Read Online Xander (Billionaire Racers Book 1) by Anne Marsh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Marsh
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gorgeous and special, like maybe I am his princess.
He lets go of my hands and moves down my body so fast I don’t have time to protest. One minute he’s quoting me poetry and the next he’s spreading me wide, pushing my thighs apart with his shoulders. I’m bare from the waist down. My pussy glistens, and when I look down, I see the tiny white lines from the thong I wore while sunbathing. Pale, secret skin next to the golden brown from the sun.
“Goddamned fucking gorgeous,” he announces. Apparently, he’s out of poetry. Doesn’t matter because he covers me with his mouth, finding my clit with unerring accuracy. I don’t need Pushkin—I’ve got Xander . He works my clit with his tongue, pushing two fingers inside me and stroking those rough pads over my G-spot.
Oh God. Now I’m the one not speaking English. He’s better than the fantasy lover I’ve dreamed of for the past six years and way, way better than any toy I’ve purchased. I tighten beneath the expert lash of his tongue as he sucks me deep. His fingers fuck me, and I can feel my orgasm coming. It’s right there, waiting for me, and all I have to do is let go. I explode, shoving myself against his mouth as I buck off the bed. And yeah—I scream his name. I’d play goddamned fireworks and rent him a mariachi band too if I could. He’s that good.
“Told you,” he says, smiling with satisfaction when I surface from boneless happiness long minutes later. He taps the expensive TAG Heuer watch strapped to his wrist. “Eight minutes. You can thank me later.”
“You’re leaving?” I’m pretty sure I look stunned, because his grin just gets wider.
“I have a race, angel .”
“That’s it?” I’m not sure if I should be offended—or impressed with his dedication.
“You got an orgasm. I learned something about you. You are a shrieker, you sunbathe topless, and you still remember this Russian.”
And then he drops one last kiss on my mouth and heads out the door because he’s got a race to win.
5
XANDER
The racecourse zigzags from Miami through the Bahamas almost to Nassau, and the fastest course finish ever is in just under nine hours. This is blue water racing at its finest, each leg a new challenge. Cover the distance faster than any of my competitors and I win. Plus the faster I win, the quicker I get to sink my dick into my wife.
Lily.
I am not sure what the fuck we are really doing together, but I for one am moving forward. She has been Lily Petrov for the past six years, but now she can be Lily Volkov. It is bad luck to rename a boat, but I hope the same does not hold true for people. Or maybe she will dislike Volkov . I cannot use Petrov—too much baggage there—but we could pick something new. Something just for us. I like that idea. Right now, though, I need to get my head in the game.
Out here on the ocean, the wind is the center of my universe. The crew and I will spend most of our time reading the subtle shifts because those changes can make the difference between leaving our competition dead in the water and losing our race. The currents move too, changing with the tide, the wind, the fucking whim of the ocean. I have always been happiest on the water.
The opening is always impressive as the yachts move away from the docks and out to the starting line. Initially, smaller boats pace us, filled with observers. There are watchers up on the hills as well, and it is crazy chaos as the ten racing yachts cut through the ocean headed for the starting mark. The mark is a large, orange buoy and the imaginary line connecting the buoy to the starting official’s boat. We test each other, passing close, and buzzing each other’s wake like school of circling sharks. The officials in motorboats will keep it clean enough, although the helicopters buzzing overhead with paparazzi might wish otherwise. There will be no blood in the water today.
I aim for a fast, front-row start. As an added bonus? Liam is ahead of me, his yacht
He lets go of my hands and moves down my body so fast I don’t have time to protest. One minute he’s quoting me poetry and the next he’s spreading me wide, pushing my thighs apart with his shoulders. I’m bare from the waist down. My pussy glistens, and when I look down, I see the tiny white lines from the thong I wore while sunbathing. Pale, secret skin next to the golden brown from the sun.
“Goddamned fucking gorgeous,” he announces. Apparently, he’s out of poetry. Doesn’t matter because he covers me with his mouth, finding my clit with unerring accuracy. I don’t need Pushkin—I’ve got Xander . He works my clit with his tongue, pushing two fingers inside me and stroking those rough pads over my G-spot.
Oh God. Now I’m the one not speaking English. He’s better than the fantasy lover I’ve dreamed of for the past six years and way, way better than any toy I’ve purchased. I tighten beneath the expert lash of his tongue as he sucks me deep. His fingers fuck me, and I can feel my orgasm coming. It’s right there, waiting for me, and all I have to do is let go. I explode, shoving myself against his mouth as I buck off the bed. And yeah—I scream his name. I’d play goddamned fireworks and rent him a mariachi band too if I could. He’s that good.
“Told you,” he says, smiling with satisfaction when I surface from boneless happiness long minutes later. He taps the expensive TAG Heuer watch strapped to his wrist. “Eight minutes. You can thank me later.”
“You’re leaving?” I’m pretty sure I look stunned, because his grin just gets wider.
“I have a race, angel .”
“That’s it?” I’m not sure if I should be offended—or impressed with his dedication.
“You got an orgasm. I learned something about you. You are a shrieker, you sunbathe topless, and you still remember this Russian.”
And then he drops one last kiss on my mouth and heads out the door because he’s got a race to win.
5
XANDER
The racecourse zigzags from Miami through the Bahamas almost to Nassau, and the fastest course finish ever is in just under nine hours. This is blue water racing at its finest, each leg a new challenge. Cover the distance faster than any of my competitors and I win. Plus the faster I win, the quicker I get to sink my dick into my wife.
Lily.
I am not sure what the fuck we are really doing together, but I for one am moving forward. She has been Lily Petrov for the past six years, but now she can be Lily Volkov. It is bad luck to rename a boat, but I hope the same does not hold true for people. Or maybe she will dislike Volkov . I cannot use Petrov—too much baggage there—but we could pick something new. Something just for us. I like that idea. Right now, though, I need to get my head in the game.
Out here on the ocean, the wind is the center of my universe. The crew and I will spend most of our time reading the subtle shifts because those changes can make the difference between leaving our competition dead in the water and losing our race. The currents move too, changing with the tide, the wind, the fucking whim of the ocean. I have always been happiest on the water.
The opening is always impressive as the yachts move away from the docks and out to the starting line. Initially, smaller boats pace us, filled with observers. There are watchers up on the hills as well, and it is crazy chaos as the ten racing yachts cut through the ocean headed for the starting mark. The mark is a large, orange buoy and the imaginary line connecting the buoy to the starting official’s boat. We test each other, passing close, and buzzing each other’s wake like school of circling sharks. The officials in motorboats will keep it clean enough, although the helicopters buzzing overhead with paparazzi might wish otherwise. There will be no blood in the water today.
I aim for a fast, front-row start. As an added bonus? Liam is ahead of me, his yacht
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