherent thought scurried out of my brain like clubgoers at closing time.
I clung to him, riding the wave of sheer craziness that this man could induce with just his mouth.
Matt’s lips finally released mine with a pop that felt like coming up for air after diving too deep. But there was no respite; he went straight for my very tender nipple again—apparently, he’d decided it was his new favorite chew toy. He latched on to it with an intensity that made my toes curl.
As he lavished attention on my sensitive skin, his hand found both our hard cocks and started pumping vigorously.
It was madness—sensory overload to the max.
Every stroke sent electric shocks straight to my core.
My body bucked beneath him in response; I was noise and need wrapped in a thin layer of skin.
Matt’s lips traveled across my skin like a wildfire, scorching every inch of flesh they touched.
The guy had a mouth made for sin, and I was his favorite church.
His kisses were feverish, branding me in a way that felt permanent, each press of his lips leaving an imprint that I’d carry long after the heat faded.
And as his hand pumped our cocks together—harder, faster—I was nothing but raw nerve endings set ablaze.
The feel of him—steel wrapped in velvet—against my own flesh was intoxicating. The slide of our lengths together, coupled with the relentless rhythm of his hand, had me spiraling. My body reacted with unabashed honesty, arching into the friction like a flower to the sun.
I tried to keep my composure—I really did—but it was akin to staying dry in a hurricane. Every lick and kiss from Matt was another raindrop, another crack in the dam until I was just a deluge of sensation, helpless against the storm he conjured with his mouth and hand.
The pressure built rapidly, a crescendo rising in me like a symphony reaching its peak. Matt’s cock against mine felt like the final note—the perfect harmony—and when I came, it was with a shout that probably echoed all the way down to the casino floor.
A beat later, Matt followed, his release hot between us as he groaned my name like a prayer or maybe a curse—I couldn’t tell which. I collapsed against him, spent and panting, feeling like someone had replaced my bones with overcooked spaghetti.
Before I could even think about recovery—hell, before I could even think about thinking—Matt scooped me up in his arms as easily as if I weighed nothing more than a feather pillow.
Next thing I knew, I was on the bed on my back, staring up at him towering over me like some sort of avenging angel.
My legs were hoisted up and over his shoulders in a move that was more Cirque du Soleil than bedroom antic.
The haze of post-orgasmic bliss began to clear from my mind just enough for panic to slice through.
“Wait—what are you doing? You can’t—I mean—my ass is still tender from… you know.”
“Hush up, pet,” Matt murmured with that voice that commanded empires—or at least my unruly heart rate. “I know.”
I braced myself for whatever came next but instead of pain or invasion, what I got was friction—Matt sliding his cock between my thighs back and forth in a way that should’ve been impossible given how wrecked I felt moments ago. But damn if it didn’t drive me wild all over again.
I looked down between us to see him moving with determined strokes, our slick skin creating just the right amount of resistance to drive both of us mad with need.
And wouldn’t you know it—despite every logical part of me screaming that it couldn’t be happening—I felt myself hardening again under his ministrations.
Damn this bastard billionaire and his sorcery that made my body sing like it was auditioning for the lead role in an opera.
A chuckle rumbled through Matt’s chest as he noticed my renewed interest. “My pretty boy can’t get enough,” he teased as he continued to thrust between my thighs.
I wanted to retort, I really did, fully intending to serve Matt a slice of sharp-tongued sass.
Something biting, something that would wipe that smug grin off his stupidly handsome face.
But all that came out were groans—embarrassingly loud, traitorous groans.
My body was betraying me, and Matt knew it.
The man had the nerve to flick the tip of my cock like it was his personal plaything, making it spring back and forth, a pendulum of flesh caught in his teasing game.
“Looks like the cute little kitten is ready for round two,” Matt purred, and I shuddered, not from cold but from the husky timbre of sexy talk that should be patented for being dangerously addictive.
Before I could scramble my thoughts together for a retort, his hand enveloped me.
Oh, how easily he wrapped around my cock, stroking with an expertise that had my eyes rolling back.
Meanwhile, his own arousal slid back and forth between my thighs—a sensation so deliciously filthy it should come with a warning label.
I watched him move over me—a mix of shadow and light as he worked us both over.
The sight was nothing short of erotic artistry, and damn if it didn’t turn me on even more.
The way he drove into the warmth of my thighs, faster, harder—it was a symphony of skin and sin that had me dancing to his tune like a puppet on strings.
“Fuck,” I breathed out, my voice barely a whisper.
It was overwhelming—the pressure building in waves that promised to crash over me with no mercy. And beautiful—because amid the chaos of sensation, Matt’s gaze never left mine. It anchored me, made each stroke more potent because I knew he was watching every reaction unfold across my face.
Then it happened—the first orgasm hit me like a runaway train on a collision course with ecstasy. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. My body clenched tight around nothing at all as pleasure erupted through me.
And just when I thought I could breathe again—bam! Another climax barreled into me, stacking atop the last until words lost meaning and sounds became my only language.
Matt kept pace like a man possessed by lust itself, his strokes relentless as he chased his own release. When it finally came for him—hot spurts of seed painting my belly—I saw that dark look of satisfaction flash in his eyes.
Before I could even process the mess—or anything else for that matter—he hauled me into an embrace so tight it expelled any remaining air from my lungs. Then his mouth was on mine again—devouring, claiming—and I was lost to the whirlwind once more.