Laurelin
With shaking fingers, I look at myself in the mirror. I’m clad in nothing but my lacy bra and panties, and they don’t hide much. These will be fine, right?
After all, Tate probably romances supermodels and socialites groomed to within an inch of their lives. And yet, here I am. Thank god my lingerie is decent. I like wearing dainty, pretty underthings because they give me a shot of confidence, even if on the outside I’m clad in plain jeans and a sweater. But is it okay? Am I sexy enough for the gorgeous billionaire?
Critically, I look at myself in the mirror and fluff out my blonde strands. After we struck our deal, Tate led me upstairs to a spacious suite on the second floor, decorated in creamy whites and pale blues. The bed is a soft, enormous four-poster; a huge antique wardrobe dominates the east wall; and even more surprising, it’s full of fluffy white robes. “For guests,” Tate said with a wink. I can imagine he has plenty of those--female ones, to be specific.
But I can’t be judging him, seeing that I said yes to this dirty deal. As a result, I merely shrugged and smiled as he left me alone to get ready. Now, I’ve showered, and it felt really good. After all, my apartment with Rachel doesn’t always have hot water, and sometimes the water runs rust-brown for a couple of minutes, which is really gross. By contrast, this suite boasts a luxury rainshower and, beside it, a porcelain clawfoot tub that could fit a giant (or two). I may have stayed in the shower for a tad longer than necessary, but hey, I’m not the one paying the water bill.
With a guilty pang, I realize that I haven’t told Rachel where I am yet. She’ll be expecting me home soon to feed Toodles, and will be irate at being stuck with my cat for so long on her own. I’m so sorry, Toodles, I think, hoping he’ll hear me through some pet-owner telepathy. Rach will take good care of you for a few days, until the spell wears off and I come to my senses. You like her, remember?
I grab my phone from my jeans pocket and text my roomie. Hey, lady! I’m staying at Channing’s for a few days to plan a charity ball (gag). Do you mind watching Toodles? I’ll Venmo you some money.
Almost immediately, she replies, Keep your damn money. Just steal some good booze from your brother’s stash and bring it home to me.
I laugh. Rachel is a midwife, and while she loves her job, she definitely appreciates a strong drink after some of her shifts. Will do, I respond. Feeling especially guilty, I stash my phone in the nightstand beside the bed. Hmm, this is another problem. I have the newest iPhone with an expensive case, so how will I explain that? I’ll try to keep it out of sight, so it doesn’t raise any suspicions. Or I could say I stole it, but the lie curdles on my tongue. Damn, this is getting to be more complicated than I thought.
Plus, I can’t believe that Tate wants me to wear nothing but lingerie when I’m in his house. My jaw practically dropped to the floor when he stated his condition.
“Excuse me?” I stammered.
The handsome billionaire merely shrugged like it was no big deal.
“I appreciate women’s bodies, and you have a delectably curvy one, sweetheart. I’d like to see you in nothing but the tiniest scraps of lace, if possible.”
My mouth snapped shut then as my eyes bugged out. This guy really is a perverted asshole! But the thing is that I was turned on by the idea. I’ve never been so naughty before, and the idea of prancing around in front of the handsome man wearing nothing but the tiniest bits of lace titillates my imagination. As a result, here I am now, clad in nothing but bits of silk that barely hide my assets. Hell, they don’t hide my assets. I know my nipples are shadowy beneath the white fabric, and the vee of my pussy lips is outlined by the tight material of my panties.
Suddenly cowardice overcomes me, and I hurry to the armoire before selecting a fluffy white robe to put on. As soon as I sling it around my shoulders, I’m comforted. There, that’s not so bad anymore. I fasten the sash tightly around my waist, taking a deep breath. I will survive. I can do this. I can be the wanton woman Tate wants, and still come out with my sanity intact.
As I exit my room and walk slowly down the grand staircase, I make a promise to myself: I’ll leave if it gets too crazy. If Tate actually makes me do insane things like tying me to a bed, or spanking my bottom until it’s red, I’ll march out with my head held high. But then a flush graces my cheeks because the imagery is turning me on, and I realize I am well and truly losing it. I want those things? I want to do these dirty, nasty things with the handsome man? It’s true, and the knowledge makes me flush a bright red.
