Distracting the Billionaire's Son (6 page)

Cole lingered near me when I returned, dragged me to the
fire to dance with the other cousins. I let him give me drink after drink so I
could calm down, and after a while the scene behind the building almost seemed
impossible.

The dancing was fun, the alcohol helping me make a big fool
of myself just like everyone else, and I loved the feeling of the sand between
my toes and the music. When a small Silver snatched my sandals and took off
down the beach, me clumsily after him, I wanted nothing more than to be a
Silver for the rest of my life. Not for the money, but for this, being a part
of something bigger than myself.

When Shannon didn’t return to the cabin after midnight, I
left to meet Cole not far from where I’d met Jonah the night before. When I was
close enough to the water to smell its salty breeze, I changed my mind. I
didn’t want to meet Cole on the beach. Instead I cut through the trees off the
path so Cole wouldn’t see me. I went to the cabin without a pod, on its own at
the edge where trees gave way to sand. I took off my shoes and tiptoed up the
stairs to the front door, high off the water, and knocked softly. It was late.
He might not even be awake.

He might not even be alone.

The thought came unbidden. Eva McCallister could be inside.
I could be interrupting them right at that moment. But if they were, I heard
nothing to describe it. I gave myself four seconds of bravery before turning
back down the stairs.

The door opened before I got to the bottom, a lazy yawning
sound on hinges rusted by the ocean water breeze. He leaned against the door,
shirtless, shorts hung low on his hips. He had bed hair, messy and I liked him
like this, sleepy and unkempt.

His body, in the bright moonlight, was exquisite. He didn’t
have the bulging muscles of Cole or Henry, but narrow, cut hips and a serious
strength in his shoulders that suggested he was made of something stronger than
the rest of us mere mortals.

His sleepy gaze fixed on me, surprise mingling with something
else for just a moment.

“Are you lost, little girl?”

“No.” I turned, took a cautious step closer to him.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

I took another step up. “Oh, I know I shouldn’t.”

“You should be meeting that boy who couldn’t take his eyes
off you all night.” His breathing changed, I could see it in the rise and fall
of his chest, quicker now. As fast as mine.

“I am. Aren’t I?” I took another step. Inches separated us.

His mouth parted, an argument there, or something more
unkind. Finally he stepped back, held the door open further.

“Get in here.”

I did as I was told. His room was bigger than ours, but not
by much. He had a desk and a queen sized bed, several pillows instead of my one.
He shut the door and the only light seeped in through the cracks made by the
curtains not being closed tight enough. It let me see him for a moment as he
came toward me and then we were both in darkness. I was sure he could hear my
heart pounding. Did he know, could he possibly know, how badly I hoped he’d
satisfy me at last?

He touched my hair, let it out of its restraints. His
fingers hesitated in the soft curls and I wondered if he knew I could feel him
touching me like that, too gentle for someone who’d been anything but for two
days.

His voice came out harsh, barely more than a whisper.

“I want you on your knees.”

I did as he wished. His hands followed, stayed in my hair,
briefly touched my cheek.

“Take them off.”

I hooked my fingers around his boxer shorts, pulled them
down so he was free. It touched my cheek, hard already. I wondered if he’d been
thinking about me as he lay in bed. I instinctively put my hand around the base
of it. His breath sped up and I heard the softest of moans.

“Prove to me you deserve more.”

There it was again, the challenge and I whimpered hearing
it.
More
. I wanted more. I’d do whatever was necessary to deserve it.

I took him into my mouth, not nearly as slow as I had last
night, eager to feel his cock against my tongue. He gasped and bucked toward
me. He wanted more, too. I closed my mouth around him, dropped my hands to his
balls to touch, to play gently with between my fingers. He responded by pushing
his hips toward me, to dig his fingers in my hair and pull me closer to him.

I launched an attack upon him, eagerly sucking, wanting to
taste him and he rewarded my eagerness. It was salty like I’d remembered it,
not entirely unpleasant, and a part of me hungered for it in a way I didn’t
know myself to previously. I slid my mouth off him, licked him clean, and
dropped my head to his balls. I’d never done that, not with anyone else, so I
didn’t know how he’d react when I licked them each, took one between my lips
and kissed it and sucked gently.

