I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (9 page)

Trevillo nodded and tossed him his car keys, pressed his palm on my lower back, and guided me through the front doors. I struggled to keep up with his long, purposeful strides as he escorted me through the cool, extravagant lobby, heading straight for the elevators. Almost everyone who spotted him tripped over themselves to wish him a good evening, while he barely nodded in acknowledgment, never once speaking.

Ushering me into the elevator, he retrieved a gold tone card from his wallet and swiped it alongside the number pad. The doors began to close, and as soon as they were sealed, I was attacked.

One long, strong arm snaked around my waist. Lifting me up off the ground with easy grace, he slammed me up against the wall. Reflexively, my legs wrapped around his waist, and before he could first me on another move, I dug my fingers in his hair, dragged his face down to mine, and claimed his mouth. Hard and fierce.

At my swift reprisal, he made a guttural groan. He might have been hungry for me, but I was downright starving for him. So he couldn’t have been more aggressive than me if he tried.

His tongue dipped further inside, roaming, searching, digging, relentless, kissing me deeper and harder, competing with me. I squirmed against his erection, needing him. Just as I was about to beg him to take me right there without hesitation, the elevator doors opened.

Tearing his lips from mine, breathing harshly, he confessed, “I just wanted to have a drink with you, I swear. Wanted to get you hot and bothered and woozy then send you home to think about what I
didn’t
give you, so you could finger-fuck yourself to sleep. Mind on me.”

Raking his teeth over his lower lip, he narrowed his eyes at me, and though they were still heavy with need, they were severe. “But then, you bit me, Krissan. You fucking
bit
me.”

C
hest heaving with short breaths, I replied, “But … but you wanted me to … ”

Trevillo shook his head as he used one hand to push off from the wall with me still wrapped around him, and walked us out of the elevator that led straight into a ritzy suite. “Not want … ”

Soon he was lowering me down on a plush sofa. “Need. Need to feel your teeth and nails sinking into my flesh. Everywhere. Raking, biting, digging, drawing blood.”

Taken aback, I stared up into blue eyes flooded with concupiscence, need, and something else I couldn’t name. “You’re into … pain?”

At the word, his breathing grew harsher and his nostrils flared. “Hmm.”

Shit.

Yeah. I was right earlier. I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. The man hovering above me, with sex leaking through his pores in the form of tiny beads of sweat, with need, starvation and desire swirling in his depths, was a man who resembled more than danger, but also every sinful pleasure that could be offered.

Pain during sex wasn’t something I was interested in, so I figured the best time to stop this was now. “I can’t … I’m not into — ”

Trevillo abruptly got up to his feet and shoved a hand through his hair, no doubt recording fear on my face. “Fuck,” he swore beneath his breath. “I don’t inflict pain on women. Never. It’s the other way around.”

Agitation mitigated by his explanation, I whispered, “Oh.”

“However … ” he went on, “I do suggest we pause this clawing and pawing and grab that drink we really came here for? Because the unprecedented need I’m experiencing right now, Krissan, might just well lead to somewhere neither of us wants to go.”

The severe expression he wore told me he was being far from facetious. He indeed seemed a bit fatal, as if he were wrestling with some kind of sex demon. So even though my vagina walls were clenching ceaselessly, desperate to grab hold of him inside me and suck an orgasm out of him, I nodded in agreement.

At that, he promptly turned and carried himself on his strong legs over to a wine-rack in the kitchen area. Closing my sprawled legs, I attempted to pull my over-aroused self together and got up from the sofa.

I glanced around what was, no doubt, a presidential suite. The suite was one wide, sumptuously decorated, open floor space. The bedroom bled into the sitting room, the sitting room bled into the kitchen area. The entire left wall was glass, showing an astounding vista. There was a slide door to the left of the wall leading out to a spacious rectangular balcony with white leather lounge chairs. Viscas hotels were, before now, what I’d only ever heard about, not being affluent enough to set foot in one. The first branch of Viscas was in Los Angeles, top-class, five stars. This one, Viscas II, was completed two years ago, and was just as swanky as the one back in Los Angles. Viscas III was currently being constructed in New York.

Being given the opportunity to be in one, a presidential suite at that, I could understand what the brouhaha was all about. It was simply breath-taking.

