Page 82 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

“Including Star Wars.”

His smile got the better of him. “Especially Star Wars.”

Help. I was going to explode of everything. How did people cope? Did they go about their daily lives with love inside them like a skyful of rioting party balloons? And, suddenly, I was terrified.

Because what if I told him?

Because what if I was wrong?

Because what if what if what if…

I would probably have had a panic attack on the sofa but then my dick swept in out of nowhere and rescued me by getting incredibly hard. Arousal thundered through me with the sort of conviction that hurled lions off cliffs and left their sons guilt-stricken for half a movie. Slightly shocked at the intensity of my own desire, I twined my arms around Caspian’s neck.

“Take me to bed,” I said. My voice was so shaky, I couldn’t tell if I was asking, demanding, or pleading.

But it didn’t matter anyway because Caspian picked me up and carried me off.

Chapter 21

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, but his strength always took me a little bit by surprise. I think because—along with so many other things, passion and joy and laughter—he kept it locked away behind his well-cut suit and his cold eyes. And there was nothing quite like being carted around by someone else to make you feel excitingly overpowered. I clung to his shoulders, my stomach doing roller-coaster swoops, even though I knew he wouldn’t drop me.

He tossed me onto my duvet-less bed like I was a medieval princess and he was the dark knight come to claim my maidenhead. And then came down on top of me, kissing me hard, his tongue plunging between my lips in happy anticipation of other acts-of-plunging he might be likely to perform. I sank into sex—into that warm, thudding place of heart-to-heart and mouth-to-mouth.

But, of course, the moment I got my hands under his top and against his skin he had me by the wrists and was pulling my arms over my head. He gazed down at me—all predator-sharp and sexy-hungry. “I should get my tie.”

I flip-flopped between thrilled and frustrated. Because, yes, part of me would have loved it—the part in question being my dick, which had got even harder at the prospect of me being trussed and helpless and at the mercy of Caspian Hart. But my more complicated bits had more complicated reactions.

“Let me touch you,” I absolutely did not whine.

“Arden…”

“I know, I know.” I pushed against his hands. “I can’t help it. I just want to give you pleasure sometimes.”

“You do give me pleasure. You give me so much pleasure.”

“Did you hate it? In Kinlochbervie?”

“No but—”

“Please.” The word burst out of me, raw with longing. “I beg you, Caspian.”

He looked startled and I couldn’t entirely blame him. I couldn’t remember ever begging that hard for anything in my life—including my own orgasms.

Although, slightly to my own horror, it turned out I wasn’t done. “You can still be in control. I’ll worship you. I’ll serve you. My hands will be your slaves.”

Endless silence. I could tell my eyes had gone huge and needy. And, while I knew I gave good pleeeeease face, for once, I wasn’t trying to be cute.

“It really means this much to you?” he asked.

“Yes. God yes.”

“What”—he faltered, then recovered—“do you want to do?”

“Anything.”

“That’s not very specific.”

“Um.” He was right, but now he’d put me on the spot. And having already made a massive fuss, I felt duty-bound to be reasonable. There was, after all, no point asking for the moon when the stars were plenty shiny. “Can I give you a hand job?”