Page 59 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

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B y the time we’re finished in the bathroom, the bedroom has been cleaned and tidied, with fresh sheets on the bed.

We spend the rest of the morning messing up the clean sheets, and I draw orgasm after orgasm from Erica’s body.

The look on her face as she comes, the whimpers she makes, the way her fingers fist into the sheets, are like gifts I’ve wished for and never thought I’d get.

When her head rolls against the pillow, and her dark hair spills over the sheets, it’s divine. I can’t get enough.

Afterwards, when we’ve exhausted one another, we lie tangled up, our hands clasped and fingers interlinked.

“You really are perfect,” Erica whispers, glancing at where she’s holding my hand. “You even have perfect hands. Perfect man hands.”

I let out a low laugh. “I thought you didn’t like the word perfect.”

“I don’t like it when Mum says it about me. She wants perfection at all costs, hence taking me to see the surgeon. And like I said before, anyone who tells you what to do with your body… who doesn’t give you the choice… that’s fucking toxic.”

She looks away, and I know it’s not lost on either of us the parallels that run between us.

My dad, my body. Her mum, her body. Both owned, controlled, albeit in different ways.

A common toxicity, and for a fragment of a second, I wonder if it could be the thing that drew me to her in the first place.

The sadness I saw in her eyes all those years ago, in that picture in the catalogue.

Something shared, like an injection of the same poison. Romeo and fucking Juliet.

“That’s why I need the movie thing to work,” she continues. “It would be for me. Away from Mum. Out of her grasp. I’d never give anyone that level of control again.”

“I get that.” Of course I fucking do.

She’s quiet for a moment before she squeezes my hand, focusing back on my fingers. “Your hands really are perfect though.”

She twists our interlinked hands, examining them from every angle.

“You have lovely hands,” I say because I can feel her judging herself. Maybe even comparing herself to me and finding something lacking, which is bullshit I can’t allow to stand.

“No, I don’t.” She sighs. “And my feet… Did you know there was an article in the Daily Mail about how I had hobbit feet?”

I laugh aloud, ripping the covers off her. “Let me see these hairy toes of yours.”

She squeals, grasping for the covers in a vain attempt to keep them in place. “My toes are not hairy. It was a bad angle.”

A belly laugh overtakes me, and I abandon the search for her feet as I roll onto my back, laying my hands over my tightening abs. “Spoken like a true model.”

“Hey!” She slaps playfully at me, and I raise a forearm to parry the blow. She flops down next to me on the bed, the two of us staring at the ceiling.

When my breathing calms, I flip around, propping myself on my elbows, and kiss her shoulder. “There is nothing you could tell me that would make me change my mind about you,” I whisper.

“In what way?”

“That you’re perfect.” She starts to speak but I press a finger to her lips. “I won’t listen to any objections. To me, you are perfect. You’ve always been perfect, and you always will be.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I mean it. Those hairy toes are absolute perfection.”

She smiles, but it fades as a sly expression creeps into her gaze. “Do you like my mouth too?”

I’m wary. She’s up to something. “Yes.”

“My lips?”

“Yup.”

She arches a brow. “Would you like them on your cock?”

Boom . I’m rock solid. I gesture at my dick. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

I lie on my back, and she shifts onto all fours, kneeling between my legs, which I spread wide to give her access. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits, dipping down to lick the tip of my dick, which jerks like it wants to high-five her tongue. “I’ve never done this.”

“You could bite my dick off and I’d enjoy it.”

This draws a smile to her face and, I hope, fills her with confidence. She could never do this wrong. Ever. It’s a dream come true that she’s anywhere near my dick, let alone offering to put it in her mouth.

“Mmm,” she says, dark eyes flashing up at me. “It’s big.”

My dick jerks again as she tickles the slit with the tip of her tongue. Holy fuck. For a woman who claims she doesn’t know what she’s doing, it feels unbelievable.

“You taste like me,” she whispers before running the flat of her tongue all the way up my shaft. I let out a groan that shakes the bed. “Like both of us.”

