Come and Get Me: The Magister Series, Book 2: A Billionaire Romance Read online

  “Oh,” she managed. “S-so…what do you want this to be?”

  “It changes. High noon, maybe. The center of a bull’s-eye. Whatever I feel like at the moment.”

  Sandra couldn’t imagine that anywhere, at any time, he talked with anybody else like this. No way. She closed her eyes at the trust he was giving her.

  “But I’d rather look at you than some damn painting I see every day,” he added. “Turn around.”

  The authority in his voice made her turn without even thinking about it. Then she gasped. Charles lay on the bed, naked as the day he was born, lazily stroking his erect cock while he looked at her.

  Her mouth went dry, and her skin got hot all over. She made a helpless, squeaky noise.

  He smirked. “Thank you for respecting my modesty.”

  “Oh my God,” she whimpered, and returned to the bed, trying not to totter on her heels. Or run. Now she knew how he’d felt when he’d seen her lying on the bed in the dress. She had to get back to him right the hell now and pounce, because why should his hand get to have all the fun?

  He watched her approach, his eyes focused on her breasts. When she reached the side of the bed, and fumbled at her bra clasp, he rapped, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  “Um,” Sandra managed. She watched his hand move again and again over his cock. Pre-come began to ooze out of the tip. “Okay. So, uh, how about if I help?” She reached for him.

  “Lie down on the bed,” he said softly. “Lie down, spread your legs, and keep the shoes on.”

  Sandra obeyed. She felt like she wasn’t getting enough air when he loomed over her, hand still working his cock. As he grew more and more aroused, his breathing deepened.

  “Are you going to finish?” Sandra whispered, watching his hand. He’d told her once that he rarely touched himself, though he’d never said why. “Are you going to finish on me?”

  “Ah! No,” he grunted. “But I’ve spent two fucking weeks not jerking off every time you’ve crossed my mind, and—” He ground his jaw. “I saw you standing over there, and I couldn’t help it anymore.”

  Two weeks. Jesus. They’d met two weeks ago tonight; two weeks ago at this very hour, she’d been wearing that same dress, this same lingerie, her world overturned by this same man.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” she whispered. “I’d like to see it. I’d like to get your come all over me.”

  Charles immediately let go of himself with a gasp and leaned backward. He was so hard that his cock, thick and red, jutted up against his stomach. More pre-come dribbled from the tip. He’d probably been seconds from climax. “God,” he panted, grabbed her knees, and pushed her thighs farther apart. Then he looked down.

  Sandra whimpered again. She knew what he’d see. Sure enough, he pressed his fingertips against the satin at the apex of her thighs and rubbed them against the wet spot there. When they pressed between her lips, teased her through the satin at her slit, she moaned.

  “What a waste,” Charles murmured. “What a waste it would be, not to enjoy you while I have you.”

  You always have me, Sandra stopped herself from saying. You’ve got all of me and I don’t know what to do. Instead of that, she managed, “How much do you enjoy me?”

  He gave her a hooded look. “You have no idea.” Warmth blossomed in her stomach as he lay on top of her, covering her with his long, lean body. He kissed her and breathed, “I love your cunt, I love your mouth.” Sandra tilted her head back and groaned when he began to kiss her throat. “It was fucking torture thinking about you all day and knowing I had to wait.” He shivered.

  Sandra blinked up at the ceiling as his words penetrated through her haze of arousal. His words, and his reactions. “But…”

  He raised his head and blinked down at her. “But what?”

  She combed her fingers through his hair again. His eyes closed for a second. “But you liked it too,” Sandra said slowly.

  He had been the one who’d needed persuading in the stairwell. He was the one who’d wanted to pause for chitchat tonight instead of dragging her into bed. He’d stopped immediately when she’d begged him to be good to her…

  Charles liked waiting.

  “I did not,” Charles said with a frown, though he traced his fingertips up and down her throat. “I told you it was torture. What are you smiling at?”