“
Shit
,” he gasped. I peeked up at him as he threw his
head back, made unsteady by my administrations. I wrapped my hands around his thighs,
felt the hard cut of his muscles where his thighs met his hips. I took the head
of his cock again between my lips again pushed him back into my mouth where he
belonged. He helped, began working his hips back and forth. I quickened my
pace, used his hunger to get him deeper and deeper into my mouth.

I twisted my hand, drove him along the roof of my mouth
towards my throat.

“So eager,” he breathed and stroked my hair back from my
face. When I sped up, he growled and sped up too. We were at it again, power
hungry and full of too much need. When I pushed him close to my throat and
moaned, he grabbed my head and pulled himself almost entirely free.

He grabbed my head and held it still as if to regain his composure
and then shoved his member deep into my throat, until my lips could go no
further, until I gagged violently against his size and couldn’t breathe, but he
didn’t release until he was ready and then only to start taking my mouth with
abandon. I held onto his hips, licked eagerly every time he stroked my tongue,
and let him have me.

“You’ll swallow it,” he growled. “You’ll swallow all of it.”

I whimpered, looked up at him from where he held me still.
He sped up, pounding my mouth until I was sure I couldn’t take any more and
then buried himself shaft deep and let go with a cry. A shot of heat coated my
throat, my tongue and I obediently swallowed every drop and licked him clean
when he pulled out.

He trembled under my fingertips, once again vulnerable in a
way he never was any other time in his life. He stroked my hair, my face, my
lips. He gazed down at me on my knees before him and I shuddered.

“Good girl,” he said softly. When he stroked my cheek, I
didn’t pull away. “Stand up. Sit on the edge of my bed.”

His bed.
There was something sacred about him calling
it
his bed
instead of
the bed
. I sat down, not that my knees
could have held me anyway. I was trembling, eager to finally have him touch me.
My panties were damp and every inch of my skin sensitive enough to put me over
the edge on impact. Oh god, I needed him to touch me, to finish what he’d
started.

He knelt at my feet and it was strange to see him paying me
homage like this. The hardness in his face, in the dark like this, was almost
entirely gone. He stared up at me and I wanted to kiss him very badly.

“Don’t resist me,” he said, and for the first time it was
not as much a command as it was a plea.

“God no,” I whispered.

He pushed my knees apart, lowered a kiss to the inside of my
left knee. His lips were hot and wet and I shivered. I had to put my hands out
on either side of my hips to stay balanced. I didn’t think he’d make it to my
panties before I climaxed.

He hooked his fingers on the hem of my skirt, pushed it up
as he kissed his way up the inside of my left thigh, then my right. I couldn’t
breathe, couldn’t open my eyes. The whole of me shivered and I could feel him
smile against my skin at the effect he was having on me.

When he reached my panties he grazed the length of me through
the fabric with his fingers, discovered just how wet he’d made me. I heard his
breath hitch when I whimpered.

He took the edge of my panties at my hips. “Do you think you
can be quiet?”

I opened my eyes, caught the light reflected in his. “Yes,”
I breathed.

“I don’t think you can,” he said and started sliding my
panties down. I was glad it was too dark for him to see they were plain and
pink. He’d call me a little girl again, and I wanted him to think of me like
Eva McCallister and her flat, unscarred stomach.

He pulled them down my thighs, over my knees, agonizingly
slow. “I promise to be quiet, I swear. Anything you ask.”

“Anything?” he teased with his voice, tested just where my
boundaries were with the challenge.

“Anything.”

“You won’t make a sound. If you make any noise I will stop
immediately and you’ll leave. Do you understand?” He slid the panties down my
calves, to my bare feet. He pulled them off and they disappeared into the dark.

“I promise. Not a sound.”

“Lay back.”