I’d worry she didn’t like that if it weren’t for how her hips are swaying, her nipples forming tight buds on her breasts, and how she swallows my cock as far as she can and sucks on it like she’s been doing this forever.

Her hand fists at the base, and she pumps it up to meet her mouth on the upstroke.

“I fucking love that mine is the first cock you’ve ever put in your mouth. That’s a fucking honour right there.”

She moans, the vibration causing ripples of pleasure to shunt up my shaft, making the head tingle. I want to thrust past her lips, fuck her mouth until I hit the back of her throat and fill it with cum, but I hold back, letting her get used to it.

She pops off. “Is it good? Do you like it?”

“Love it.” I let out an appreciative groan. “Don’t stop.”

She swallows me again, pumping with her hand at the same time.

She slips to the tip, rolling her tongue over my dick like it’s a lollipop.

She pulls long and hard, over and over again, and my hands twist into her hair as her tongue slops over my tip between each drag.

If she keeps this up, I’ll lose it in record time.

As if sensing my approaching orgasm, she works me faster, and I jerk my hips towards her, fucking her mouth gently. “I’m gonna come,” I murmur. “Stop.”

She hums a ‘ nuh-uh ’ and shakes her head.

I’m gonna fill her mouth any second and she’s not quitting. “No, I can’t come, or no, you won’t stop?”

She pauses just long enough to say, “I want to taste you,” before she resumes, moaning again on my dick, making a sound that’s so heavy with desire that I know she’s enjoying this just as much as I am.

Pleasure sparks low in my hips, gathering in intensity before blasting through me as the suction drags my orgasm from me. My back arches, white spots exploding in my vision. “Fuuuuuck,” I groan, as I unload into her mouth.

She keeps sucking right to the very end; until my dick is jumping in her mouth from the intensity of feeling. Aftershocks spark through me with each sweep of her tongue as she licks up every last drop of cum and swallows it down.

“How was that?” she asks, sitting back on her knees and looking at me, although I can tell she knows it was good.

I’m still panting for breath as the last of the pleasure trickles through me. “The best. You’re a natural.” She kisses the head of my dick again and I moan.

She wipes at her mouth. “I don’t know what I was expecting… but… it was okay.” She taps a finger on her lips. “Sort of like… oysters.”

Laughter bubbles up in me. “I like oysters.”

“You would,” she says. “All salty and slimy and raw.”

I drag a hand down my face as I splutter on a laugh. “Way to make a man feel good, Lefroy.”

She grins, kissing her way back up my chest, and whispers in my ear, “You’re my favourite flavour,” which might be the nicest fucking thing anyone has ever said to me. “I’d swallow your cum any time you want me to,” she adds, which makes me laugh again.

She nestles back against me on the bed, fitting herself right beneath my arm. I play with strands of her hair, twisting them around my fingers. As good as the blow job was, having her here beside me in bed feels better. The best.

“I love you,” I whisper.

She’s quiet a moment, then her eyes flash with something akin to guilt and she says, “Your father’s here. He arrived yesterday.”

The comment smashes the bliss filtering through me. I knew he was coming, but I’m not prepared. Her mentioning him, especially in response to me telling her I love her, feels like he’s still here, wriggling his way into my bed. Again . Resentment filters into my blood like a toxin. “You saw him?”

“Yeah. He was pretty rude to me, actually. He was rude to all of us. He had some people with him who weren’t invited to the wedding. Made Kate promise to rearrange the seating plan.”

“Who were they?”

“Diana Marchetti and her father.”

“Diana?” I blurt the name before I can stop myself, and Erica pulls back, suspicion flitting in her gaze.

“Yeah. The woman you were looking at on your phone that time in the flat? Kate said her dad had something to do with the hotel business. Or development. Or… I can’t remember.”

Diana. Here? Now? This is no coincidence. My father’s mind doesn’t work like that. It’s all calculated. Every move, a shift on the chessboard. He’s trying to outplay me.

Well, fuck that. I’m going to find him and tell him I won’t do what he wants. I won’t marry her. I won’t lose Erica; not now. I’m done doing what my father wants.