Then, I reach the bottom of the stairs and the breath flies from my chest because Tate’s standing there waiting for me wearing black jeans and a black shirt, looking ungodly handsome. I try not to blush when I realize how little I have on under my robe.
“Hi,” I say in a near whisper.
He smiles wolfishly before leaning forward to kiss my cheek. His lips trail over my skin, and my temperature zips up about ten degrees.
“Hi yourself, honey. You look beautiful.”
I flush while pulling the robe tighter around my waist.
“I don’t have anything else to put on at the moment.”
He smiles.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “We’ll get you some nice lingerie to relax in. In the meantime, you’re dressed perfectly because we’re going to have a picnic.”
My raised brows must communicate my confusion because Tate clarifies, “An indoor picnic, sweetheart. Follow me.”
He turns, gently grasping my elbow, and escorts me into a room off to the side.
When I enter, I gasp. This sitting room has an enormous fireplace, already sparkling and crackling as we approach. A black bearskin rug lies on the floor, and surprisingly, the roaring head doesn’t freak me out. The walls are lined with bookshelves, and two comfortable-looking leather chairs are arranged before the fire. It’s a room that my father would like, strong and masculine. But with Tate’s presence, and in the ever-shifting light of the fire, it feels intimate and downright very sexy.
“Come here, sweetheart,” the billionaire growls, as he takes a seat on the bearskin rug. I notice a large picnic basket in front of him, and lower myself as well, feeling uncharacteristically shy. How exactly is this “arrangement” going to start--and when?
But now, it looks like we’re going to eat. Out of the picnic basket, Tate produces two plates and two wine glasses, and then, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he withdraws a lavish charcuterie plate and a bottle of red wine. My eyes flicker to the bottle’s label. Sure enough, like everything else in this house, it’s expensive. Admittedly, I haven’t tasted wine more pricey than a twist-off bottom-shelf bottle for a while.
“Do you prefer white or red?” he growls.
“Red,” I say quickly.
Tate smiles, and there’s that wolfishness again, or maybe it’s just the firelight casting shadows on his handsome, planed face. “Good.”
He pours wine into my glass, and then his own, and gestures at the charcuterie board. “Sweetheart, help yourself.” The board is graced with a variety of dried meats and cheeses, some perfectly-ripe strawberries, handfuls of macadamia nuts, beautifully jewel-toned figs, and what appear to be hand-dipped chocolate-covered pretzels. Eagerly, I place a variety of foods onto my plate.
“Hungry much?”
I flush red, and immediately the handsome man looks contrite.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes. “Sometimes I forget you’re from the street. Have as much as you want.”
I nod, ducking my head. OMG, I should tell him the truth because this charade is getting really crazy, but somehow, nothing comes from my throat. Then, when I turn back to Tate, he selects a strawberry from the board and without breaking eye contact, brings the berry to my mouth. Obediently, I bite into it and a sweet nectar spills over my taste buds, making me moan deliriously.
When I open my eyes again, he’s watching me avidly.
“Sweetheart, I never knew a woman could look like that while eating.”
I flush again.
“Strawberries are good,” I say in a shy voice. “Why, did I do something weird?”
His blue eyes glitter. “No honey, not at all. You’re just a very sensual woman when you part your lips.”
That’s when I notice a very prominent bulge at his crotch and my nipples tighten in response. But I have to get a hold of myself. I don’t want to throw myself at him like some desperate woman. Hastily, I eat some cheese, probably looking like a pig snarfling up her slops. But hey, anything to get my eyes off of that huge tent in his pants that’s making me so hot.
When I grab my wine glass, I take a long sip, tilting my head back and sure enough, when I look at Tate again, he’s watching me ravenously. Uh oh, I may have overplayed my hand. But then he takes a deep breath and fixes me with those deep blue eyes.
“Laurie, how did someone as beautiful as you end up on the streets?” he asks in a direct tone.
I panic a little. I haven’t thought of my backstory yet. But I can certainly hide my indecision with solid common sense.
“Unfortunately, beauty doesn’t save someone from homelessness,” I say in a quiet voice. “Nor intelligence, nor any other factor. Anyone could become homeless. Even you.”
