Page 17 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)
Chapter Twelve
Seraphina
His words wrap around me like silk and barbed wire. “ Tell me what you want, Seraphina.” He says my name like it’s the answer to every unspoken question I’ve ever asked.
My pulse is a frantic drumbeat in my chest. The bubbles from the champagne are making make me dizzy, or maybe it’s just him—the way he stands there, every inch of him coiled, waiting for me to answer.
His eyes are dark, but not unreadable. Everything about him appears calm, controlled. But I know otherwise. I see the single vein that pulses in his neck. I can’t look away from it. It’s proof that he’s not made of stone after all. He wants me.
My throat goes dry, and I should look away, but I can’t. He has me in an unbreakable hold.
We’re close, so close. Not dangerously so, but on the edge.
My mind screams run , but every part of me yearns for him, and I shift almost imperceptibly in his direction.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
Swallowing hard, I wet my lips. His eyes track the movement like a predator waiting to pounce. The way he’s taking me in makes me ache, low and tight.
“Say it.” His words are a whisper and entreaty. His voice rumbles through me, down to the place between my legs that’s already shamefully slick.
I take a breath that rattles in my chest. “I want…” I clench my hands into fists at my sides. It would be so much easier if he’d take control, absolve me of responsibility.
But he won’t.
As always, he’s demanding things happen on his terms. “I want you to touch me.” My voice barely carries. But the way he goes still—that’s how I know he heard every broken syllable.
He takes one step closer. Then another. And then he’s in my space, that big, hard body of his radiating a heat that makes my knees threaten to buckle.
“I want nothing more.”
My hand is shaking so hard that my drink threatens to splash over the rim.
He plucks the stemware from my hand and leaves me long enough to place both glasses on the dining-room table. There’s a soft clink that feels final, as if we’ve passed the point of no return.
Moments later, he’s back, standing bare inches from me.
“Where, Seraphina?” His voice is velvet and command, wrapping around me, making me fall under his spell. “Tell me exactly where you want my hands.”
He’s asking the impossible. I’ve never done anything like this before.
I breathe him in. Right now it’s leather and champagne and a hint of something much darker. The scent of a forbidden billionaire who’s tasted every temptation and come back hungry for more.
“My hips. Please.”
He lifts a single brow, as if testing my resolve. Then he does it, settling his big, powerful hands right where I asked him to.
“You good?”
“Yes.”
With a satisfied nod, he brushes his thumbs across the hint of bare skin above the waistband of my shorts. The touch is almost gentle. It’s the promise that makes me shiver.
“Good girl.”
The words drop into me like a stone in water—rippling out, stirring an emotion that’s as real as it is needy.
“And now?” He dips his head, his lips a hair’s breadth from my ear.
The warmth of him turns my bones to liquid.
I squeeze my thighs together. The seam of the shorts presses right where I’m pulsing for him. He has to know. He always knows.
“More.” The word comes out like a confession, half sobbed.
He sweeps his thumbs up my sides, finding that tender dip where my ribs flare. His fingers flex, pressing me closer, caging me without ever truly restraining me. If I wanted to, I could move away, but every cell in my body wants to step closer instead.
He skims his mouth along my jaw, not quite kissing me. My breathing becomes erratic at the feel of his stubble scraping my skin. It’s as if they’re a thousand tiny sparks of sensual desire.
“Use your words, Seraphina.” My name is a growl, the edge in his tone making my nipples tighten under my thin tank top. “You want my mouth? My hands? You want me on my knees for you, or do you want to be the one kneeling?”
A whimper slips out before I can swallow it. Shame and hunger crash through me as my heartbeat thrums between my legs.
“I want—” My voice breaks. “God, Xavier, I want your mouth.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. A tiny grin curves his lips—wicked, beautiful. “Where?”
Heat floods my cheeks. The living room spins around us, and I desperately behind me to grip the windowsill, needing the cold glass against my spine as an anchor.
“My neck,” I breathe. Then, softer, my lips trembling, I add, “My breasts.”
His eyes flare with dark fire.
And I swear, the promise in that look makes my toes curl. I feel every inch of my skin, every inch he’s about to claim.
“Say please.”
God, he’s such a gorgeous bastard.
But I don’t care. I’d beg for him if I had to. Right now, I’d give him every piece of my pride, one humiliating scrap at a time.
“Please.” I’m not above begging.
He groans, low and rough, and then his mouth is on my throat, all heat and teeth and velvet.
Desperately I tip my head back, offering more as I dig my fingers into his shoulders, clutching his shirt, fisting the fabric as if it’s the only thing tethering me to earth.
When he drags his mouth lower, over my collarbone, over the neckline of my tank, I’m gone…becoming a trembling mess pressed against a wall of glass and city lights, baring myself to him, to Houston, to my own downfall.
I feel his lips curve against my skin when he finds the peak of my breast, his teeth scraping lightly through the thin cotton. I gasp, the sound torn from deep in my chest.
“You taste better than heaven.” He nips.
Softly I moan, the sound caught on a sob. My hands slip to his hair, threading through those dark strands, tugging him closer, always closer.
Heaven help me. I want more. I want everything. I want him to keep his promises and break them all at once.
I need him to devastate me—with his mouth, his hands.
He lowers himself slowly, eyes locked on mine, and when his breath hits the edge of my shorts, I forget how to breathe.
“Keep your hands right there, Ms. Hollis.” His tone is velvet. “I’m about to worship you like you’re a goddamn saint.”
And then he?—