Autumn Rolls a Seven (Billionaire Baby Club Book 2)

by Jasinda Wilder

  He growled low in his chest. “Asking for a hell of a lot. Most people get a glimpse of that, they cut and run.”

  “Maybe I’m the only one who can tame the dragon.”

  “This conversation is ridiculous.”

  “You’re the one who refers to himself as a dragon.” I ran a thumb over his lips; he bit me, and while it didn’t hurt, per se, it wasn’t gentle, either. “Too soon to tease you about it?”

  He just growled a rumbling laugh. “Tease me all you want, babe. I’ll just tease you right back.” He descended my body again, and his tongue indeed teased me, and teased me, and teased me.

  And then he wasn’t teasing, and I wasn’t protesting.

  After I’d descended from the heights of yet another orgasm, I squirmed out of his hold, wrestled him to his back. Of course, he knew what I was about to do and was letting me, but still. “Now hold still, you brute. I’m going to take advantage of you.”

  “Oh no,” he breathed, laughing. “Whatever shall I do? The dragon slayer has come.”

  I cackled as I tugged at his shirt, threw it aside, then drew his jeans off. “The dragon slayer has come twice. Three times? I’ve lost count already, but the point is, I’m fair if nothing else, and it’s your turn.”

  “You gonna show me what that mouth can do, again?”

  I slid astride him. “No, I had something else in mind.”

  He groaned, a devastated sound. “Awww, fuck, Autumn.”

  A million, billion thoughts rifled through my brain, emotions through my soul. I ignored them all, because all I could feel, all I knew was Seven, and need for him. It ruled me. I’d never wanted anyone this way, never needed to feel anyone inside me as badly as I needed Seven. A thousand orgasms on his skillful tongue wouldn’t sate this need, wouldn’t quench this fire.

  I cared for, wanted, needed nothing in the universe but this.

  And his mouth, his kiss.

  I bent over him, my breasts swaying pendulously between us, brushing his chest, and I kissed him deeply, slowly. I took his thick, throbbing cock in my hand and guided him to me, pierced my slit with his fat soft head. I groaned in the kiss, circling my hips to tease us both with just the tip of him inside me.

  He growled, fist knotting in my hair. “Holy fuck, Autumn. Teasin’ me, woman. Not nice.”

  “Who ever said I was nice?” I murmured, sitting upright, tossing my hair behind my shoulders.

  His hands circled my hips, thumbs rubbing over the crease where thigh bent to meet hipbones, fingers dimpling into the outer curve of my ass. “Tryin’ like hell to let you have your little moment here, babe, but if you don’t put my cock all the way inside you, right the fuck now, I can’t be held responsible for what I do next.”

  I just grinned at him, chewing on my lower lip. I didn’t mean it to be seductive, but his snarl told me it was. What I did mean was to tease him—by way of torturing myself.

  I wanted him inside me every bit as desperately as he seemed to want it. But more than that, even, I wanted the real, full, wild, uncontrolled Seven.

  He had himself on a tight leash, I sensed, because he thought it was for my benefit.

  I wanted to see what he looked like underneath the guise of control.

  So I tortured us both.

  Sat up on my knees, hands in my hair, head thrown back, rolling my hips in a horizontal circle, swiveling his erection around on the base, not taking him deeper. Then I did, but just a hint. I felt him splitting me, that tiny bit I had of him within me. Felt every vein, every ridge. And fuck, I wanted to slam down and feel all of him.

  Instead, I kept teasing.

  “Fuck, Autumn. Goddammit, you’re killing me.”

  I fell forward, smashing my breasts on his chest, draping my hair over his face and neck, curled my hands and arms under his head and neck, cradling him against me, and kissed him with every last once of seductive, passionate affection I had. I kissed him with all the feelings I’d caught for him, which I had pent up inside me, refusing to let them out, refusing to acknowledge them in so many words, even in my own head and heart.

  I could kiss them out, though. That didn’t count.

  He wanted in. He thrust, pushed, fluttered, and I laughed through the kiss and pulled away.

  “Fuckin’ tease,” he snarled. “Now you done it.”

  “Oh my,” I breathed, grinning ear to ear. “What are you going to do to me, Mr. St. John?”

  His laugh was primal, feral. “This.”

