Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (37 page)

As I’m about to say something snappy, take back the reigns and be the Lotty that I am, I don’t get a chance, because his hot mouth is suddenly on me, his thick tongue swirling around my bud.

“
Oh, God
,” I whimper, my head rolling to the side as the sensations zing through me, jolting me out of the shy-girl quietude, reviving me.

“That’s more like it,” he whispers to my folds, before sliding a finger inside, teasing, hooking.

I slip my fingers in his hair and grip, urging him back to the bundle of nerves that throb, pound, and holler achingly for his tongue, for suction.

Mouth on me, tongue working, he lifts his eyes to mine, and they’re ablaze. They burn with need, greed, tempestuous with unquenched desire.

As my toes curl and my cries grow louder, pleasure escalating from the magic of his tongue and the wonders of his fingers, I know it’s not long before I implode. My hoohah has been in limbo since he left me hanging during our dry-humping session in his bedroom on Sunday, and then restricted me from taking
his
orgasm. My masturbation attempts since then only served to intensify the wait, the need, the longing for a release.

Now this,
this
is heaven. My mewls are a song of gratitude. Spurts of pleasure whiz through me, worshiping his tongue. My clitoris bows in gratitude, thanking him for freeing the swollen nerves from its limbo.

With each crescendo of my moans and nonsensical cries, he digs his fingers into my thighs and drives them even wider. It’s as if he knows. How does he know? How does he know that the wider my legs are, the longer it takes for me to come? He doesn’t want me to come?

My orgasm recedes just a tad, and I’m grateful for his knowledge, his expertise, because I’m not ready either. Feels too good to end so soon. Too,
too
good.

Perched at the edge of the bench, legs wide apart, his dark head between them, devouring me, I feel like I can fly. I feel on top of the world. The swirls of his tongue, the strokes of fingers, the sucking, the pressing…

Lotty returns right then, the one who never shuts up during sex. Embracing her return, I grip his hair harder and raise my hips, thrusting myself into his mouth. “Bastard,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Filthy rich, expensive smelling
bastard
. Lick me. Don’t stop. Eat me.
Don’t stop
.”

This makes him growl something feral, and the vibration sends spikes of bundled intensity through me.

Another longer finger plunges inside me and begins pumping in and out at a mind-numbing rhythm. Then, he pulls out the tricks. His tongue does things, fantastic things, unbelievable things, things that launch me in vertigo. 

“
Ohmygod
!” I cry, and I begin rocking into his mouth. Wanting more than he can possibly give. Wanting him to stop. Wanting him to never stop. “Don’t stop.
Oh God
. You bastard. You rich, sexy, powerful bastard.
Don’t stop
.”

Noah grunts and groans during his ministrations, letting me know just how much he’s enjoying this, enjoying my blather.

I feel her coming. Orgasm. She soars above, slowly, slowly descending. I rock faster against his tongue. Urgency. Intensity. Pleasure like never before.

Credits to Noah, he doesn’t let up, he doesn’t pause, he doesn’t give me reprieve. His tongue licks, his mouth sucks, his fingers plunge in and out.

She lands.

Orgasm.

Not smoothly. Not quietly. But rocky. Turbulent. Bits and pieces ripping apart, careening, crashing, exploding.

My legs shoot together, clamping Noah’s head, hips jerking up into his mouth as I am seized and besieged, shaking, vibrating, crying, “Ohgodyes. Ohgodyes.
Ohgodyes
!”

Noah powers on, riding it out with me, despite me both suffocating him with my thighs and tearing his hair out.

Until slowly,
slowly
, I begin to deflate, coming down from my high. Noah gives me long, soothing strokes of his tongue, calming me down.

Soon, he eases back, cleaving my thighs away from his head so he can breathe.

My eyes peel open and peer down at him with a satisfied smile.

His expression as he studies me is one I can’t quite read. Desire is there alright. Lust and passion, too. But there’s something else; something...is it uncertainty? Doubt? I can’t tell.

Ignoring it, and whatever it might mean, I lunge forward and tackle him to the floor. He crashes onto his back, and my mouth crashes to his. 