  Torture? Yeah, maybe a little. In the daylight, nobody ever made him wait for anything. Nobody would dare, not even his own family. He snapped his fingers and got what he wanted between one breath and the next. He wasn’t used to waiting. He probably thought he hated it.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one playing with a handicap.

  “What?” Charles repeated. His brows drew together as if he was annoyed, but he was also getting even harder against her stomach. And she wasn’t touching him or anything. She was just lying here, making him wait.

  “I think,” Sandra said, her heart hammering in her chest, “I’m gonna torture you some more.”

  “What?” he said, for the third time.

  She reached between them and found his cock. Gave it a squeeze. He hissed. “I’m close,” he warned her.

  “I know,” she murmured. “Because you couldn’t wait.”

  “I—”

  “Please, I need you to wait. Can you?” She touched his face. “I need a little more time.”

  He looked skeptical. Well, he had seen her already soaking through her panties. But he said, “If you insist.” Then he twitched in her grip.

  “Oh good,” Sandra whispered. She kicked off her shoes, sliding them off with either foot, and heard them tumble over the edge of the bed to the floor. Charles looked disappointed for a moment.

  But the look went away as Sandra wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and undulated against him. His cock dripped pre-come on the smooth skin of her belly.

  Pressed up against him, so close and yet so far, Sandra kissed Charles’s mouth. “Oh baby,” she whispered, “I need you to look after me.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Baby? Nobody had ever called him that. Not even Eleanor. Nobody had ever teased him like this either, pulling him close and pushing him away, telling him to go slowly while heaven was just within reach.

  It didn’t matter. Sandra had begged him. She needed him to look after her, treat her well, treasure her because she was his…she needed him. The wet spot on that pretty satin was proof enough of that.

  If not for the satin, he’d be inside her right now. His cock rested snugly between her thighs while she took her time kissing him, stroking his hair, whispering promises that she was obviously going to take an Ice Age to fulfill. And calling him baby.

  He was so hard it hurt.

  He slid his hands beneath her back, seeking the clasp of her bra. He hadn’t wanted her to take it off before, wanted to revel in the sight of her as she’d been on the night they’d met. But now, with her so warm and soft beneath him, he wanted to feel her nipples rubbing against his chest. Wanted to taste them…

  “No,” Sandra said, putting a hand on his elbow. “Not yet.”

  Charles growled. Did she think this was cute? He’d reminded himself earlier that taking one’s time could be pleasurable, that men could learn a thing or two from women, but that didn’t mean he had to let a little minx pull his puppet strings however she liked.

  Sandra gazed up at him with her large blue eyes. She bit her bottom lip. In the dim light of the lamp, he saw the faint smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. She’d been out in the sun today.

  Something inside him began to melt again, that weak, foolish part deep within, and he remembered that Sandra wasn’t just a minx. Not even a fox. She was the woman he loved and whom he couldn’t have outside this room. Every moment here was precious. Why should he want to rush the night along?

  “Will you take off my panties for me?” she whispered.

  Of course, she was a minx as well. Charles swallowed hard, sat up, and traced his fingertips
over the black lace at her hips. She raised her ass up from the bed just enough for him to tug the panties down, exposing the neat triangle of red hair. Beads of moisture glimmered on the curls closest to her slit, turning them stiff and sticky. He longed for a taste.

  Soon. Patience. He was fucking throbbing with need. Patience.

  Charles kept sliding her underwear down her legs, over her thighs, her knees, her elegant calves. She had a birthmark over her right ankle. Impulsively, he bent and nipped at it.

  Sandra squeaked and her legs jerked, still bound by her panties around her ankles. Charles blinked. I’ll tie you up, he’d said before. She was restrained now, a little, and…

  Another time. That was the sort of thing you had to agree on in advance. Charles slid her panties off her ankles. Her face had flushed, she was breathing more quickly, and he wondered if that had turned her on as much as it had him. Only one sure way to find out.

  But first, he gave her a wicked smile and sniffed her panties. Her jaw dropped, and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh God!”

