Chapter 4

Ella

Rainier’s mouth on my pussy is the most exquisite satisfaction I’ve ever felt. My fingers are in his hair and my groans join the chorus of moans and shrieks as he works me closer and closer to our first orgasm together. I don’t even care if we never do this again—if he never knows that it’s me—if I have to quit my job because I become obsessed with him after this. I don’t care. All I want is tonight. It feels so good... He sucks on my clit like it’s hard candy, dragging me feet-first toward an orgasm in public, on a fucking dinner table, right next to another woman. But I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him. I don’t care where he makes me come... as long as he makes me come.

The orgasm arrives too suddenly for me. I want to draw this out, in case he tires of me and this is our only encounter all weekend. But my pussy is so sensitive, so ready, so excited, I’m barreling toward the end of the tunnel whether I like it or not. His tongue rakes over me again and again and I cry out and press my sex harder into his mouth.

“I’m going to come,” I whimper, and then everything melts into a sea of shimmering light. My eyes roll back in my head and warmth floods my skin and I cry out, “Oh, god! Oh, god, yes!” as Rainier devours me right here, right now. It’s so good. It’s everything I imagined it would be, and now I’m boneless and sweaty and numb. I want to push the mask off my face, but I know I can’t.

Mr. Howell can never know I did this.

Due to my numbness, it takes several seconds to realize that he’s still between my legs, sucking at my clit and licking my slit. “Jesus Christ,” he murmurs from between my legs. “That was the sweetest juice I’ve ever tasted.”

“You can be my first,” I venture hopefully, gazing down at him. He pulls off my pussy and peers back at me without understanding. His lips are swollen from such expert face. What a fucking man.

“Your first... here?”

“My first ever,” I softly correct. “I said I’ve been waiting.”

Rainier cocks his head to the side and an intrigued smile kinks one side of his lip. “Yes,” he answers, standing and letting his pants slip down. “For me.” I see his manhood waving in the air like a spear and it is everything I imagined, too. It’s broad and veined, chiseled and smooth. I want it inside me. I want him to pop me.

His plush mushroom head skims over my womanhood, finding the hole by touch. He presses himself against it and there is mild resistance to him, but I buck my hips to give him more friction. His bare skin on mine scatters all my thoughts to the wind.

“Are you sure?” he breathes thickly, and when I gaze up at him, I see that some of his perfect hair is out-of-place. It fills my heart to see. “I can be rough.”

“I know,” I say, and he furrows his brow at me, but his prick is also right at my opening. Now is not the time for critical thinking, even for a billionaire.

His staff breaks through, startling us both. I gasp and he grunts, clenching his jaw. “So tight,” he grumbles, almost wincing, squeezing himself deeper into me. I know it can’t hurt him, because I’m insanely wet. It must just feel like a fist around him. “Legs up,” he commands, and my heels rise off the table immediately. I love when he gives me commands.

He hooks his hands beneath my knee caps and splits my thighs further apart, then thrusts his full length into me, all the way to the hilt. I scream and think I might black out from the intensity of his girth. He strokes into me again and again, finding a smooth rhythm but he doesn’t try to be gentle with me at all. His thrusts come with more and more swiftness and heat builds up in my core. But it’s still not enough for him.

He slams his body down on mine and the table shakes. “There,” he growls, laying on top of me now. I hurry to unbutton his shirt, even though he didn’t tell me to, because I want to see and feel his skin on mine. This might be my only chance... and I want to feel Rainier Howell through every cell of my body. Even if he doesn’t even know. Even if I have to go to work on Monday and pretend like he wasn’t bare inside me on Thanksgiving.

“More,” he growls, peeling himself off me, leaving me dazed and disoriented for a moment.

“Wh—” My heavy, lust-fogged eyes struggle to open, but he’s already repositioning me the way that he wants me to be. He hoists me and flips me onto my hands and knees, pulling my torso as flat against it can get against my thighs. Both my pussy and my asshole are absolutely exposed now, but it’s the furthest thing from my mind. Having Rainier inside me is like a drug, very literally. I can’t think straight, and now it’s the only thing on my mind.

“Shh,” he pants, aligning his sex with mine and thrusting us together again. All my thoughts spill and mix into nonsense immediately. He thrusts into me like I’m not a virgin anymore, and I don’t care, because it’s him and I’m on the verge of orgasm again.

We slam together again and again and it’s almost too much. I blurt, “Tell me I’m a good girl!”

Rainier hesitates. Even his thrusting slows to a halt, and for a moment, his palms are on the sweaty small of my back and the world fizzles back into existence around us. The cacophony of fucking intrudes. I’m aware that I’m on a dinner table, not in a bed. That I’m wearing a mask and presenting myself in public.

“No,” Rainier denies me. My heart breaks. What? “You’re a bad girl. A good girl could take my cock, couldn’t she?” He thrusts into me again, as if in revenge, and I see stars. It’s too sweet. “But you’re a bad girl.” A sting flashes across my ass cheek as he rains down a powerful smack. My pussy opens responsively and he sinks deeper into me with a loud groan through his closed mouth. His hands wrap around my hips again. “Now you’re being good,” he tells me, thrusting into me slowly and fully, enjoying himself. His thumbs grate over my hips, relishing their girth. “Now you’re being good. Good girl... whoever you are.” He sinks into me to the hilt and freezes with me shuddering around him, stretched to my breaking point. “Who are you?”

“No names,” I remind him in a whimper. “No names.”

“Bad girl,” he says, thrusting again. My eyes roll and an orgasm trembles at my center. If he quits stopping, it’ll be any second. “I’ll just call you my bad girl then.”

“That’s not very nice,” I tell him, and I kind of mean it. I love pleasing him. I want to be good. I want him relishing my pussy because I’m such a good girl. “I want to be a good girl.”

“Then be good,” he commands me, hooking his finger into the side of my mouth and pumping into me with brutality again. He plays my body like it was his instrument, fiddling me to the edge in a matter of seconds. “Be good for me,” he breathes, and I feel one of his fingers fondling my asshole now.

His dick grows—impossibly—and he lashes another spanking down on me. I know he’s going to come soon, because he’s losing control of himself. His body gleams with sweat and his hair is wild now. He looks like another man. Ten years younger, even. I bind the table cloth in my fists and my pussy gives up an orgasm through Rainier’s sheer force of will. My body was reluctant when I remembered that we were in public halfway through—but I’m still no match for his skill. He draws an orgasm out of me like a scarf from up his sleeve, just more and more and more through some magic I don’t understand. His cock is so big now, so close, my body is rigid with the tension. Even though it’s too much, I want it. I want him to stretch me out. To teach me. To fill me.

I know when he spills into me. I feel his rhythm change, his breath change, and a rush of wet heat brims in my pussy. I could almost come again just knowing that he’s experiencing that same crushing pleasure inside me right now and my eyelids shut. Happy Thanksgiving to me.