  He pulled some kind of wrestling maneuver, flipping us over so fast I didn’t know what was happening before I was on my back. He was kneeling over me, on his hands and knees above me and his palm cradled the back of my head and the other cupped my cheek and he returned the tender ferocity of my kiss, gentling momentarily, lips softer than down feathers, tongue sliding languorously across my lips and over my tongue.

  “That’s not so bad,” I whispered. “Rather anticlimactic, after all those growls and threats.”

  He rasped a hoarse laugh. “No, that wasn’t it.” He kissed his way from cheek to under my earlobe, down the side of my throat, kissed the hollow at the base of my throat, down my breastbone; he kissed all over each of my breasts, covering them with his kisses, then down further, over my diaphragm. Left hipbone, right hipbone. Sex, slowly, teasingly. Bringing me up the side of a climax, higher and higher, until I was squirming and gasping and making that noise he claimed to love so much.

  And then he pulled away, and his strong hands grabbed me by the hips, hesitated with a hot, wild grin, and flipped me over onto my belly.

  “Oh—!” I gasped in surprise.

  No sooner had the breath left my lips than he shot his hand under my belly and yanked my ass up and back, forcing me up onto my knees with my upper torso still flat against the blanket. He slid a finger against my clit, and I gasped, groaned, but those groans turned to sighs as he bent over me and kissed my spine and the small of my back, then the swell of my ass, and then I cried out as he bit down hard into the flesh of my ass cheek. He smoothed his palm over the reddened flesh where he’d bit me, only to do the same to the opposite side, and all the while his long clever finger was doing dirty delightful things to me.

  “Holy…holy shit, Seven—”

  “You ready, Autumn?”

  “Ready for what?”

  I had an instant to prepare as he touched my seam with the head of his cock, and then he was inside me. He entered me in one slow thrust, pushing in and in and in, until his hips slapped against my buttocks.

  He curled forward over me, heaving a rough gasping breath, groaning my name in a desperate prayer. “Autumn, god, fuck…”

  Once he was buried inside me, he gave in. He straightened, grabbed my hips with rough strong hands, and eased backward.

  Slid into me, slowly yet again.

  I cried out, aching with the size of him, stretched by the thick girth of him, pierced through with the length of him. “Seven, oh god.”

  He slid backward, and managed to slide just there against me, making everything inside me quake and shake and shiver, making my sex squeeze with an impending orgasm, that elusive kind that can only come when every last particle of my sexual being was inflamed, tantalized, touched, stroked, stoked, incited, caressed, kissed, crushed.

  And then, all at once, he was done being gentle.

  He buried himself to the hilt once more, and then as he pulled away, he cupped and petted my right ass cheek.

  SMACK!

  His hand cracked across my ass cheek, hard. I cried out in shock and protest more than actual pain, although it did sting like a motherfucker. But even as I cried out, he slammed into me, cock splitting me open and filling me to a fiery throbbing burn.

  His hand covered the stinging flesh of my buttock as he pulled out, only to crack an even harder smack to the other side, thrusting into me rough and fast and hard at the moment of my cry.

  Again, right side—smack-cry-thrust.

  Left.

  Righ
t.

  Each smack made my ass sting and burn, but his touch thereafter was so gentle and soothing that I nearly forgot the sting…until the next spank.

  “You like it when I spank this ass?” he growled.

  I could only groan something like an affirmative noise.

  Another hard spank. “Do you? You like being spanked, Autumn?”

  “Yes!” I gasped, fighting to force words past the tight scream of impending climax lodged in my throat. “YES!”

  He held on to my hips and yanked me backward into his forceful thrust. “You like this, too? You like it when I fuck you? You like it rough, don’t you?”

  “Fuck yes,” I whispered. “I like it like that.”

  He slowed, gentled. “You like this better? Nice and slow and gentle?”

  “No. Fuck me harder, Seven.” Who was I, then, begging for his roughness? “Spank me, fuck me…take me, take me as hard as you can.”

  He seemed to sag for a moment, in relief or surprise, I wasn’t sure, but then he plowed into me and spanked me and he was gone, then, using me to chase his orgasm.

  His hand cracked against my ass, once, making the tender, stinging globe shake, and then the other side immediately after the first, and then his hips slapped against me almost as hard as his hand had and his cock filled me and his groans washed over me and I was lunging backward to meet each of his thrusts, fingers knotting into the blanket under me, into the sand beneath the blanket and the roaring of blood in my ears drowned even the crash of the surf.