  Unoffended, Charles tossed her underwear to the floor. “What?”

  “Oh God,” she repeated, giggling. “That’s so dirty.”

  “It’s not dirty,” he corrected. “It’s my favorite perfume.” Then he spread her legs wide again and inspected his handiwork. Pink and swollen and soaking wet. He could fuck her right now, after touching her for all of five seconds through her underwear.

  Prim and proper Sandra Dane. Charles never leered, but he came close to it now.

  She wasn’t laughing anymore. She gulped for air instead and reached out to touch his arm. “Your cock likes my cunt,” she said.

  The hairs on his arm and the back of his neck stood up. Charles gaped at her. She’d never said anything like that before. “Ah,” he began.

  “Does your mouth, too?” she asked.

  At her question, his mouth went dry. “You know it does,” he rasped. The first thing he’d ever done, on their first night together, was fall to his knees and eat her out.

  He’d made her scream. Literally scream.

  “Will you do it?” She swallowed. She was blushing. Charles’s blood was buzzing in his ears. “Will you make me ready?”

  She’d asked hesitantly, as if it might be an imposition. Next, she’d ask him if he’d mind getting a blowjob, a sandwich, and a soak in the hot tub. Is this your life? a little voice asked him.

  If not, if he was dreaming, he never wanted to wake up. Grateful for the size of the bed, Charles lay flat on his stomach, grunting when his aching cock pressed into the thick duvet. He’d have to keep still if he didn’t want to rut his way to an early finish.

  Savor this. He sighed and pressed one long, hot kiss just beneath her belly button, tasting the salty sweat of her skin. She quivered and gasped. Oh yes, who had to be the patient one now?

  Then he bent to her. At the first taste of her wetness, the buzzing in his ears became a roar. Her hands slid into his hair again, caressing and petting him. But even that sensation came second to her flavor on his tongue.

  “Oh, Sandra,” he moaned as he set to his work. He kissed her lips, dragged his tongue softly across her surfaces, teased her slit. It twitched against his tongue, and he rewarded it by slipping one finger inside, so slowly, curling toward the rough patch of her G-spot.

  “God,” Sandra whimpered, “God…”

  She’d told him that no man had ever gone down on her before. Well, better that than some clumsy prick who would have turned her off the whole experience. He’d had few sexual partners since Eleanor, but one or two of them had been surprised by what a willing tongue could do.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this willing, though. He had to force himself not to rub against his goddamn bed while he stroked her inside and licked her outside, falling into a rhythm that made her keen.

  He took his sweet time, until she was begging, until she was tugging his hair more than stroking it. Pushy thing. Only then did he turn his full attention to her clit, softening his tongue and teasing the tiny bud. It needed teasing, since it was sensitive now, eager for more. Sandra liked it rough when she was close, but she’d asked him to be good to her, now hadn’t she?

  Her thighs began to tense and relax on either side of his head. Her grip tightened in his hair. “Oh God,” she panted as her breath grew shallower. His tongue sped up its pace. “Oh God, oh God…yes…like that…oh—yes—”

  Charles slid his finger out and gently licked a stripe away from her clit, back down toward her opening.

  “You bastard!” she wailed.

  How rude. Charles sank his teeth into the inside of her thigh for punishment and began to suckle the soft skin there.

  “No! A hickey?” she wheezed. “Oh for God’s sake, I’m so close…”

  He ignored her while he left his mark, savoring the salt of her sweat and the smell of her musk.

  “Charles, please…”

  Please. He’d said that once to her, exactly once, during their first encounter. On the verge of release, he’d begged her to have pity on him, give him a few seconds to collect himself and regain control. She had denied him. No orgasm in his goddamn life had ever measured up to that one, so perhaps turnabout was fair play. He ignored her plea.

  “I was joking about being good,” she panted. “I didn’t mean it!”

  “Oops.” He placed one last kiss on her quivering thigh. “I must have missed the joke. I don’t have the best sense of humor.”

