Laurel's Bright Idea (Billionaire Baby Club Book 3)

by Jasinda Wilder

  “Eyes open, Laurel,” he commanded, his voice a rough buzzing in my ear. “Watch us.”

  My eyes flew open at his words, and I watched in one of the angled mirrors as he bent at the knees. I felt him at my entrance, felt his fingers finding my opening, felt him guide himself within me. Despite our height difference, we lined up perfectly. Somehow. Impossibly. The angles and alignments shouldn’t work in our favor, but they did. He straightened, and filled me, and I was lifted up onto my toes and stretched apart with him and ached with him and had to fight for balance, had to reach back and cling to his neck as he surged upward.

  I saw us, in the mirror. Saw his cock slide into me, watched it disappear inside me, watched his hips smash against my ass, flattening it. His hands clawed at my belly and scratched at my diaphragm, and then he was clutching my tits and squeezing, roughly, fiercely, a growl escaping his lips.

  “Fuck, Laurel,” he snarled. “So fucking tight. So wet.”

  “God, you’re fucking huge,” I gasped. “So fucking big.”

  He remained seated fully within me, not moving yet. “You good?”

  I couldn’t do anything but stare at us, straight-on mirror reflecting my tanned skin the color of sunlight and cream, my big heavy breasts clutched his hands, my pink nipples peeking between his fingers, my body tilted forward, thighs pressed together to create a tight V, our joining shadowed. The other mirrors showed us joined, showed him buried into me, hips to ass.

  “So good,” I whispered. “I’m good. It’s good.”

  He withdrew slowly. “Not hurting you?”

  I watched in one angled mirror as his cock slid out of me, glistening and thick and dark. “Fucking perfect,” I growled, groaned. “Keep going.”

  He paused in the instant before he would have fallen out of me, and then drove in. “Laurel…”

  “Titus?”

  He groaned, and leaned forward against me. I had to step forward, bent forward and braced my palms against the mirror. “You’re good? You can take it? Tell me you can take it.”

  I arched my spine and drove my ass backward. “I can take it, Titus. I want it.”

  He let out a rough groan of need. “You want it? You want this?” On the emphasized word, he plunged into me.

  I screamed, so sensitive from the abundance of stimulation, the overwhelmed explosion of orgasms he’d given me turning me into a puddle of need. “Yes, yes, fucking yes,” I groaned, whimpered, whispered, “that, please, all of that. More of that. Give it to me. Fuck me.”

  He pulled me upright, clutching at my breasts and dragging me roughly against him, his chest pasted to my back, his erection buried deep. I reached behind me and caught at his ass, and then he groaned. “You feel so good, Laurel. I don’t want to stop. But I can’t wait. I can’t stop it. I have to…” He withdrew, slowly, and pushed in. “I have to.”

  “I want it,” I breathed. “Need it.”

  I did. I was just speaking the truth. A million orgasms on his skilled tongue would never satisfy my need to come around him like this, to come with him inside me. That was what I needed. The orgasms on his tongue and fingers had only primed me for this, had only shown me my need for this, for him.

  His knees bent, and he stood up thrust in. I screamed.

  He dipped again, and lifted up. Thrust in. I screamed again.

  Each thrust split me apart, made me ache, made me clench around him and shake, made my sex quake for more. And each time, he gave me more. Slow, hard, and deliberate.

  I felt it stealing over me, felt a climax smashing open inside me, but this one was more, and I needed him to complete it.

  “Titus…” I clawed at his buttocks as he drove up into me. “I need to come again.”

  “So come,” he snarled.

  “I can’t.” I dipped to meet his upward thrust, sinking on him as he lifted, feeling him pierce deep. “You have to. You come, so I can.”

  He growled, and dipped again, and this time he began a rhythm. Fucked in, and now he didn’t stop, didn’t slow, wasn’t deliberate or rough or anything but taking his need in me.

  “Fucking hell, Laurel,” he gasped, “what are you doing to me? Who the fuck are you? How can you feel this good?”