As I stood by the railing out on the balcony taking in the view, I heard Trevillo’s heavy boots hitting the floor tiles as he came up behind me, and I turned around. Desire was still present on his face, but not as fierce as it was a few minutes ago.

Stepping all up in my face and in my space, he held out a glass of wine to me. “The drink. Chateau Margaux.”

Accepting the glass from his hand, I peered up at him and sipped, then deliberately, and slowly, swept my tongue over my lips. I so wanted this man, and I wanted him to know it.

Eyes narrowing, he admonished, “Stop it. I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

Seizing my free hand, he dragged me over to one of the lounge chairs, sat down and urged me down on his lap. “I had it all planned out in my head how I wanted this night to go, but you keep shooting it to hell.” He dipped a finger in his wine then traced it around the outline of my lips. When I caught said finger and sucked it into my mouth, he breathed, “Dammit, Krissan.”

I wasn’t the one for too much talking. Especially when my body’s begging for sex. During sex, a precious vice of mine, I was uninhibited and always ready. I didn’t play cock-shy, and I didn’t wait for a guy to take the lead. And Mr. Danger here, obviously still set on his ‘trying to figure me out’ mission, was doing a whole lot of delaying, while I was doing a whole lot of wanting.

With a man like him, I would’ve expected him to be balls-deep inside me by now, calling me ‘baby’ as he came because he couldn’t remember my name, then giving me a pat on the ass as he sent me home — because he didn’t do sleepovers.

But no. This heartthrob billionaire, real estate extraordinaire, wanted me to sit on his goddamn lap and …

“Tell me, what do you enjoy?”

Yep, talk. He wanted to frigging
talk
.

“Sex,” I answered out of sexual frustration. “I enjoy the shit out of sex. So damn much. Much more than talking.”

He chuckled, and it was a real sexy sound. In fact, everything about the man was real sexy. When he was serious, he was seriously sexy. When he was amused, he was amusingly sexy. When he was arrogant, he was arrogantly sexy. When he was aroused, he was shatter-a girl’s-lady-bits-to-pieces sexy. He was just one big ball of masculine sexiness. A girl couldn’t help being anything but turned the hell up on high heat around him.

“That goes without saying,” he retorted, still chuckling. “Aside from that … ?”

Before I could speak, he added, “Omit shopping, ‘cause that’s pretty damn obvious.”

And I laughed.

“There,” he said, as if he’d just accomplished some kind of goal. “Krissan Kingston just laughed.”

I thought about his question. Apart from fucking and shopping, what did I enjoy? Aside from that other thing that I wouldn’t tell him or anyone, I did nothing else but have meaningless sex, shop and work. I basically lived like a single dude. “Work, I guess. I go clubbing sometimes with my best friend, Marsha, or hangout at JK’s dance studio. That’s about it.”

“Relationships?”

“I’ve never had one. Never been interested in one. I have nothing to share with anyone, so I’ve no inclination to start one.” I took a sip of my wine and continued. “Takes too much energy, you know. I just don’t believe any of it is real. All fake. The whole ‘I love you. I love you, too. I love you more. No,
I
love you more. Forever and always. Let’s get married. I want you to have my babies … ’ Booooo! Fuck all that.”

Trevillo nodded once, but didn’t comment on my part-rant, part-answer. Instead, he brought his glass of wine to my lips and said in a quiet voice, “Taste from my cup.”

My brows knitted together as I thought about how those four words seemed fat with hidden meaning. When I drank from his glass, he smiled mysteriously and drank from it himself.

Setting his glass aside on the ground, he took mine and set it down beside his. Next, he cupped my face, giving me that serious look of his as he told me, “You shouldn’t swear, Krissy. It doesn’t suit you. I don’t know what you think you look like in your mind’s eye, or what you think you see when you look in the mirror, but in my eyes, you’re nothing but pure delicateness, softness, airiness. Swear words coming from your lips smears that image. It just doesn’t fit. Don’t swear.”

“I’m a — ”

I didn’t get to finish, because his lips came crashing against mine, and I was more than okay with being told to shut the hell up in that manner. Moaning into his kiss, I laced my fingers around his neck and kissed him hard, arching my body into his, warring with his swift, exploring tongue that glided along the roof of my mouth, over that deep arch near my tonsils, then dropped back down with a sweet beat as he caught my tongue and sucked on it.

