Page 46 of Trailer Park Billionaire (Distinguished Billionaires #3)

HELENA

B en’s eyes narrow at my bluntness, and suddenly we’re stumbling toward the RV door like two people who’ve forgotten how to walk and only remember how to want.

He yanks the door open with one hand and hauls me inside with the other. It bangs shut behind us, and for one brief second, we just look at each other.

I’m panting. His chest is rising and falling like he just ran a marathon in that stupidly sexy suit that’s hiding a lot more of him than it should.

His tie is half-undone, his hair a mess from my fingers, and his eyes are wild.

Dark. Focused entirely on me, like I’m the thing he wants to steal most in this entire world.

I carefully put the painting down, and then he’s on me again.

My back hits the tiny kitchenette hard enough that something crashes to the floor and shatters. Probably a plate, or a mug, or my common sense.

It doesn’t matter, because his mouth smashes into mine again. He kisses me like he’s been waiting to do it since the moment we met.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he mutters, both hands slipping under my ass, giving it a squeeze, and a quick little spank.

“If you stop,” I gasp, breathless and already arching into him, “I will probably start crying again.”

He grins. Then bites my bottom lip. “Crying, huh? Well, it’d be too bad if I was into that.”

I moan. Loud. Embarrassingly loud. Like we’re in a five-star hotel suite with mood lighting and room service, not a creaky RV parked behind the museum we just robbed.

“Into me crying?” I ask, panting.

He hums into my neck, teeth grazing skin.

I can’t help but moan again—even louder. “Then I’d suggest giving me a better spanking than what you just did. That should do the trick. Unless you’re not strong enough…”

Ben pulls back slowly, sporting a wicked grin like I haven’t seen before. His hands slide up to my neck, wrapping around it—not tight, just enough to make me stand on my tiptoes to keep from dangling. And he could make me dangle. With those muscles of his, he absolutely could.

“I don’t need to spank you to make you cry, Panda,” he says (or threatens) with a voice so low it vibrates through me.

“I don’t even need to fuck your pretty little mouth to get those black tears running.

” He moves me over to the bed, bends down, and whispers into my ear, “All I have to do is pleasure you. Over and over again. Without giving you what you actually crave.”

A second later, he’s ripping clothes off my body, sending buttons flying.

Fabric starts tearing. There’s no finesse here, no patience—just hunger.

And, like him, I’m starving too, which is why I try to do the same to him and his shirt.

But before I manage to rip off a single button, he throws me down onto the mattress.

He’s on top of me a second later, pinning both my hands over my head, not allowing me to move.

His eyes observe my every reaction as his mouth begins to explore.

He starts with my neck, then works his way to my tits, idling whenever he finds a spot that makes me feel particularly good.

It’s like he’s studying me. Like I’m a sculpture he’s committing to memory.

And it feels like nothing I have felt before.

“Fuck, Helena,” he groans, flashing that devious grin again. “You’re shaking.”

“No,” I pant, trying to free my hands so I can touch him as well. “You’re making me shake. That’s different.”

A second later, Ben’s hovering over me again, his weight concentrated on my wrists, letting me know I’m not going anywhere, I’m not touching him, unless he allows it.

He lets out a ragged laugh. “Good. Now, about those tears…” He releases one of my hands, brushes a strand of hair off my face, and gently cups my cheek.

“You can still tell me to stop, Helena.”

My head shakes along with my body. “If you stop now, I will first cry and then shout for help.”

“And who’s going to help you, dear?” he asks, twisting my nipple between his fingers.

A delicious pain jolts through me, making me moan against my will. I take a deep breath. “Police obviously. I’ll tell them to arrest you…”

Ben lets his hand glide further down to my pussy, giving it the slowest, most excruciating rub over my panties.

“For obstruction of orgasm,” I add.

He lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks my juices off them. His eyes flutter shut with pleasure. Fuck —wet from just touching me through fabric.

“Those are some serious accusations,” he murmurs, while grabbing my cheeks and turning my lips up to his.

His tongue slips into my mouth, making me taste myself on him—and God, that only makes me wetter.

While we’re still tangled in the kiss, his other hand travels back down, forcing off my underwear.

“Is that what I’m doing here?” he asks as he withdraws those delicious lips of his. “Am I obstructing anything?”