“Even me,” Tate agrees smoothly. “Medical debt, not to mention credit card debt, are very real things. But I seem to be asking all the wrong questions. Let me try something else. How long have you been in New York?”
I pause for a moment. Should I lie? But then I decide not to.
“My whole life,” I answer truthfully. “What about you?”
He grins.
“Same,” he says. “I grew up in Ithaca and then went to Columbia for business school.”
I know, I think, because my brother did, too.
“So what do you do?” I ask.
He grins. “That’s a very NYC question, but I make electric cars actually. Very fascinating stuff and very boring shit at the same time. It depends on the day. But I love it. Are you interested in cars?”
I shake my head.
“No, but my brother’s always really been into his rides.” Immediately, I wince--I shouldn’t have mentioned having a brother.
Tate raises a brow. “Is your brother in New York?”
“Um,” I say, and stare at the charcuterie board, trying to decide what to say. “No. Not anymore.”
“Ah.” Tate takes a sip of his wine, and I do the same, hoping that the implication of a tragic backstory gets him to change the subject. Thankfully, he does.
We chat as we eat, circling back to art and segueing into sports and books. Tate is an Eagles fan because his dad is from Philly; I, like a good New Yorker, have always rooted for the Giants, and we rib each other good-naturedly. I feel myself getting warm, sitting next to the fire while drinking my third glass of wine, and unconsciously wipe my hand across my brow.
“Hot?” Tate asks, and I nod.
“A little.”
“Me, too,” he growls. Before I’m entirely ready for it, he stands up and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing acres of bronzed skin and those washboard abs yet again. My mouth literally goes dry at the sight of this gorgeous god. Then, to my surprise, he unbuckles his belt and lets his pants fall. That’s when my jaw drops. What is he doing?
But with a devilish grin, soon Tate’s clad only in a pair of black boxer shorts. Tight black boxer shorts, I should add. And it doesn’t help that his package is still semi-erect and very large.
“What are you doing?” I ask hoarsely.
“Just getting comfortable,” he drawls lazily. “Didn’t you say you were hot too? Why don’t you take that robe off?”
I stare at him as a pink flush crawls over my cheeks.
“I’m sorry?”
But Tate acts like nothing’s amiss.
“Take it off,” he says with a grin. “You’ll feel better, I promise honey.”
Oh my god, this is such a dirty scenario, yet before I realize it, my fingers are loosening the belt to my robe, and slowly, the terrycloth slides down my shoulders. Unable to make eye contact, I pull open the vee, revealing my (thankfully matching) pale pink panties and bra. My nipples are jutting against the thin fabric, and a shadowy patch peeps from between my thighs. I hope he can’t see because it’s quite dim in the sitting room, but from the way his blue eyes flare, I know he does.
I watch Tate watch me.
“Have some more strawberries,” he says, rather abruptly.
Then, Tate takes a strawberry, pushes the nearly-empty board aside, and kneels in front of me. When I don’t protest (because I’m too busy screaming what am I doing?! in my head) he lightly takes my chin in one hand, and dangles the fruit in front of my mouth with the other.
As if entranced, I part my lips.
This strawberry is juicy, delicious, candy-sweet, and I savor it as I bite down and Tate slowly pulls the stem away. Then, as soon as I swallow, Tate closes the gap between us, and claims my mouth with his own.
It’s an incredible kiss. It’s a magical kiss. It’s one of those kisses that makes your eyes flutter and your legs turn into jelly, so thank goodness I’m sitting down. I moan into his open mouth without meaning to, and he growls his approval against my lips, all the while holding my curvy form tighter, closer, to him.
His skin against mine, combined with the heat of the flames, makes me feel as if I’m being bathed in fire. I want to feel more of him, and suddenly, I want him to burn with need, too.
So I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling that masculine form down to mine as our bodies meld together. He pushes me back, angling between my thighs, and then suddenly there’s an insistent nudge against my belly. Oh shit, that’s his huge dick and I gasp, breathing hard while pulling away.
“You’ll be okay,” Tate growls. “It’s big but I know you can handle it.”
I look down at his crotch and realize his member is so large that it literally wraps around his waist.