Dang
, he could kiss the shit out of a woman! Never, in my short lifetime, had I felt this close to orgasm solely by kissing. On a loud moan, I tried to contend, but that expert tongue couldn’t be competed with. He kept winning.

Breaking the kiss, he tipped my head back and licked his tongue up my neck as his other hand dipped under my dress and, without wandering, went unerringly between my thighs, right up to my throbbing core.

The second his thumb brushed over my lace-covered bud, an unexpected cry escaped my lungs and slapped against the cool night air. Having a prolonged arousal will cause a girl to be hypersensitive to any touch. No matter how gentle.

Trevillo removed his hand from under my dress and pushed me off his lap. “Stand up. Take off your dress.”

Knowing we were out on a balcony, where people from other nearby buildings that were as high as this one could possibly look their out windows and see us, I hesitated.

Trevillo raised a brow at me. “Krissan, no hesitation with me. Ever. Okay?”

Lamely, I nodded.

“Take off your dress.”

Grasping the hem of the dress, I pulled it over my head in one haul and dropped it to the floor. I stood before him in just my underwear as the night air whispered across my skin, teasing my nipples. When I hooked my thumbs in the side of my nude lace underwear to shimmy them down, he stopped me. “No, leave those on. They’re sexy as fuck.”

Clasping my hips, he pulled me forward to him. If I were wearing heels, his lips might have been in direct line with my lips down south. But with my shortness and his tallness, even sitting down his lips were almost at my breasts. I waited for him to suckle one into his mouth, but he didn’t.

“Take those puckering pink nipples between your fingers and play with them,” he commanded, then promptly dipped his tongue inside my navel and flicked my navel-ring.

With that one movement, my head fell back and my hands compliantly moved to my breasts, twisting my own nipples and growing more and more aroused by it. Pulling me closer to stand between his thighs, he lifted my left leg and hooked it over his shoulder, and with the movement I had to grab onto his shoulder with one hand for balance.

“Don’t stop playing with those perfect nipples, Krissy. Stay balanced without holding on. Even when the orgasm I’m about to give you rocks your fucking body into overdrive,
don’t
hold onto me. Just take it. Let it knock you the fuck over.”

He plucked my hand off his shoulder and brought it back up to my breast and it took a few seconds before I was able to stay balanced on my right leg alone. When he saw that I was set, he used two fingers to shift my underwear to one side. He lowered his head, and a moan escaped me as his tongue swiped up my seam.

My hips involuntarily jolted forward at the contact, but I held my equilibrium. Pleased, Trevillo began lapping at me, his tongue beating relentlessly down on my bud, then sucking on it at ten second intervals, forming a pattern, a rhythm. Focused, passionate, and calculated. The man had a skillful tongue, had to give him that. He’d kissed my mouth as if he owned it, and now he was sucking me as if I’d always been his. Struggling to stay upright as pleasure ran sprint-races through me, I writhed and undulated against his mouth.

“Yeah, babe,” he spurred on. “Grind on my fucking tongue … ”

I expected to feel his fingers inside me by that point, but then I realized he was showing me he could drive me wild with his tongue alone. Hands-free. And hell, I was wildly frigging driven.

As I felt my orgasm rocking on, I tried not to hang on to him. But when the first wave crashed over me, I gripped his hair with both hands, and thrust harder up against his mouth. Tossing my head back, I polluted the night air with a long, loud, “Fuuucckkk!”

High tidal waves wrapped me up and tossed me onto the shore, leaving me there breathless, trying to catch my breath from being held under water for too long.

When the ripples faded, and all was quiet at sea, I opened my eyes and found Trevillo either glaring or leering at me. I wasn’t sure which. “I told you not to hold on, and I told you not to swear. You did both. Simultaneously.”

Ever had an orgasm, then afterward found yourself grinning for no reason whatsoever? That’s how you know it was off the charts.

With a post-orgasm grin, I told him, “Punish me, then.”

Eyes hooded, he bent and blew air gently on my sensitive folds, then said, “You know how to make a man grow harder and painfully harder, don’t you?”