Once again, I strain against the hand that is still pinning me onto the mattress. “Well, I certainly don’t need those to touch you .” I shake my head. “No, I just need them to get myself off real quick. So, technically, I think what you’re doing does qualify as obstruction.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Helena.” Ben kisses my forehead gently, causing me to stop struggling.

“Here’s what’s going to happen now. First, I am going to get you close.

” He gently taps his hand against my bare pussy once.

“Then I’m going to get you closer.” He taps again, twice.

“Then I’m going to get you so close you’ll not only scream for the police, but for an entire SWAT team to save you.

” Three more taps that make me kick my legs from sheer, aching desperation.

“And then I’m going to stop. Until you start begging for it. ”

I stare at him in shock for a moment before I find my words again.

“Okay, fine—yes, please,” I huff, right after he rubs my pussy roughly one last time.

“Please, I’m already begging. Can you just skip to the that last part?

I was already close the first time you touched me.

I was even closer when we cuddled. And I am so, so fucking close right now, it’s not even funny. Please, Ben.”

He releases a quiet laugh, his mouth brushing against mine. “You’re right,” he whispers into me, “it is not even funny. It’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Then, finally—finally—he releases me, leans back, and strips out of his blazer. Reflexively, my hands fly to his pants, fingers fumbling at his belt buckle—only for him to catch and restrain me again before I can actually undo anything.

“I think you can beg even better than that, Helena.” He puts my hands back up, grabs me by the throat, and presses me into the soft mattress with one hand, while the other explores more of my curves. “You remember your safe word, Panda?”

I nod, whisper the word ‘ Folly’, and resign myself to my own fate.

“Good,” Ben answers, low and gravelly. “Don’t be afraid to use it.”

And that’s the thing with Ben Lyon, I think. I’m not afraid. Not afraid of him. Not afraid of what he might do to me. Not afraid of anything when he’s with me. I’m already trusting him with my life, and now I’m trusting him with something even more precious: my orgasm.

He bends down and kisses me again—slower, deeper—like he wants to sink into me completely.

His hands stay firm on my throat, not squeezing, just holding me steady—like I’m something precious.

Breakable. Then his mouth trails down my neck, across my collarbone, pausing at every inch of skin like he’s tasting me one brush of his tongue at a time.

And then he dips lower.

And lower.

And I forget how to breathe.

Because he doesn’t just want to fuck me.

He wants to fucking undo me.

This is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I’m pretty sure it’s like nothing anyone has ever experienced before.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my orgasm started the moment he slammed me against the RV, the moment our lips touched for the first time.

But that’s not a thing, is it?

An orgasmic feeling that just… won’t stop?

When I feel his breath on my pussy—his hands now firmly on my tits, tormenting my nipples with the most tantalizing pressure—I think maybe I am not coming just yet because, somehow, that sensation still builds, still grows.

When he finally encloses me entirely with his mouth, warmth spreads through my entire body. It spreads through every limb, makes me arch into his face without meaning to. Ben moans into me, looks up—his entire mouth and beard drenched—then he slowly pulls back.

“No, no, no,” I cry, grabbing his arms. “Just… just one more lick. Just… a little, little lick…” My hips move on their own, chasing him. But he stays just out of reach.

“Beg,” he commands coldly, blowing gently across my wetness, causing me to shiver.

How dare he?

“I already did, you fucker!”

That brings his devious grin back, paired with a chuckle that promises retribution. A second later, he’s already flipped me over onto my stomach, one hand pressing my head into the mattress.

“Okay, sorry,” I huff out, muffled against the sheets. “I didn’t mean that. What I meant to say was: how dare you torture an innocent, little woman like this, you barbarian!”

He laughs, deep and dark, then bows down to whisper in my ear: “I think we established long ago that there’s no innocent little woman in you, Helena. And right now, I’m going to treat you like the defiant little slut you actually are.”

His words nearly send me over the edge. Now all I need is the tiniest touch—just a little pressure, one lick, one stroke—to get me over.

Maybe if I rub my legs against each other.

Ben’s hand lands sharply on my ass. “Spread them,” he orders, slipping his fingers between my thighs, deliberately avoiding the spot I need him most.

This is the best torture I have ever experienced.