I rounded myself down into his comforter, softer than mine
and smelled like his cologne, something earthy and distinct. I would always
associate that smell with that moment, I knew it. I stared at the ceiling in
the dark, anticipation making my body shake. He pushed my thighs apart, climbed
between them. His fingers sought my soft, inner core first, discovered just how
badly I wanted him inside of me.

He pushed one in, then two, slowly like he knew I couldn’t
handle more and he was right. It was all I could do not to cry out, two days of
pent up need released in one touch. I bit my lip until I thought I’d taste
blood. I’d stay quiet. I wouldn’t make a sound until he let me.

He worked his fingers in out until he added a third and I
almost couldn’t stand it. I didn’t make a sound but my hips rose, pushed toward
him and he grabbed my hips with his empty hand, held me still, and started to
pump the others in and out, first rapidly, then slower. His thumb found my
clit, swollen and desperate, and when he touched it I almost disobeyed him.
Almost.

“Good girl, such a good girl. Come for me,” he whispered,
and rewarded me when his mouth and tongue replaced his fingers. I sucked in
air, almost as loud as a gasp, but he mercilessly didn’t stop. His hands pushed
my thighs apart, almost until they hurt, and went down on me with as much
abandon as I had him. He licked, sucked, and toyed at my clit. This was my
pleasure, but he’d control it as I’d controlled him. My thighs shook, barely
held still under his hands. He worshipped me with his tongue and then replaced
the three fingers inside of me. The more he licked and sucked at it, the more
my thighs trembled and the closer I got to climaxing. I dug my fingers into my
palms, into his bed, pushed against his mouth and fingers until I thought I was
going to explode. He rewarded me again by moaning against my mound, taking
pleasure in pleasing me and that was all I needed.

I opened my mouth but didn’t scream, though I badly wanted
to, and the pressure of making no noise made my orgasm that much more powerful.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulled him closer, trapped him against me, and he
let me. My whole body felt it, shaking and bucking against his mouth and
fingers as wave after wave passed through me. If I made any noise, I don’t
know, for a few seconds there I lost complete control. He stayed between my
legs until I stopped shaking, until I settled back into his bed. He pulled his
fingers out first, then his mouth. He kissed the inside of my left thigh.

I felt too dazed to say anything, to move. My grip on his
blanket was like iron and he had to pry my fingers loose.

He kissed each one, surprisingly intimate. He climbed onto
the bed beside me, touched the bad of his thumb to my lips.

He was quiet beside me, quiet and still. He didn’t exactly
touch me, though his whole body grazed me. He propped his head in one hand and
with the other, I don’t know. He didn’t touch me with it.

When reason returned, the aftershocks subsided and my
breathing returned to normal, he adjusted my skirt, very gentlemanly. “You
should go back to your cabin now.”

The intensity of my disappointment was incredible. I don’t
know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. Not a shove out the door. I don’t
know what I thought would happen.
More.
I wanted more. Didn’t he?

“Is that a command?” I asked. I sounded like a brat, I knew
that.

He was quiet for a moment. I thought I could feel him touch
my hair. “If it has to be.”

“That’s it?”

He sat up, took my hand and pulled me to my feet, too. I
wobbled, my knees weaker than I wanted him to know they were, but he steadied
me. My pleasure was quickly being overwritten with humiliation. He walked me to
the door, opened it for me. Such a gentleman.

In the moonlight I could see his face clearly, sweaty, his
eyes heavy with desire and something else. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to
push him back onto his bed, climb onto his hips. I wanted to make him hard
again and I wanted him inside of me. Didn’t he? Couldn’t he want those things
too?

He touched my face, lightly, not the way I wanted him too.
When had I become a girl who liked being touched? His thumb grazed my lips. For
a moment, I don’t know, I thought he was going to change his mind. He didn’t.

“Don’t come back here tomorrow, do you understand? It was
irresponsible on both our parts. I won’t let you in next time.”

I stepped down, out of his reach, shocked at the dismissal
in his voice, but he didn’t stop me. I didn’t want him to see the pain in my
face, but there was nothing I could do to hide it. He leaned against the door,
sweat glistening down his chest. He didn’t meet my eyes as he shut me out.