I kiss him deep, but leisurely.

His arms circle around my waist, his erection rock-hard against my pelvis. I taste myself on his tongue, and I taste
wicked good
. My mouth moves to his jaw, down the side of his neck, down to his pecs.

“Lotty.”

I’m peppering kisses to his chest, lingering there, savoring, for all the times I’ve stared at this chest and daydreamed what it would be like to kiss it, I kiss it now, over and over, lick and swirl my tongue around his nipples.

“Lotty,” he murmurs again, voice strained now.

I keep moving down, greedy tongue trailing through the grooves of his impressive abs. I reach down, dipping a hand into the waistband of his sweats, but he grabs it, firmly voicing my name again.

“
Lotty
.”

I look up the length of his body, finding his eyes. They’re hooded, filled to the brim with lust, overflowing. But they’re also earnest, cautionary, definite. “What?” 

My hand still in his grip, he tugs me back up, so I’m stretched out on top of him, my chin on his chest. He plants a kiss in the center of my palm. “Lotty…babe, if we do this, if we have sex,
I own you
. I want you to think about that before we go any further.”

“Wha—” I attempt to get up, but his other hand tightens around me.

“And that means…” he goes on, pressing another kiss to my palm, eyes latched on mine, “…the wild flirting has to stop. That means you accept my gifts. That means you share in all that I have and call it yours. That means you share my life with me. That means you stay loyal, faithful, and honest with me. That means…” He plants yet another kiss in my palm, and then curls my fingers into a fist so I’m holding the kiss. “…
you can’t leave
.”

I stare at him. I blink. I repeat his words in my head. I stare at him some more. I blink some more. I repeat his words in my head, times ten.

This time, when I attempt to push up, he doesn’t stop me. Let’s me go. I roll off him, get to my feet, find my tights and underwear and don them in record time.

He braces himself on his elbows, watching me, expressionless. “I do understand that you’re coming out of an abusive relationship, and I know all this might
sound
possessive and, as a result, frighten you. But these are not
demands
. These are reasonable, respectful requests, coming from a damn good place. I told you before that I’d never hurt you, and I really wish you would believe that. I want you to
enjoy
being owned by me. I want you to brag about me like I would about you. I want you to take
pleasure
in being just mine, and be secure in knowing I’m just yours. I want you to be
happy
.”

I’m sitting at the edge of the bench now, head hung low as I lace up my sneakers. I have nothing. Not words. Not courage to make eye contact. So I focus on lacing my shoes.

Once I’m through, I take a deep breath and look somewhere to the left of his head. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to postpone today’s training.”

Not waiting for an answer, I stand and start across the room. Noah is off the floor in the next second, moving ahead of me, blocking my path.

“Lotty?”

“I just need some headspace, alright?” I tell his chest. “Just need to think for a bit. That’s all.”

Taking both my hands, he tugs, urging me to look at him. I don’t. With a sigh, he gives up on my hands and takes my chin between two fingers. “Look at me, Lotty.”

I don’t want to, but he won’t let me go until I do. So I do. If only to get it over with and get the hell out of here.

His eyes tow worry, panic even. “I’ve never had anything I could call mine before,” he spills. “I was born in wealth. I own this multi-billion dollar company only because I was next in line. Sienna was never mine even when we were married. She was forced on me. She never wanted to be mine, and she never enjoyed being mine. Even now, I can have her whenever I want, but she still isn’t mine.

“Everything I have was given to me. The first time I ever independently reached out and took something was that humid August morning when a sixteen-year-old you challenged me. Bet me fifty dollars to run. Nobody could run for me. Nobody could lose weight for me. Nobody could take care of my health but
me
. And
you
showed me that. I could’ve stopped running when you left. The motivation was gone. But it was the first time I ever did something for myself, and it felt so…
great
.

