The Bad Boy Billionaire: What a Girl Wants by Maya Rodale Page A

cheekbones, his firm mouth that often curved into a smile that made me feel warm inside. In this moment, I felt undeniably connected to him, even though we weren’t even touching. Just kneeling opposite each other on his king-sized bed.
    “I would run my fingers through your hair,” he said softly. “And cradle your head in my hands.”
    I slid my fingers along my scalp, feeling that lovely sensation of fingers delicately running through soft strands of hair. I closed my eyes and imagined it was Duke’s touch. My lips parting, awaiting a kiss.
    “I would kiss your neck first, just where it curves into your shoulder.”
    “I can’t do that.”
    “Imagine it, Jane.”
    “Would you kiss me now?”
    “No.” His voice was low and rough with desire. I felt the vibrations of it deep inside.
    “No?”
    “No. Next I’d want to kiss you all along the curve of your shoulder.”
    Keeping the touch of my fingertips light, I dragged them back and forth along my shoulder, and down across my décolletage. Duke’s eyes darkened with desire. His hands moved as if he wanted to touch me, but they remained bound by that grey silk tie. I remained in control.
    My skin, it had to be noted, was warm and soft and responsive to my touch. It felt the same as before.
    “I would want to touch you lower. Feel your breasts in my palms.”
    I touched myself like that, cupping my breasts in my hands, feeling the soft cotton of his T-shirt between my palms and bare skin. But I really wanted to feel everything. And I wanted to test Duke’s control. So I stripped off the shirt and let it fall to the side.
    He wanted me. I could see it in his eyes. I might have felt dirty and damaged, but to this man I was still beautiful. And as my fingers roamed over my abdomen, my breasts and all over, I had to note that I felt the same. Perhaps I felt more because I appreciated every little touch. And it wasn’t just a little touch; I was taking myself back.
    “I would touch you with my hands . . . my mouth . . . taking the center of your breasts in my mouth. Teasing you with my tongue . . .”
    My fingertips made slow circles of ever-increasing pressure around the center of my breasts until my nipples were stiff peaks and suddenly more sensitive. I inhaled sharply.
    “Yes,” he hissed as my fingertips traced along the swell of my breasts to find the pink peak in the center. I knew it was right because I felt a spark of electricity rocket through me. Duke gave me more instructions: “Circle slowly. Yes. Like that.”
    I couldn’t help it, but I moaned. Because I knew what that felt like and I could imagine it so well that it almost felt real. Almost. I needed, I wanted the real thing.
    “God I want to feel you . . .” Duke groaned. His hands were clasped hard together and I could see him struggling slightly against the silk tie.
    I bit back the words “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t you dare say the words,” he growled, reading my mind. “This is about you. And it’s turning me on.”
    I glanced down. He was aroused. That only turned me on more.
    “I want you to touch me,” I whispered as my fingers toyed with the knot I’d made in the silk tie. “But I’m not ready yet.” I started to loosen the knot. “I want you to touch yourself. If you want.”
    He reached out for me as the tie fell slack onto the bed, but then he stopped himself. There was nothing holding him back now, other than his self-restraint.
    “Where do you want to touch me?”
    “Your stomach. My mouth. Kisses.”
    I imagined his head, with the dark unruly hair, bent over my belly pressing his mouth there. He’d be so close to my breasts. He’d go lower, too. I knew how all of this felt because we had done it before. Any trepidation I felt about being touched was starting to pale beside the fiery hot need I was starting to feel all over.
    I touched my belly. It wasn’t as flat as most models. But it was lovely all the same.
    “And then what?” I asked, my own