Page 18 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Thirteen

Seraphina

Xavier slides his hands beneath my shirt, and I miss a breath as he skims his palms up my stomach, dragging the cotton with them. When he cups my breasts through the lace, I swear I forget my own name.

In a blink, he’s unhooked my bra and peeled the straps from my shoulders.

“Fuck, Seraphina.” With his thumbs, he traces the peaks of my nipples, making them tighten instantly. “Your breasts are the stuff of fantasies.” He presses a kiss between them, then another at the base of my throat.

By the time my shirt joins the pile on the floor, I’m swimming in desire.

He steps back just far enough to look at me—bare and breathless, nipples pebbled from arousal and cool air. Instinctively I cover myself.

“Don’t.” His voice is low, firm. “Let me see all of you.”

And when I lower my hands, I see his composure shatter.

He lowers himself to his knees like it’s a ritual, like he’s done this a thousand times in his mind and is finally ready to make the fantasy real.

His hands smooth down my bare thighs—not in a rush, not claiming yet—just a slow, reverent glide that sets my blood to boiling. He watches me the entire time, his gaze heavy with want and intent.

I feel it. The shift. The balance of power tilting as I stand above him, trembling, unable to think, while he kneels for me.

He’s Xavier Blackwell. Predator. Billionaire. Ruthless sonofabitch.

And right now, he’s on the floor in my living room, eyes level with my thighs, lips parted like he’s preparing for communion.

“Spread your legs for me.” It’s not a request; it’s a command.

The sound I make isn’t one I’ve made before. It’s part gasp, part plea, but I will obey him. Because how can I not?

I shift, and my muscles quiver. The cotton of my shorts tightens across my center. I’m painfully aware of every inch of skin, every drop of heat.

He murmurs something low and indecipherable. I’m unsure if it’s a curse or a prayer.

Then he leans in.

His mouth glances over the inside of my thigh, just above the knee. One kiss. Then another, higher. My breath stutters. His lips are soft, but the stubble on his jaw scrapes my skin in the best way, a reminder that he’s real, that this is happening.

And God, I want it. I want all of him—his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. I want him to leave marks.

“Xavier…” It’s all I can say—his name, like a spell I don’t fully understand.

“I know, sweetheart.” His voice is like glass dragged over steel. “But you need to let me go slow. You deserve slow.”

Tears prick my eyes, because no one has ever said that to me. Not once. Not even close. The men I’ve been with have wanted to get on with the show. I’ve rarely reached orgasm unless I’m alone with a vibrator. And if a man even noticed that I didn’t come, he didn’t care.

His fingers find the hem of my shorts and tug gently. Not demanding. Asking.

“May I?”

I nod, but it’s not enough for him.

“I want to hear the words.”

“Yes.” I can’t find enough of my voice to do more than whisper. “Please.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the day we were alone in his penthouse.

Somehow I manage to toe off my shoes as he releases the button at my waistband. The he lowers my zipper to peel the shorts down my legs, kissing the skin he exposes inch by torturous inch.

My panties are already damp—embarrassingly so—and the cool air makes me shiver.

“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So wet for me already. You’re perfect, Seraphina.”

He hooks his fingers in the sides of my underwear and pauses. His eyes lift to mine, checking, always checking.

“Last chance,” he says. “If I do this, there’s no going back. I’m going to taste you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Behind me, I curl my fingers tight. My knees are shaking, my throat tight, but my voice comes out steady. “I don’t want to go back.”

His groan is pure male satisfaction. Low. Dangerous. Triumphant.

He drags my panties down, then pushes my thighs apart with firm, guiding hands.

And when his mouth finally touches me—hot, slow, reverent—I clench hard as I climax.

“That’s it, Seraphina. My gorgeous girl. More of that.”

His mouth is heaven and hell all at once.

He licks into me like I’m his last meal—slow, firm, relentless. There’s no teasing now, no tentative flicks of the tongue. He devours. Worships. The shadow on his chin drags over my thighs in a way that makes my whole body quiver. I’m being claimed, not roughly but completely.

“Xavier—” His name rips out of me again, helpless and high-pitched.

He flattens his tongue and circles my clit, and I jolt. The contact is sudden and perfect, and my legs tremble so hard I nearly collapse.

In the mirror, I see us and a reflection bouncing off the window behind me.

My bare legs are spread, and his dark head is between them, the lights of the city flickering behind us.

Piece by piece, moan by moan, he’s taking me apart, and I don’t want to stop him.