  He fucked me. Used me.

  Took me.

  There was nothing for me, in this—he was taking his pleasure out of me, but the beauty and wonder and glory of his pleasure was almost as much of a thrill as my own climax, and that was building and building, slowly, incrementally.

  He chased it and chased it, pounding into me from behind faster and faster, making my ass shake and quiver with thrust after thrust, the noise of his hips slapping against my buttocks, loud claps in the roar of the surf and the roar of his voice as he neared orgasm.

  “FUCK!” His bellow was not of release, though—it was pain, frustration.

  He yanked out of me, fell to his side behind me and then to his back.

  “Seven?” I gasped. “What—what’s wrong? Why’d you stop?”

  He was gripping his cock in his fist, punishingly tight. “We were bare,” he snarled. “No…fuck—no condom.”

  I rolled astride him and pried his hand off of his erection, took it in my own hand. Slid my seam over his shaft, cupping him against me. “Give it to me, Seven.”

  “Fuck…I…fuck!”

  “Now, Seven. I want it. Just like this.” I writhed against him, rubbing him against my slit, my damp, spasming sex, clutching him and riding him on the outside of me. “Please? Let me have it.”

  He groaned, head throwing back in the sand, hips pushing up, back arching upward. “Oh god, fuck, I’m gonna come, Autumn. I can’t—oh fuck.”

  “Come for me, Seven. That’s right, let go…let me have it, I want it, I want your cum all over me…”

  He roared, then, and I felt it burst out of him, through my fingers and against my belly, his belly. I smeared it over him and used the slick hot wetness of his cum as lubrication, curling my fist around him and slicking my touch downward, faster and faster, as fast and hard as I could manage, and he groaned and lunged up into my sliding touch, and he was cursing sighing groans, fucking my fist and spurting hot sticky wet cum in a flood, until it was pooled on his stomach and smeared against my navel and all over my hands and coating my fingers and sticky against the outer lips of my sex.

  “Holy…holy fuck.” He gasped for breath beneath me, mighty chest heaving raggedly. “If you gotta pull out, that’s the way to do it.”

  “Why did you pull out, Seven?”

  He swallowed hard. “Because we haven’t talked about that. I know what the ad said, and I know you don’t want to talk about the ad, but I know it was a prank. I don’t know if you’re on birth control, and you don’t know if I’m clean. And considering my reputation, I assumed you’d need to know that first, and…fuck. I shouldn’t have let that happen. But you’re so fucking sexy, so gorgeous, you goddamn siren, that I couldn’t help it.”

  “I think I started it.” I touched the pool of cum on his belly, smeared a fingertip through it. “But I’m glad you had more sense than I did.” My stomach was a pit, my heart slamming in my throat. “I can’t believe we did that.”

  “Now we’re all messy.”

  I was stuck on what had just happened. “Seven, I’m…I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” I tried to summon humor to disguise my panic. “I blame you. You make me horny in the worst way. Something about you just…fucks with my sense, and, clearly, my self-control.”

  He touched under my chin. “Hey, look at me.” I turned my eyes to his. “Don’t you dare apologize. Not for that. That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  I managed a small laugh. “Yeah, for me too.”

  He palmed my cheek, and touched my lips in a quick kiss. “Gotta clean off, now.”

  “How, though? I don’t even see any napkins.”

  His eyes glinted wickedly, mischievously. “Hmmm. How about…a bath?”

  I shrieked in protest as he stood up abruptly, going to his feet with me in his arms. My thighs locked instinctively around his waist and my arms around his neck, but I was also fighting him.

  “NO! Seven, no. No. No no no—NOohSHITCOLD!” This last part was as he ran full sprint with me into the churning, icy Pacific.

  He dove forward and spun to his back at the last moment, taking the smashing brunt of a three-foot wave against his back. The briny surf splashed over him, over me, over us, and then I had to suck in a breath and close my eyes as we fell under the surface, and I couldn’t have taken a breath if I wanted to, the shock of the burning cold snatching at my very senses.

  He planted his feet on the bottom and stood up, the water at his waist, waves sliding up as high as his chest. He held me, his eyes dancing with laughter. “There. All clean.”

  “Fuck-fuck-fuck,” I chattered. “So cold.”

  He just laughed. “Wait, I think we need one more dunk.”

