I gently push her hair aside and let my thumb stroke along the sensitive curve of her throat. Damn, my marks look good on her.
Toofucking good.
“I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t afford it,” I tempt.
She bites her lip. “I’ll have to pay my way when we get wherever we’re going.”
I tug her lip free then swoop in and nip it with my teeth. “What if I keep you busy doing other things?” I growl, chuckling as she shrieks out a laugh when I twist us over so I’m looming above her again.
“What kind of other things?” she teases, still laughing as I nuzzle my nose down her throat.
“Things that I know you can handle.”
“Such as?”
“Things that come in multiples.”
Her hand rakes through my hair as she encourages me to look at her. “Multiples?”
“You came three times, didn’t you?”
Her cheeks burn a hot red. “I-I did.”
I can tell immediately that she’s never gotten off that many times before. Especially when I take into consideration her earlier, “Never, ever, ever…”
“Think you can take that on the regular?” I rasp.
Her lips part, stars back in her eyes, sure, but more because she’s loving the idea of getting off so many times.
“How regular?” she whispers.
“Every night too much?” I joke.
Her fingers cup the nape of my neck, but the stars have disappeared, replaced with an unexpected seriousness. “I’m not a whore—”
Whatever the hell I thought she’d say, it wasn’t that.
I gape at her.
I know I am.
I don’t bother stopping.
That’s when she starts laughing again. “Okay, I can see that wasn’t where your mind was at. But I had to check.”
“Belle, since when do johns get their hookers off? Or care about their pleasure?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Well, I had to check.”
“I don’t think you’re a prostitute!” I hiss. “Jesus, I was just trying to be spontaneous.”
It’s ridiculous, considering my reasons for being here, but that she even thought it pisses me off.
Goddammit, how low is her opinion of herself that she’d immediately go there?
As I make to roll off the bed, her hand grabs mine and with surprising strength, she hauls me back onto the mattress.
When she clambers onto my lap, straddling me, her arms everywhere like the octopus I compared her to earlier, I allow her to bury her face in my throat and to hug me as she mumbles frantically in my ear, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be ungrateful.”