The Pearl (The Godwicks #3) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,11
And you know what they say…when you buy quality, you only cry once.”
She gave that low throaty laugh again that made his toes curl. She was rubbing his bottom now, kneading him, and his hips were moving with her hands. He was going to come in his pants like a teenage boy if she didn’t stop.
A soft sigh escaped his mouth, soft and involuntary.
“Poor Brat. This is terrible, isn’t it?” She slid her hands underneath his t-shirt and up his back. Up and up they went until they could go no further, and she had him lift his arms overhead so she could strip the shirt off of him. She ran her hands over his naked shoulders and torso.
“Broad chest,” she said, resting a small hand over his heart. “Broad chest and a strong heart. It’s beating so fast against my palm I think it might burst out and run away if I moved my hand. But I think I’ll move it anyway.”
He watched her slide her hand down his stomach to his jeans. She found the button of his trousers, then the zipper came down, slowly, too slowly. His chest panted as, inch by inch, she freed his cock. It came out into her hands like it had been waiting all its life for her. She took it and held it, stroked it. Arthur dug his fingers into the golden velvet, enduring it more than enjoying it. He could not let himself come. He bit his tongue and the pain calmed him.
“Beautiful cock,” she said, staring at it with admiring eyes. “Big and beautiful and very thick. I can’t even wrap my fingers all the way around it.”
She couldn’t. He hated how good that made him feel, but it did.
“Do you want to put your cock inside of me?”
He lowered his head, his eyes shut tight. “Yes,” he breathed.
“What was that? A little louder.” She touched his chin, lifted it, forced him to meet her eyes. “Yes?”
A little louder, as requested, he said, “Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “I want it, too. I want your cock so deep inside my cunt I can feel it in my throat, and I want your cock so deep inside my throat I can feel it in my cunt.”
Arthur’s chest heaved and she laughed her mocking laugh that made him aware of every nerve in his body.
“But not here,” she said. “In the bedroom. Come with me.”
With long-legged grace she slid away from him and stood, then patted her thigh and waved for him to get up and follow her.
He didn’t. The last vestiges of his pride kept him there on the floor. Her words rang in his ear.
You’re my bird now—my bird in my gilded cage. How does it feel, getting treated like your great-grandfather used to treat his whores?
What else would you expect from a hundred-grand whore besides perfection?
When you buy quality, you only cry once…
If he did this, had sex with her right now, on her terms, these terms, he really was her whore. Selling himself to earn back his great-grandfather’s portrait. Selling himself to keep Charlie in his parents’ good graces. Selling himself because his body was the only currency she would accept.
Regan came back to him, stood next to him so close he could have rested his forehead on her stomach. Her cunt was inches from his face, hidden by lace and the silk of her robe. He thought he could feel the heat emanating from inside her.
She dug her hand into his hair and brought his head to rest on her hips.
“It’s all right,” she said, running her fingers through his hair again. “The first time you sell yourself is always the hardest. Don’t worry, it gets easier. So much easier you’ll wonder why you were ever fool enough to give it away for free. I sold myself and look what I got.” She raised her hands to indicate the penthouse, the art, the hotel, the world. “Come on now, Brat. As the Americans say, you’re on my dime.”
As cold as her words were, they worked. He rose off the floor. Though she was tall, he was taller. He was still in jeans, she was in her flimsy kimono. He was male, she was female. But as he stood there silently awaiting her next command, it was clear to both of them who was in charge here.
If he hadn’t been grateful for his military training before, he was now. At the very least, he knew how to follow orders.