“Look at me.” His growl is rough against my pussy, and his voice vibrates straight through my core. “I want your eyes on mine when you come again.”

Oh God, help me.

I glance down, and he’s watching me, pupils wide, one hand gripping my thigh, the other slowly parting my labia.

The heat builds too fast. I’m too sensitive, too strung out from wanting him for too long. My second orgasm crests in a hot, dizzying wave that steals my breath. I scream, my body locking. I’m all nerves and no control. My vision goes white, and my knees give out.

He’s there, steadying me, holding me tight.

Or as safe as I want to be.

In a single motion, he stands and sweeps me up, one of his strong arms beneath my knees, the other around my back. He holds me like I weigh nothing, like I’m precious. And I’m not ready for the way that makes me feel—wanted, yes, but also safe .

He doesn’t speak as he carries me across the living room. The only sound is my ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

When he reaches the couch, he pauses.

“This okay?” He looks at me consideringly. “Or do you want your bed?”

Heaven save me. His tenderness devastates me more than the orgasms did.

“The couch is fine.”

He sets me down gently, like I’m made of glass. His body follows, his knees settling on either side of my hips. He takes off his boots, but he’s still fully dressed—jeans and dark henley—but his eyes are molten, like he’s barely holding it together.

I reach up and thread my fingers through his hair, tugging gently. He groans and drops his forehead to mine.

“I need you, Seraphina. Right now. I wish I could wait longer.”

My thighs fall open instinctively, welcoming him in, and his hips drop into the cradle of mine. The thick ridge of his erection presses right against me through his jeans and I gasp, bucking up into him.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes.” My protest is real. Now that I’ve had him against me, I want him in me.

He grins, but it’s sharp, ragged. He pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion—and I have to drag in a breath because, holy hell, this man is cut from sin and stone. Broad chest. Defined abs. Every inch of him coiled and hard and mine. For now.

He makes quick work of his belt, then freezes.

“Wait.”

I blink, dazed and panting. “What?”

He reaches into his wallet, pulls out a small silver foil square.

“I won’t take you without this.”

Keeping me safe again. Good thing he thought of it, because I’m too far gone.

He rips the packet open and shoves his jeans down just far enough, then rolls the condom on with efficient, practiced hands.

I expect him to sink into me, but he lowers his hand to my pussy.

“So wet.”

When he slides his fingers through my folds, I arch toward him.

“You’ll be ready for me.”

“I am.” Desperate, even.

He slides one thick finger inside me, slow and deep, curling just right.

“Oh!”

He adds another, and the stretch burns so good I moan.

Gently he pumps, watching my face with a look that’s somewhere between focus and obsession.

“You’re so fucking tight, Seraphina. Perfect for me.”

My hips roll up to meet him, and he growls. “Yeah. Now you’re ready.”

He withdraws his fingers, strokes his length once as he positions himself at my entrance.

“I don’t want slow anymore. I want you.”

Event then he doesn’t slam into me. Instead he presses his cockhead against me. I suck in a breath. His fingers were one thing, but his cock is massive. Maybe I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was.

“Relax.”

That’s not as easy as he makes it sound.

Distracting me, he captures my lips and tongue fucks my mouth. I’m lost, swirling in sensation, in him.

He’s consuming every part of me.

With aching control, inch by inch, letting me feel every relentless stretch, he begins to enter me. My breath strangles me, and I grab hold of his shoulders to ground me.

His groan rumbles against my throat as he finally sinks in all the way. Then he grinds his hips into mine.

“Fuck…” His face is all concentration and tight lines. “You feel like heaven.”

He draws back and thrusts again, not hard but deep. Measured. Like he’s savoring this, branding the moment into his soul.

As for me, another climax is already building, demanding satisfaction.

His hips rock against mine, slowly and powerfully. It’s not about taking—not yet. It’s about feeling . Every drag of his cock along my walls makes my toes curl, makes my mouth fall open in silent, shattered pleasure.

He braces one hand beside my head, the other sliding under my thigh, lifting my leg to wrap around his waist. The change in angle makes me cry out. He curses low, his voice hoarse.

“Jesus, Seraphina… The way your pussy squeezes me.”

I can barely speak, barely breathe. I just hold onto him, my nails digging into the flex of his back as he thrusts deeper.

Every movement is calculated, like he’s memorizing me from the inside out. No rush. Just slow, devastating strokes that make my body clench around him with every pass.