Distracting the Billionaire's Son by Jordan Bell

reached my panties he grazed the length of me through
the fabric with his fingers, discovered just how wet he’d made me. I heard his
breath hitch when I whimpered.
    He took the edge of my panties at my hips. “Do you think you
can be quiet?”
    I opened my eyes, caught the light reflected in his. “Yes,”
I breathed.
    “I don’t think you can,” he said and started sliding my
panties down. I was glad it was too dark for him to see they were plain and
pink. He’d call me a little girl again, and I wanted him to think of me like
Eva McCallister and her flat, unscarred stomach.
    He pulled them down my thighs, over my knees, agonizingly
slow. “I promise to be quiet, I swear. Anything you ask.”
    “Anything?” he teased with his voice, tested just where my
boundaries were with the challenge.
    “Anything.”
    “You won’t make a sound. If you make any noise I will stop
immediately and you’ll leave. Do you understand?” He slid the panties down my
calves, to my bare feet. He pulled them off and they disappeared into the dark.
    “I promise. Not a sound.”
    “Lay back.”
    I rounded myself down into his comforter, softer than mine
and smelled like his cologne, something earthy and distinct. I would always
associate that smell with that moment, I knew it. I stared at the ceiling in
the dark, anticipation making my body shake. He pushed my thighs apart, climbed
between them. His fingers sought my soft, inner core first, discovered just how
badly I wanted him inside of me.
    He pushed one in, then two, slowly like he knew I couldn’t
handle more and he was right. It was all I could do not to cry out, two days of
pent up need released in one touch. I bit my lip until I thought I’d taste
blood. I’d stay quiet. I wouldn’t make a sound until he let me.
    He worked his fingers in out until he added a third and I
almost couldn’t stand it. I didn’t make a sound but my hips rose, pushed toward
him and he grabbed my hips with his empty hand, held me still, and started to
pump the others in and out, first rapidly, then slower. His thumb found my
clit, swollen and desperate, and when he touched it I almost disobeyed him.
Almost.
    “Good girl, such a good girl. Come for me,” he whispered,
and rewarded me when his mouth and tongue replaced his fingers. I sucked in
air, almost as loud as a gasp, but he mercilessly didn’t stop. His hands pushed
my thighs apart, almost until they hurt, and went down on me with as much
abandon as I had him. He licked, sucked, and toyed at my clit. This was my
pleasure, but he’d control it as I’d controlled him. My thighs shook, barely
held still under his hands. He worshipped me with his tongue and then replaced
the three fingers inside of me. The more he licked and sucked at it, the more
my thighs trembled and the closer I got to climaxing. I dug my fingers into my
palms, into his bed, pushed against his mouth and fingers until I thought I was
going to explode. He rewarded me again by moaning against my mound, taking
pleasure in pleasing me and that was all I needed.
    I opened my mouth but didn’t scream, though I badly wanted
to, and the pressure of making no noise made my orgasm that much more powerful.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulled him closer, trapped him against me, and he
let me. My whole body felt it, shaking and bucking against his mouth and
fingers as wave after wave passed through me. If I made any noise, I don’t
know, for a few seconds there I lost complete control. He stayed between my
legs until I stopped shaking, until I settled back into his bed. He pulled his
fingers out first, then his mouth. He kissed the inside of my left thigh.
    I felt too dazed to say anything, to move. My grip on his
blanket was like iron and he had to pry my fingers loose.
    He kissed each one, surprisingly intimate. He climbed onto
the bed beside me, touched the bad of his thumb to my lips.
    He was quiet beside me, quiet and still. He didn’t exactly
touch me, though his whole body