Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 43

My Master’s thrusts grow; stronger, faster, more powerful. Our bodies rock together, shifting and sliding over each other, the flush of his flesh reflected in mine. The slight stubble of his chin scrapes at my softer skin. His aroma envelops me, musky, mixed with hints of the body-splash he used after the shower.

I’m flowing freely, my liquid core spilling between us, hot and slippery. As the heat of our enjoined bodies rises, the scent of sex billows up and around, a pungent bloom, my own scent and that of my Master, the paired perfumes mingled as closely as our bodies.

And all the while, his beautiful shaft fathoms me.

Beneath me, the sheet is damp, slithering under me as I move. My Master lifts himself away, looking down on me; my face, my breasts. His face is flushed, sweat beading his forehead. The droplets merge, trickling a path down his cheeks, then dripping free. Some splash onto my nose and mouth, briny and hot on my lips. Others fall to the sheet, staining dark circles where they land.

His strokes grow ever more vigorous, ever more forceful. His breathing is heavier. Inside me, muscle thrumms, a low throb which, all the while, builds and grows, my twitching pussy dancing around my Master’s shaft, dragging a moan from my throat.

“Oh, God…”

As my lips part, he shifts, angling sideways, reaching down between my legs. Paired fingers slip around my clit, squeezing and manipulating, setting an electric pulse spiking inward. I buck and yelp. He chuckles, and now finger and thumb rotate over and around, kneading and massaging.

The throbbing inside mounts, a tension becoming a pulsing… The moan escapes again, now extending, drawing out to a wail…

“That’s it, my Love…” The twinned thumb and finger tighten on me, plucking at the already sensitised bud. “Come for me…”

I need no urging. My universe spins on an axis centred on my twitching clit and trembling core.

“Come for me…”

The trembling waxes, a flutter of the flesh that ripples and grows, as I brink. The flutter becomes a shudder, then…

“Come for me.” He pinches hard, and white-hot sensation sizzles the length of me. I scream, spasm, clutch…

… then explode into full-blown climax.

My core clenches tight…

“Fuck!” He gasps and groans…

… then pulsates through orgasm, pumping juices that spill and scald over my thighs and his. I would flail and buck, but my Master still has an arm caging me to one side, his body weight over me. Trying to thrash, eyes squeezed closed, I simply shudder against hard muscle.

The massage on my clit is electrifying, elating, excruciating…

… Unbearable…

“Enough, Master! Stop. Redhead. Redhead!”

The fingers withdraw and my eyes peel open to see my Master smiling down at me. Once more, he presses his lips to mine, then his smile fades, his expression growing intense.

His eyes are great dark orbs set against his reddened face. Surging now, he drives into me, pounding my inner walls. Ramming home, his jaw sets, lips peeling back from bared teeth.

With a hoarse bark, a broken sound, his face contorts, then drops to my chest. Hips grinding, his pelvis rotating against me, he groans, shudders, spasms, then falls still.

Lying underneath, my legs still encircling him, I stroke sweat-soaked hair. His heart still drums double-time through his ribs. His breathing is laboured. But gradually he eases…

Rising, he props himself up on an elbow. “Thank you, my Love. That was… spectacular.”

“It always is, Master. Our lovemaking is never any other way.”

His smile widens, vivid and bright. “It is, isn’t it? I’d call that a winning formula.”

“Me too, Master. Me too.” I shift and the sheet crawls under me. Slick and wet, it’s tugged free of its tuck-under below the mattress, gathering in a twisted knot which digs in at hip and shoulder. “Master, these sheets. They look great, but…”

“Hmmm.” He plucks at the tangled mess. “Silk bedding always looks great in the movies, but it’s less than ideal in practice. We’ll change them tomorrow…” His face screws up… “Damn!” He rummages somewhere underneath himself… “And these fucking things get everywhere.” He produces a wilted petal from I-don’t-want-to-guess-where, displaying it like Exhibit A in a murder case.

“They do, yes.” I fish another vagrant petal from my wine glass; one of many, scattered over the bed, the carpet, and fluttering out of the door to invade the hall beyond. “They're going to be horrible to clean up tomorrow.”

My Master’s voice is dry. “So, isn't it lucky that we'll have someone coming in to do it for us?”

“We do? Just tomorrow?”

“No, of course not just tomorrow.” His forehead wrinkles. “You don't think I bought this house for you to be a slave to cleaning it?”

“No, of course not. But it won't take much cleaning. There's only the two of us here. Most of the house will stand empty. Eight bedrooms is quite a lot.”

He havers, blowing out his cheeks. “We'll have guests from time. And…” He takes my hand, holding the fingers, rubbing his thumb over the back. “… Perhaps one day there will be more than just the two of us?”

The question catches me by surprise. “I'm sure there will, Master, but...”