I gasped.
“A sprayer?” was my shocked whisper. “What’s that?”
He rumbled deeply before wiping that handsome face with a towel.
“Baby, some women come so hard they squirt their juices. It’s beautiful when it happens, arcing through the air in a rainbow. But some girls,” he added with a lewd grin, “are sprayers. When you come, it’s not a single arc. It’s a fucking shower, you shower your man with female jizz.”
And I blushed, heart beating fast, pussy pulsing again. Because I’d just come so hard on this man’s face that he could barely see, it was in his nose, lashes, even dripping off his chin. But instead of being disgusted, Thorn was actually eating it up, reveling in the details. Holy shit, the alpha was so dirty.
But I love it. I absolutely love it. It’s shocking, absolutely crazy. Because what innocent virgin does this? What sweet princess comes like this, drenching a man’s face in gobs of honey?
But I couldn’t get enough because the next day, when Thorn invited me to his apartment, of course I said yes. It’s wrong. He’s the man who controls my future, the one who literally handles my scholarship and signs my small paycheck. So what am I doing, sneaking off to his apartment?
But when he let me in, all my doubts dropped away. Because the man was so gorgeous, imposing and huge in that black suit, and I went soft inside all over again, pussy moistening on its own. Those blue eyes sparkled, his nose sniffing gently like he could smell my cunt.
But instead of ravishing me in the doorway, Mr. Channing actually behaved normally, giving me a tour of his palatial apartment.
“And here,” he rumbled casually, “is bedroom number three.”
I peered inside, eyes wide. Just like numbers one and two, there was a huge king-size, perfectly made up with a dozen throw pillows, plush pile carpeting, and an accompanying en suite.
“Mr. Channing,” I said breathlessly. “Why do you have so many bedrooms? Is there someone else living here?”
The dark man smiled at me, that lazy blue gaze trailing over my curves.
“Naw, it’s just me and my housekeeper,” he said. “And Conchita doesn’t live here, she just comes in the mornings to clean and cook.”
I nodded. That made sense, he was a single guy who worked all day. How dirty could the apartment get? But the billionaire still hadn’t answered my question.
“Mr. Channing,” I tried again. “Why do you have so many bedrooms? How many are there total? I’ve seen three, but are there more?”
That white grin flashed again.
“In fact there are,” he rumbled. “Here’s number four,” he said, throwing another door open, “And here’s number five,” he said, letting a door to the left swing open. “You can never have enough.”
I goggled because sure enough, just like numbers one through three, bedrooms four and five were immaculately appointed with the same king-size mattress and corresponding en suites. Entire families could live in each room, you could fit four people on those giant beds.
I turned slowly to him.
“You’re so lucky,” I murmured. “You’re so lucky because back in Kansas, my mom and I shared an apartment smaller than one of these bedrooms.”
The big man’s eyes flared.
“Well you’re not in Kansas anymore, baby girl. This is New York City, and anything goes.”
I nodded. Anything goes clearly included five bedrooms for a single guy. Why didn’t he convert one of them into a sitting room, or a den? I thought guys always had a private man cave in the basement where they drank beer and watched sports. But maybe the billionaire had another apartment where he did that stuff. Again, anything was possible when it came to Mr. Channing.
So smiling once more, I turned to him.
“What else do you have up your sleeve?” I asked playfully. “Any more hidden studios, walls that roll away to reveal practice spaces?”
He pretended to think.
“Well, I do have an ice skating rink,” he said drolly. “I do have my own rink complete with complimentary skates and a Zamboni to clean the ice.”
I goggled, eyes wide. Seriously? Oh my god, that was a luxury beyond my wildest imagination. A private ice skating rink?
But the billionaire laughed then.
“Naw, baby girl, I was just kidding. I don’t have a private rink, that’d be insane in the city. But if you want to go to Rockefeller Center for a special skating session, I’m pretty sure I can get them to clear it out for us. I know the CEO, he’ll get us in,” Mr. Channing added with a wink.
And I looked at him, stunned. Because the extravagance of his life that blew me away. Private ice skating at Rockefeller Center? Where they had the big Christmas tree and filmed the Today show? It was luxury that I never dreamed of, connections that were so powerful that anything could happen.