  He licked between her lips again, teasing at the slit, and she made a very interesting noise between a laugh and a moan. She managed, “That’s what you tell people. You’re just hilarious—” He licked just to the very side of her clit, the spot that always made her gasp. “Oh!” He firmed his tongue and began massaging the spot. “Oh God!”

  “Sure you don’t want to call me a bastard again?” he murmured.

  “Oh, fuck, no. You’re so good. Do that again.” He did, and again, and again. “Oh yes!” She sounded delirious now. “Oh baby, God, please!”

  If he left his career to do anything, it would be this. She wouldn’t even have to pay him. He’d take his compensation in moans. He softened his tongue again, laved over her clit and felt it pulse, and then began to suckle it. Sandra’s fingernails dug so hard into his scalp that she might have actually broken the skin.

  Then she paid him in screams, too, and that was even better.

  He soothed her as she came back down, rubbing his thumbs against her inner thighs and kissing her mons. Glorious.

  “F-fuck,” Sandra croaked, quivering. “I don’t know what you’ve got, but you need to bottle and sell it.”

  Charles chuckled and slipped one finger back inside her, and then a second, gliding them in and out of her heat. He’d have no complaints tonight that he hadn’t made her ready from start to finish. And oh yes, she was ready for him. Slick and silken, waiting to take him inside, where he belonged. Where he would find the kind of pleasure he’d thought he’d never know again. It was more than just the flesh.

  Your cock likes my cunt. She didn’t know the half of it.

  Sandra squirmed at his touch—too sensitive?—but then he heard her give a happy sigh. He glanced up to see her blue eyes sparkling as she looked at him.

  At her muzzy, brilliant smile, Charles realized he’d made an enormous mistake.

  He’d made it before. Sandra was at her most dangerous when she was satisfied and he was still at fever pitch. Now was when she liked to tease him, entice him, push him past all endurance.

  He shouldn’t put up with it. She’d had hers, and now it was his turn. He should take what he wanted, find his satisfaction before his own need killed him.

  Then Sandra wriggled out from beneath him, and it was too late. “Thank you,” she said, and gave him a swift kiss that took his breath away. “That was wonderful.” Before he could reply, she kissed him again, longer and deeper. Her lips taunted him with the promise of future delights
, and her fingernails dragged gently up and down his back. God, he loved that—it was like all his nerve endings tingled to life.

  “Well,” he said between kisses, “was I good enough to you?”

  “You were so sweet to me,” she whispered. The hint of tenderness in her voice shorted out his brain for a moment. “Oh. I’m almost ready.”

  He clutched at her back. Fuck, he knew it. “Almost?”

  “Mmhm.” She sighed. “Take off my bra?”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. Charles popped the clasp open and slid the black straps down her arms. The lingerie was even sexier than he remembered. He’d have to keep that in mind the next time he gave George his instructions. Black lace, satin bows, very nice.

  Not as nice as these. Charles tossed the bra away from the bed and took Sandra’s breasts in his hands. She sighed again and then draped herself over him for more kisses while he caressed her. Ah, perfection. He slid his hands up and down her back. They fit together so well.

  They’d fit together even better in a minute. Surely it would only be a minute.

  It wasn’t only a minute.

  He lost track of time. For the next while, however long it was, Sandra stroked and kissed him, pressed herself against him, only to withdraw when he groped for more. She let him suck her breasts and then rubbed them against his chest. She dragged her fingernails over his back again, but also across the nape of his neck, his shoulders, his ass and thighs.

  And there were kisses. Countless kisses, generous and so luscious that he thrilled with pleasure from his head to his feet. Twined around each other, they kissed and kissed until he couldn’t remember his own name.

  She wouldn’t touch his cock, though. Not with her hands or mouth. Instead, she contented herself with writhing against him, sometimes letting him slip and rub between her folds. The whole world narrowed down to that. Was there anything outside this bed?

  “I have to,” he moaned around her nipple, desperately clasping her while she straddled his lap. “Sandra, I’m so fucking close.”