“I don’t know if I can, Daddy,” comes my whisper. “It’s huge!”
He merely seizes my mouth again.
“Yes, but I have a feeling you’re the stretchy kind, sweetheart. You were made for taking a man.”
With that, I melt against Tate. He lowers me to the bearskin rug, and then his hands roam across my back, his fingers dancing tantalizingly over my nipples, just enough to be a tease. I grab a fistful of his dark hair and he growls something into my mouth, maybe “fuck” or maybe “uggh.” I can’t tell, but it doesn’t matter because it just makes me want to kiss him more.
I’m lost in Tate’s kiss, his embrace, his touch. When he seizes my hand and guides it to the bulge between his legs, this time, I don’t draw away. Instead, I lightly trace its outline with my fingers, so gently that he lets out a low, guttural moan.
“Fuck you’re going to be the death of me sweetheart,” he mutters.
Encouraged, I squeeze gently, snapping out of my trance just enough to clock how big it is, how girthy. My heart rate increases even more, hammering in my ears. I can’t believe how badly I want him, this man who I’ve met for the first time--well, the second time--today.
“I want you,” he rasps in my ear, lightly tracing my lobe with the tip of his tongue. I nod, and Tate takes that as his cue. The alpha male unhooks my bra, tosses it aside, and lightly drags the pads of his fingers across my already swollen nipples. I let out a sharp squeak, tossing my head back as tingles run straight from my tips to my cunt.
“I knew you’d be responsive,” he growls. “I had a feeling.”
Then, he pops one into his mouth and I tilt my head back and scream this time, a flood of wetness gushing between my legs.
“Oh Tate,” I mewl. “God, yes.”
Chuckling deep in his throat, he helps me out of my panties, and then his boxers are off, too, and his cock bursts out like a huge rod. I take hold of it again in my hand and gasp. OMG, I can’t even get my fingers all the way around, but he merely grins while reaching over to rub a finger tortuously slowly against my clit.
“You like that baby?” he rasps, pinching my clit for a moment. Hot spasms run through my pussy and I let out another low, needy mewl. “Good, I knew you’d be just the right girl,” he growls. Then, he fingers my clit again, increasing the pace, before suddenly plunging into my wetness. I moan, more loudly than I anticipated, and shakily sit back to allow him better access. He pumps his fingers in and out of me, obscene sucking sounds ringing out in the room, but I’m not even embarrassed. My body needs his and I part my knees even further, giving him better access.
“What a little slut,” he growls, blue eyes flashing. “I knew as soon as I saw you.”
I should be offended by this statement, but the fact is that I’m acting very slutty right now. I lean back, pinching my own nipples with one hand, before reaching for his cock again. His girthiness makes my mouth water and my eyes fly up to Tate but he shakes his head.
“Not yet, baby girl. First, I’m going to do this.”
Then, he flips his hand around so that his fingers are brushing against that perfect spot inside of me.
“Oh, my God,” I cry out. “It feels so good!” I’m not always a fan of fingering because it can feel so rough, so careless if a man doesn’t know what he’s doing. But this is almost as good as a cock would be. Tate is certainly an expert as his fingers squelch in and out of me, giving me a good pound.
But I want even more.
“Fuck me,” I whisper suddenly. When he smirks and continues to thrust his fingers in and out, in and out, I whine, “Please,” suddenly desperate for his thick member to be inside me. The alpha male ignores my request for a moment, his fingers moving even more quickly until a desperate moan escapes from my lips and hot fluid fills his palm. Oh my god, was that me? But Tate merely pulls his fingers out before sucking them while grinning lasciviously at me.
“You taste sweet, baby girl. Now, I’m sure you’re ready.” With that, the large male positions himself at the apex of my thighs. “How bad do you want it?” he whispers, those blue eyes glowing as he looks at me. He rubs the head of his cock against my dripping entrance, and I gush hotly again, digging my nails into his skin.
“Please,” is the only word I can manage through clenched teeth.
With a knowing smile, Tate ever-so-slowly eases himself inside of me. He’s huge, and I toss my head back, my eyes fluttering closed as I’m stretched.
“Unnnh,” I cry out. “Oh fuck.”