  I didn’t have time to even protest before he threw me bodily away from himself, only to dive after me, catch me up in his arms and bring me back to himself. I scrabbled at him, clawed around him, clutching arms and legs around his torso like a starfish. I buried my face in his hot strong neck as he surfaced, his hands cupping my bottom and then rubbing up my back, scrubbing as if to futilely attempt to warm me.

  “Now we’re clean,” he said, laughing. “No more sticky.”

  “G-g-good. Out.”

  He walked through the sucking, splashing waves to shore, holding me tightly. “Bet you’re awake now, huh?”

  “I h-h-hate y-you.”

  He just laughed. “It’s a nice hot day. We’ll dry off and warm up in no time.” He gently settled me on the blanket, water droplets plopping onto my face from his chin and face. “You’re even sexier than ever, wet like this.” His fingertips flicked over my peaked nipples. “I especially like this.”

  “Get down here and warm me up with your body heat, damn you,” I snapped.

  He rumbled a chuckle, but lay down beside me and gathered me in his arms. “Better?”

  His chest was firm, radiating warmth, as if he had a furnace pulsing inside him. His arms cradled me, holding me as if to block out everything.

  And goddammit but I felt safer than I’d ever felt in my life, like this.

  A long, comfortable silence.

  Sunshine beat down on us, and I did feel the icy water drying away, warmth filling me, suffusing me.

  How much of that was the sun and the warmth of the day and how much was due to being held like this by Seven, I couldn’t have said.

  “My mom was an addict, too,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  Here came the heavy.
r />   10

  “She drank cheap vodka, and smoked meth.”

  “That shit is pure evil,” I muttered. “Mom told me once while high that she didn’t like meth, because it scared her. It wasn’t fun.”

  “Well, my mom loved meth.” He was speaking barely above a whisper. I had to strain to hear. “My dad was career Army, stationed in Germany most of my childhood. And then he got sent to Sarajevo with a UN detachment when that war broke out. I never really knew him. He came home on leave once, when I was…five? He was big and black and serious, like…just grim, you know? He was dressed in this crisp, perfect uniform, had all these campaign ribbons and shit. His voice was…I just remember it being the deepest thing I’d ever heard. Like, you know that huge black actor from The Green Mile and Armageddon?”

  “Michael Clarke Duncan,” I said.

  “Yeah, him.” He sighed. “Like that. Deep, gravelly, hoarse from shouting orders.” A pause. “As a scrawny five-year-old, meeting him for the first time, he seemed like he was, shit, ten feet tall. Broad as a goddamn barn. Hard. Didn’t smile at all. Scared the absolute bejeezus out of me.”

  I just waited. Nothing was needed from me but to listen.

  Part of me didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to be pulled any deeper into his web of sorcery over my body, over my heart.

  “For as long as I can remember, Mom was an addict. I remember police officers taking me away as one of my earliest memories. But yet, somehow, she never lost custody. How, fuck if I know. Child services was called on her more times than I think I could even count. Never changed anything. My whole childhood, it was her and me. I think it’s something like a miracle that I survived my childhood at all. I’ve seen the reports. She’d forget to change my diaper, forget to feed me. Leave me at daycare and get high after work, forget about me. She’d pass out and I’d be just…this little thing all alone, playing with lighters and meth pipes and chewing on batteries and shit.”

  “Jesus, Seven.”

  “She named me Seven because I was born on July seventh—Seven-Seven.”

  “Makes sense.”

  A minuscule shrug. “Guess so. I guess Dad was sending money home regularly, like a good chunk of it. But you can guess what she spent it on. Not me, not food, not rent. I doubt he knew, and what could he do anyway, stationed overseas? I dunno. I got old enough to start fending for myself. By kindergarten, I was making my own meals, walking myself to school because at least there someone to give a shit, and I’d get lunch there. I think someone at the school knew about my situation, because looking back, I shouldn’t have gotten hot lunch—I never paid for it, never signed up for it, I just always got it. The principal, I think. God bless that woman—Mrs. Thomas. She was always checking in on me, saying hi when I came in. She was always extra nice to me.” He swallowed hard. “Fuckin’ greatest heroes on this planet are the teachers and administrators who actually care, who pay attention to the kids. My ass got saved more times than I count by adults at school. When I was placed with that piece of donkey dick Mr. Jeff and his crazy-ass wife, and they were kickin’ me around, it was my teacher who noticed and got me moved.”