  Harder, rougher. Holding me upright, preventing me from toppling forward with his big rough callused palms on my breasts, clutching and gripping and squeezing, pinching and rolling my nipples until I was breathless from the excessive stimulation, making me ache, making me shatter.

  I touched myself.

  I needed more.

  He watched, and I watched—both of us watched as we moved together, as I touched myself to bring my orgasm to life, as he chased his own release inside me.

  Harder, and harder.

  God, the man’s rhythm was perfect. With each thrust, I swear got bigger, fit more tightly within me. Each thrust touched me perfectly, set off another series of dynamite explosions, made me quake and ache with exploding need, with drowning bliss, and it was all him, all Titus.

  There’d never been anything like this.

  Fuck, it was so good.

  He was so good.

  So fucking good.

  Too good. But I’d worry about that later.

  First, I wanted his orgasm. I wanted to feel him come, feel him let go.

  He was driving up into me, now, hard and fast, pounding with rough crazed primal thrusts, taking me with every ounce of animal dominance. Harder, harder, and with each slapping union, I screamed and cried and begged for more, sank down and pushed back against him, urging him to take all of me, to take more of me.

  And he did.

  Again, and again, until the clap of joining bodies was loud between us, but not louder than his grunting utterances of my name, and mine of his.

  I knew, in the back of my head, that this was crazy.

  Sex this epic shouldn’t exist.

  Yet it was happening, and to me, and with him, and this man behind me was bringing me to another orgasm, or the same one extended, and now finally he began to shake, began to gasp and rasp hoarse, began to slam his thrusts with shaky force rather than timed, rhythmed purpose.

  And then, finally, fucking finally, I felt him give in, felt him let go.

  “FUCK!” he roared. “Fuck…Laurel…”

  He came, and he came, and his groans were mad, soft, wild, primal. He clutched at my breast with one hand and my throat with the other, gently holding my throat and tilting my head up and as he came apart behind me, inside me, he kissed me, as if to seal in the fraught insanity of it this with intimacy I knew neither of us was okay with.

  I kissed him back even though the aching beauty of this moment was breaking something vital inside me, even though the kiss terrified me. I kissed him through it because I couldn’t do anything except kiss him.

  He kissed me as he came, and he was as broken and breathless as I was, even though he trembled all around me with something more than the vigor and tremble of release. He shook with the intensity of us.

  He throbbed within me and slammed deep one last time, and I felt him pulse, push deeper, or try to, since there was no deeper for him to go. Gripping my hips, now, he bent me away and I leaned forward for him and braced my palms against the cold mirror glass and his fingers dug hard into the flesh of my hips and ass and he drove into me with utter abandon, roughly jerking me backward into his ragged, slamming, fucking thrusts.

  At long, long last, he ceased coming, and pulled away from me.

  I ached with the absence of him.

  My breasts bore the dark bruises of his fingerprints, as did my hips.

  He stood behind me, chest rising and falling heavily. His tawny lion eyes drilled into mine, in the reflection. My nude reflection was that of a sex-sated nymph, sweat shining on my forehead and upper lip, dotting droplets dripping down my breasts, which lifted and swayed with my gasps.

  His hair was tangled and messy. Mine was no better.

  Silence.

  What to say, then?

>   “You’re a fucking goddess,” he muttered.

  And then he turned and walked away, and a moment later I heard the bathroom door close.

  4

  I spent a good minute or so gathering myself, scraping together what remained of my wits. I had to turn away from my reflection as I gathered my clothing off the floor, because to see myself naked in that mirror again would be to see him behind me, to feel that whole episode all over again, and that just simply wouldn’t do.

  I stepped into my panties, fastened my bra at my belly and spun it around to enclose my breasts within the lacy cups, shrugged the straps on, adjusted the sit of them, and donned the rest of my clothing in record time. By the time I heard the master bathroom door open, I had my purse hanging from my elbow, my now hopelessly tangled hair bound back in a tight bun, and my sunglasses on.

