The Billionaire's Command (The Silver Cross Club) by Bec Linder Read Free Book Online Page A

of powerlessness and joy. In that moment, he owned me. My eyelids dropped shut without my permission, and I felt every muscle in my body tense and quiver and then loosen all as one as the ecstasy slowly ebbed.
    It ended, and I opened my eyes again, humiliated to find him still watching me steadily.
    I felt my face flame hot, and I turned my head aside, not wanting to see the dark triumph in his gaze.
    But he didn’t gloat, like I expected him to. Instead, he bent toward me and pressed a kiss to the hollow of my throat, right between my collarbones. And then he pulled his fingers from my body, and took his arm from around my waist, and lay back on the bed.
    The bulge between his legs drew my gaze, and I flushed again when he saw me looking and spread his thighs slightly, inviting me to look more.
    “Unzip my trousers,” he said, his voice rough and low.
    I shook my head, opening my mouth to remind him of my ground rule, but he spoke before I could. “My hand is wet,” he said. “That’s your fault. You wouldn’t want me to ruin my pants.”
    I was hardly a blushing virgin, but the things he said made me feel so ashamed and off-kilter. I didn’t want to think about his hand, wet from my body, and so the path of least resistance was to do as he said. Still, I hesitated, seeing his erection outlined by the thin wool of his trousers, and then I told myself that I was being an idiot and bent down to unzip his pants.
    There was a hook closure, and a button, and I could feel him hard and hot beneath my fingers as I fumbled with the unfamiliar fastenings. It wasn’t like I took off a man’s pants every night of the week. Everything was backward, and he was looking at me, and I finally managed to find the tab of his zipper and tugged it down with a feeling of relief.
    He was wearing boxers, or boxer-briefs—I couldn’t tell for sure—in some silky, dark material, and my fingers brushed over the fabric, and over the hot flesh beneath, before I flinched away.
    Jesus Christ. I straightened again, and ran one hand through my hair, gathering myself. I had already crossed too many lines with him. I wasn’t going to touch him again.
    “No happy ending for me, then,” he said, accurately reading my expression. “That’s fine. I’ll do a better job of it anyway.” And he reached down to draw his cock from his boxers, and wrapped his hand around it.
    I had seen clients in almost every state: hungry, tired, lustful, irritated, weeping. They told me their secrets, complained about their wives, and touched me in every manner imaginable. I had witnessed the full range of human emotion and weakness.
    But I had never seen an attractive man jerk off in front of me.
    Well. First time for everything.
    I stood there, still feeling wobbly from my orgasm, and watched him touch himself, his strong fingers rubbing at his thick cock. He was big , in a think-twice, shit-I’ll-be-feeling-that-tomorrow kind of way, but he didn’t show off the way some guys did. He didn’t seem to care about my reaction at all. I wasn’t an audience for him to perform for. I just happened to be there. He didn’t care what I thought about his dick; he just wanted to get off.
    Watching him touch his cock, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted, kindled new heat between my thighs. I didn’t want to watch. I didn’t want to be turned on by this.
    I closed my eyes.
    “No you don’t,” he said. “Look at me.”
    I shook my head, eyes still closed.
    “Sassy,” he said. “Open your eyes.” A pause. “That’s an order.”
    I swallowed, gathering my courage, and opened my eyes again.
    “Don’t ever hesitate when I tell you to do something,” he said, brow furrowed, hand still working at his cock.
    I nodded. There was nothing else I could do.
    “Christ,” he said, and threw his head back and came into his cupped palm.
    I couldn’t have looked away even if I wanted to. He bit his lip and arched his back and surrendered to it in a way that