“I got in shape. I got on every woman’s radar. Literally throwing themselves at me. It grew disappointingly old, really fast. I was back to square one: Me not having to work for anything. I could have whatever I wanted, whomever I wanted, with zero effort. And then…” He shakes his head. “And then you got out of the cab that night. Almost couldn’t believe it was you, but there you were. I instantly felt that rush, the same rush I felt that morning I first ran with you, the same rush I felt the month I lost my first eight pounds, the same rush I felt the year I saw the first outline of my abs.”

He laughs at himself. “I looked at you and thought to myself, ‘There she is, the best thing I’m ever going to have to work for in life.’ For two weeks straight, I went across the bridge, running in that park, every street, searching for you. Until finally,
finally
, I found you.”

He moves in close, touches the side of my face, and before I know what I’m doing, I lean into it. “Your ‘yes’ to being mine will mean more to me than you can imagine, Lotty. It’ll be good, you and me. Perfect.” He bends his head and touches his lips to mine. “Just think about it.”

Sans acknowledgment, I step around him, snatch up my sports bag from off the floor, and walk out the door.

T
WENTY

“
I
MADE A MISTAKE
, Kiki. I’m not
falling. I
have
already fallen.”

It’s sundown, and I’m here standing on Kiera’s doorstep like a lost puppy, damp from the rain that came out of nowhere like a dramatic movie. After leaving Noah’s office, instead of going home, I meandered around the city for hours, unguarded, out of it, forgetting that there are things out there much worse than love that I fear.

But I needed the walk, needed the time alone, the time to think. I needed the sounds of life flooding my head, drowning out my running-wild thoughts. I needed to keep moving, keep the blood flowing. So I walked. And walked, and walked, with no aim or purpose.

I think…I think I might be in love with Noah. Might be. It’s possible. There is a strong possibility that I am.
Oh God
.

I have never been in love before, so I can’t ascertain that what I’m feeling for this man is love. What I do know is, ever since he opened up and told me how he feels, what he wants, there’s been a shift. A palpable change. All of a sudden, I’m nervous around him. All of sudden, I’m getting butterflies when I think of him. All of a sudden, I’m tongue-tied with him. All of a sudden, I want to surrender to him.

So, I ran. Ran because I’m not familiar with these feelings. Ran because I’m not familiar with a man refusing the superficial part of me, and demanding all of
me
. Ran because I’m not familiar with my heart flipping and fluttering, actually
expanding
in my chest. Ran because I’m not familiar with feeling as if I’m free falling each time I’m kissed and held.

All of this is new. All of this is real. And it terrifies me.

And just when I think maybe I can handle it, maybe I can find a way to deal with all these unprecedented feelings, just when I find the strength to let go and give in, he goes and complicates it by demanding even more.
More
. I don’t have more! How can I be all he wants me to be? How can I suit him? How can I fill the position of a faithful girlfriend to thirty-year-old magnate?

Why does he even want me? I’m nineteen, I’m brash, I never know when to shut up, I’m impulsive, I have no respect for boundaries, I’m broke and I’m broken. Why would he want to deal with all that? I’m not an easy person to deal with, I like my own way, and unless he intends on beating me into submission like Andrew did, I’m not the easiest person to control.

So, that’s how I find myself on Kiera’s doorstep. She lives in the same place she’s lived since I met her. In a four-bedroom brownstone ten minutes west of Noah. It’s meant to be a family home, but Kiera is an only child, and her mother, an esteemed Trinidadian fashion designer in high demand, spends the majority of her life on private jets traveling for work. Her father, a wiry French baron, well, let’s just say he’s one mysterious little man who is absent twice as much as her mother.

Ninety-five percent of the time, Kiera is on her own, home alone, the house all to herself. Her parents make up for their absenteeism with copious amounts of lavish gifts and a humongous allowance. Things have been like this with the Noels since I met Kiera, and although she never admits it, I know it bothers her. Indubitably, the lack of family bonding and attention has contributed to why Kiera is the way she is. Forever seeking solace and acceptance through sex.

Now she’s staring at me from the other side of her door, fastening a robe around her, panting as if she’s just ran ten laps. I’d blurted the words the second she opened the door.

“Lotty, what…” she trails off and throws a quick glance over her shoulder, back into the house. “Girl, I love you, but now is
not
a good time.”