  There were handprints on the mirror, but there was nothing I could do about that now.

  I headed downstairs, ignoring the twinge between my thighs. Gathered the folder with the disclosures and marketing material I’d deposited there on the way in.

  I heard Titus on the stairs, and endeavored to feel, or at least appear, cool as a cucumber, calm and collected and unaffected—when I felt precisely the opposite.

  He had his hat on forward this time, aviators hiding his eyes.

  “So.” I sounded normal. Yay me. “I have two more properties you requested to see. Based on what you told me earlier, I think one of them would suit Jeremy’s family best—it has a pool, but it’s fenced and gated in a big backyard, at the end of a nice quiet cul-de-sac.”

  He nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “Okay then.” I gestured at the door. “I just need to lock up, and then you can follow me.”

  We were both old hands at this game, pretending everything was totally normal when we’d obviously just fucked each other senseless. No talking about it, no referencing. It wouldn’t happen again. It was a quick fuck and a good one, nothing more and nothing less.

  He preceded me out of the house, and I locked it and returned the key to the box. Titus was in his truck, the big old engine rattling and rumbling. He was watching me, though. I could feel his gaze on me even though his eyes and thus his expression were hidden behind the mirrored lenses.

  I climbed into my car, started it, backed out, and headed for the next property. On the way, I called Teddy, earbuds so I could talk hands-free; she’d texted the group earlier in the day that she would be in the office for a few hours if anyone needed anything; she was the closest we had to an office assistant, mainly because she was always so willing to do that kind of work, even though she was a fully licensed realtor who sold just as much as any of us.

  “Hiya, pal,” she said, by way of greeting. “How was the showing?”

  What to say, what to say?

  “Um.” I sighed. I couldn’t lie to Teddy, for some reason. I could avoid the truth, though. “Unexpected.”

  I heard the grin in her voice. “It was him!”

  “You knew?”

  She laughed, then. “No, but you just confirmed it. What happened?”

  “Goddammit, Teddy,” I laugh-groaned. “Are you psychic or something?”

  “No, just highly intuitive. And you sound…weird. Off. Which meant something happened.”

  “He fucked the absolute shit out of me. I’m going to be walking funny for a week.”

  She broke into hysterical laughter. “I need details!”

  I was, unaccountably, annoyed at her exuberance. “The details are, I need a cleaning crew to go over that house again. Specifically, there are…um…handprints on the mirror in the master bedroom closet.”

  She was conspicuously silent. “Laurel McGillis.”

  “Theodora Pike?”

  “Up against a mirror?”

  “I’m still shook, Ted,” I said. “Shook, I tell you.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “I mean, sure. But that’s it, I got to fuck the Titus Bright, and it was every bit as good as the stories would have you believe, and that’s that. Over, done, buh-bye. He’s out of my system.”

  Teddy just laughed. “Okay, Laurel. Whatever you say.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you think so, but my matchmaker intuition says that’s not it for you and the Titus Bright. You can pretend all you want, and I’m not gonna say another word about it after this, unless you come to me. But mark my words, Laur, you haven’t seen the last of him.”

  “Well, I’m about to show him the McCormick property, so yeah.”

  “Not what I mean, and you know it.”

  “I’m not fucking him again. Once was it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Stop being so agreeable!”

  She just laughed. “Does epic sex always make you this cranky?”

  “No,” I snapped. “I don’t know why I’m angry.”

  “Because you’re denying your true feelings.”

  “No, because it shouldn’t be possible to come that hard, that many times and still function as a human. And no man should be that beautiful, that talented, and have a dick that fucking perfect. And—” my voice was shrill, by this point, “AND be so good at sex I literally forgot my own name for a moment when it was over. It shouldn’t be possible for one man to have all that. And it makes me angry.”

  Teddy’s laughter drowned out my voice at that point. “Oh, darling. You are so screwed.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Is it just the mirror that needs cleaning? Or do we need a full detailing?”

