The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven - Ellie Rowe Page 0,14
my thigh.
“Pray tell,” he challenges.
“I watched an interview with you once —”
He removes his hand from my thigh and pretends to leave. I laugh and pull him back — a little harder than expected — so he comes crashing into me. Our bodies are close together and I can smell his cologne.
“As I was saying… I watched an interview with you once where you described the sensation of tasting and creating food.”
He nods and his hand slides around my waist.
“I’ve done a lot of interviews…”
Smug bastard. I put a finger to his lips.
“You said the creation of good food should be like sex — Sensual and thoughtful, with varying speeds and attention to detail.” His mouth is now close to mine, and he’s scrutinizing my lips move, entranced.
As much as I hate to admit it, I think, ‘what would Paulie do?’.
“So, what do you think?” I ask and he tilts my chin toward him.
“Of?”
“Well, you’ve had my food, what do you think?”
“I think I’d have to experience your proficiency in both those things to make a comparison.”
“Well, far be it from me to stop your fair judgement —”
He presses me against the bar and his mouth crashes into mine. I slide my hands to his back and feel his hardened muscles, which contract as he runs his palms up and down my curves.
I make my way to the buttons of his shirt, and he untucks my top to slide his hands up my waist, cupping my breast. I moan at his touch, and shiver as his hands snake down past my abdomen.
He bites my neck and I gasp, tearing the last button of his shirt and leaving his chest exposed. I’m embarrassed to admit an ‘as seen on TV’ sign flashes across my mind, but thank God, I didn’t say it out loud.
Our movements are quick and hot. I grasp his belt and slip it out before reaching for his zipper. I can feel him underneath my working fingers, rock hard and ready for me.
I tear his pants down, and lower myself to my knees, pulling his briefs down with me. His erection springs from his pants and threatens to hit me in the face with its size. I take a peek at him, relishing in the look of lust plastered on his face.
Maintaining eye contact, I slowly take him into my mouth, using my hands to grab his ass and massage the base of his shaft.
He moans, “fuck,” before reaching down to stroke my hair, pulling it free from its ponytail.
Just as my fingers make their way to the spot behind his balls, he gasps and quickly pulls me up to stand, stripping my shirt off and burying his face into my chest. His fingers start rubbing my clit over my pants.
I moan his name into his ear, which only sets him off. He picks me up and sits me on the bar to remove my pants. When I’m down to my panties, he lays me backward on the bar. My hands are needy, desperate, as I pull him toward me. He slips two fingers inside me and I throw my head back and moan.
“Fuck me, please,” I beg and he slips his fingers from me to spread my legs wider. Slamming his hand on the side of my head he uses the other to guide himself inside me. Once he’s in, we both cry out before I grab his torso and bring him crashing into me.
He fucks me in smooth fluid motions, gripping the edge of the bar and ravaging my neck with bites and kisses. I slide my hands down his body and grab his ass, pushing himself further inside me.
My hand reaches down for leverage and I end up grabbing a container of strawberries we used for the signature cocktail. He looks up at what I’m holding and displays a wicked grin. “Give me those.”
Still fucking me, he pops open the container with his teeth and pulls one out.
He places one end in his mouth and brings down the other to mine, his motion slowing to sensual deep thrusts. I’m whimpering with each pulse and take the berry into my mouth, moaning as the juices flow down my cheeks and on my tongue.
I grab two sliced pieces and place them on my nipples. He kisses me along my neck until he meets my hard nipple, biting at the berry with his teeth until I squirm. He rolls his hips as he moves to the other, biting