Page 112 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

Okay. Not…not the most encouraging thing I’d ever heard. “This,” I croaked, “would be a super terrible time to dump me.”

“I couldn’t. I’m too selfish.” He pressed his cheek to my thigh and I twisted in my bonds, wishing I could touch him. Reassure. “But I hate how much I want to hurt you.”

“I love it when you hurt me. I love everything you do. And everything you are.”

And that was when he turned and drew me into his mouth. It was the teeniest bit awkward—he even nicked me slightly with the edge of his teeth, suggesting maybe he didn’t do this all that often. He certainly hadn’t with me before. Not that I’d minded. He made me come just fine.

But…wow.

He could have been actively terrible and I wouldn’t have cared: Caspian Hart was sucking my cock.

No teasing. Only his lips wrapped tight round me, his mouth soft and hot and perfect.

Ohfuckohfuckohfuck.

I was…Caspian was…

I turned my head into my shoulder in an effort to muffle my noises. Which were at least as loud as when he’d been torturing my nipples, and probably even less dignified. Pain was one thing. I could take pain.

But I was pleasure’s bitch.

Honestly, I put in a pretty embarrassing showing. Pleading and mewling and falling part in about thirty seconds.

What pushed me over the edge was the moment when he gagged. Just a little. My cock pushing into him past the point of comfort. It wasn’t that I wanted to hurt him. That did nothing for me. Never could, never would. It was more that he wanted me so much.

So much he lost control of himself.

Let me in a little too far, a little too deep.

And it was a real humdinger of an orgasm. A balls to brain and back again explosion that left me shaking, breathless, and shattered. And Caspian swallowed me down like he couldn’t get enough.

He rose quickly afterward, reaching round me to fumble with the knots of the bowtie, managing to loosen them enough I could slip a wrist free. Turned out, freedom was what I needed right then, even though my arms were noodles and I was wibbly to my core.

Caspian caught me as I swayed. Sinking to the ground with me and holding me tight.

I was mumbling—probably trying to say thank you—and he was whispering back, my name mostly, and fractured pieces of praise.

For a few blissful, hazy minutes we were the very definition of sweet nothings. I even somehow found the courage and coordination to pull his face down to mine and kiss him. And for once he let me, his lips parting for me so I could slip my tongue into his mouth, and taste myself there.

God. Too much moonlight could turn a boy’s head.

“Please,” I said at last, “take me home.”

Chapter 28

It took us a little while to put ourselves back together. Getting me cleaned up with Caspian’s pocket square. Buttoning my shirt with tangled fingers. We abandoned my bowtie entirely in the end—it was beyond either of us but, since it was after midnight, I could get away with leaving it rakishly undone.

We snuck through the house hand in hand, as ridiculous as schoolkids playing hooky. I wouldn’t normally have cared what people thought, but Trudy had been super nice to me and I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about me defiling her firstborn in the family folly. I mean, it was one thing to be vaguely aware your son was having sex. Quite another to be faced with the rumpled, glaze-eyed evidence of it.

Caspian left me in a corner of the entrance hall while he went to have the car brought round. Looking back at the evening was like looking through some kind of weird distorting lens. It was hard to believe the end was connected to the middle or any part of it followed from the next. I tried to hold on to all the new faces, string together the conversations in which I’d been an active participant but, the truth was, I barely remembered anything that wasn’t Caspian. His strange behavior. And then all the wonderful things he’d said to me and done to me in the garden.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for a moment. Soaked in happiness like a warm bath.

And then a voice said, “You’re not helping him, you know.”

Which comprehensively trashed my mood.

Nathaniel Priest was standing over me. De-masked. All tall and gilded and severe. A sculpture from a classical pantheon. God of justice maybe.