  “Just the mirror. And maybe make sure there’s no other evidence. I sort of left in a hurry. I don’t think there’s anything, but hell, I’m still trying to get my shit together.”

  “That good?”

  “Have you ever forgotten who you were afterward, Teddy?”

  “No,” she sighed. “But I dream of sex that good.”

  “It’s not good. It’s scary.” I checked traffic as I made a left turn through a green light, and then continued. “It reminds me of that time I smoked what I thought was a normal joint. It turned out to be laced with heroin and it was the worst trip of my life because it was scary fucking intense. After that, I never touched drugs again because that shit scared me so bad. This, Theodora, what Titus Bright just did to me, is like that.”

  She was quiet then, no longer laughing. “Except he isn’t hard drugs that can kill you.”

  “Wrong,” I whispered. “He is exactly hard drugs. And I’m staying the hell away from him, after today.”

  “Ohhhh, Laurel,” Teddy sighed. “What are we going to do with you?”

  “Exactly what you said you’d do—not bring this up again.”

  “Fine, consider me mum on the subject.”

  A pause.

  “There were no feelings, Teddy.”

  “I didn’t say there were.”

  “I could hear you not saying it.”

  “You don’t have to convince me, Laurel.” She sighed another tinkling laugh. “I’ll get someone over there.”

  “Thanks, Teddy.”

  “No problem. I have a showing in a bit, so if you need anything else from the office, tell me now, because I have a date after the showing.”

  “Oh you do, do you?”

  She just huffed. “Tinder. My hopes are very firmly not up. If nothing else, it’s something to do on a Saturday evening besides sit at home alone eating Ben and Jerry’s and watching nature documentaries.”

  “Well, if your date goes bust, call me. We can add wine and call it a party.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “I’m serious. I’ll hang out with you. Ice cream, wine, and nature documentaries sound like a good time to me.”

  “Okay, I might just take you up on that. Assuming my date goes bust.”

  “So should I hope you don’t call me? Because that would mean instead of your date going bust, your date busted…a nut, inside you.”

  Teddy screeched i
n shock, and then burst into cackles. “Ohmyfuckinggod, Laurel McGillis! Are you a grown woman or a teenage boy? God, that’s gross.”

  “Just keeping it real, Theodora Pike.”

  “There will be no nut-busting.”

  “Then what’s the point of Tinder dates?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far with anyone on the first date in years,” she said, her tone breezy. “It takes a hell of a lot to get me that far out of my own head. Tinder dates, for me, are for actually finding someone I like. So I can have a relationship.”

  “God, you’re weird,” I said, but I laughed as I said it.

  “Yeah, I’m the weird one of the group.” A pause. “Oh, hang on, Lizzy is on the other line. Let me let you go. I’ll get the cleaners to that house this afternoon yet.”

  “Bye, Ted,” I sing-songed.

  “Bye, Laur!”

  I left the earbuds in, in case another call came in; the rest of the drive to the next house was occupied by my own internal attempts to corral the voice inside my head that was telling me something extraordinarily unusual had happened.

  “Six bedrooms, seven and a half bathrooms,” I said, leading Titus through the upper floor hallway. “Lots of natural light, open plan kitchen, dining room, and den, plus a formal room and another den downstairs in the full walkout basement. Fenced-in pool, as I said. Big butler’s pantry, huge closets in every room, every bedroom is en suite, plus a full bathroom in the basement and a half bath off the kitchen. Newer construction, top-of-the-line appliances, of course.”

  Titus was quiet, peeking into every room, every bathroom. Eying the ceilings, the crown molding, the thick carpet upstairs, the hardwoods downstairs and the marble floor in the kitchen. He was nodding here and there, but wasn’t saying much.

  I refused to break first, so I carried on like this was any old showing with just another client. “I know the sellers are motivated to get some movement. Their price is a little high, which is why it’s been for sale for over a hundred days, at this point. Come in with a cash offer, I think you could get this for twenty percent under asking.”