“Just a little more,” he croons. “You can do it, sweetheart.”
Finally, he’s buried to the hilt and I open my eyes. Holy shit, the sight is dirty. His balls are pressed against my pussy and Tate’s looming above me, that bronzed chest bare. Then, slowly at first, but with increasing fervor, he begins to fuck in and out.
I would say “making love,” but the fact is this is about as far from making love as you can get. This is a heavy-duty, no holds barred drill, and I love it. I spread my legs as far as possible and beg for him to pound my pussy harder.
“More!” I scream, squelching again. “Oh Daddy, please more!”
There’s a harsh flush on his high cheekbones and he responds to my command. Soon, he’s pummeling my cunt with that huge, beautiful rod, and my channel’s squeezing him tight.
“Fuck,” I grunt. I’m not usually prone to swearing during sex, but it feels so good, so right, that I can’t help but choose a profanity. I feel gloriously split in two by his member, like a slut enjoying a giant horse cock. My wetness is dripping onto the rug, and we’re definitely both slick with sweat now. Can you dry clean a bearskin rug? I think in a daze. But then Tate interrupts my stupor.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” he commands, and I do. Our gazes are locked on each other, but instead of bringing me to a finish, he pulls out.
“I want to try something else,” he says in a rasp.
I stare at him, panting heavily.
“Such as?”
He grins.
“Have you done this before, sweetheart?” he asks while reaching forward to rub my asshole with his fingers. The tight pink ring clenches tight as I stare at him in shock.
“What?” I squeak. “Now? Well yes, but I mean …”
Quick as lightning, he drops his head and kisses me there, before circling the taut pucker with his tongue.
“I just want to know if girls living on the streets are good at taking it from behind,” he rasps. “I want to know if your butt stays tight when you’re living the hard life.”
Oh my god, this is so offensive! I should smack him across the face because is he somehow implying that homeless girls are sluts just because we have nowhere to sleep? But instead of raging at him, I rock back, pulling my knees up beside my ears so that my anus is on full display, and wink at him with my brown button.
“Then try it, Daddy,” I purr. “This is all yours.”
Tate’s on me immediately. He spits on his palm and lubes up his member again, although it’s already glistening from my pussy fluids. Then, he nudges my back hole with that enormous rod and pushes a bit. I cry out, my head tilting back.
“You okay?” he rasps. “I’ll take it slow, I promise.”
But I don’t want it slow. I want it rough and hard, and I merely pull my knees up even higher, exposing more of my rosebud.
“Push in all the way, Daddy,” I pant. “I need it.”
With that, Tate slides deep into my asshole and we both groan at the intense sensation. I feel like he’s splitting me apart, but in a good way, and unbidden, my pussy begins to gush again, fluids leaking down to trickle over where we’re joined.
“That’s my girl,” he rasps. “You’re loving it, aren’t you?”
Then he begins a steady rhythm in my bottom, in and out, and I moan deliriously. I’ve never been into back door much, but somehow, this man brings out the dirty girl inside and I need it. I rock with him as much as I can, taking him deep into my inner recesses.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I pant. “Just like that.”
Suddenly, lightening seizes me and I scream aloud. Hot tremors dart through my frame as both my pussy and ass convulse in rapid ecstasy.
“Oh Tate!” I scream. “Unnnnh!”
He follows me into the sparkling oblivion.
“Fuck,” he grunts as his cock jerks inside my rectum, hot splashes of seed dousing my back channel. “Holy shit!”
He pumps non-stop for what feels like hours, his seed so copious that it seeps out from where we’re joined. I cry out again and again, my butt squeezing him for more, milking him for every last drop possible. Finally, the alpha male collapses on me, breathing hard into my ear.
“Did you like that?” he asks, hot breath blowing over my cheek. “Because fuck baby, I had no idea.”
I merely giggle, clenching him tight with my bottom and making him groan.
“I loved it,” I coo in a throaty voice. “In fact, I’d love to do it again. If you’re game, that is, big boy.”
And judging from the flash in those blue eyes, Tate Connor is more than game. The wealthy man’s ready to go, and sure enough, within moments the bear skin rug’s getting another hot dose of our love.