Page 20 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Fourteen

Seraphina

“Oh?” I repeat, because that’s all I can manage. My voice is barely audible.

He hums low in his throat, lips brushing my collarbone like the sound belongs there. “Mmm-hmm.”

Seeing him in that damn towel is doing strange things to my insides.

My T-shirt hangs to mid-thigh and does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. Every time I shift, the fabric drags across oversensitized skin.

My thighs ache, in the best, worst way. My skin is flushed. My heartbeat’s not quite back to normal. Neither is my brain.

Before I drop it, I slip the glass of water back onto the counter. With as close as he is and the way he is touching me, I’m slowly coming unraveled again.

That doesn’t even seem possible.

I’ve never been with a man who’s good for more than once.

But through the towel, I feel his erection pressing against me.

He slides a hand along my hip, not greedy. Not insistent.

Just…there.

“I told myself I’d take it slow tonight.” His murmur shoots little thrills through me. “Let you rest. I’m sure you need it.”

He’s right, but this feels so much more important.

Xavier lifts his head, just enough to look at me. His eyes are hooded, dark, but clear. Controlled. He’s giving me the same thing he gave me earlier—space. Choice.

And maybe that’s why my heart won’t stop hammering.

“But?” I whisper.

“But you’re standing here, flushed and barefoot, in that damn shirt with no bra.” His voice has turned hoarse with desire. “And I’m dangerously close to forgetting all my promises.”

I swallow hard. “Maybe I don’t want you to keep them.”

He goes very still. “You really are okay?”

“A little tender, I admit. But nothing that would stop me.”

“You’re sure?” There’s a flicker of something wild and hungry in his eyes.

“I want you to make love to me, Xavier.” I press up onto my toes and kiss him.

There’s nothing careful about it. Nothing coy. I kiss him like I need him to forget every rule he’s set for himself. Like I need to forget every reason I should walk away.

He answers with a low growl, one hand sliding under the hem of my T-shirt to find the bare skin of my lower back.

Gently he pulls back and brings me in closer. “I’ve never wanted anything as bad as I want you.”

Then he takes over, kissing me again, even deeper. My body lights up like a struck match. There’s no pretending now. No distance, no space between us. Just heat and silk and skin, his towel already shifting.

“I need…” I start, but I don’t finish.

Because his hands are already there. Sliding beneath the cotton. Peeling the shirt over my head with excruciating care.

I let it fall to the floor.

He looks at me like I’m some miracle he doesn’t deserve. Like the world could end in this moment and he’d die satisfied.

“Seraphina.”

My name sounds like worship.

I don’t know who moves first—maybe we move at the same time—but somehow we’re stumbling toward the bedroom. The towel swooshes to the floor, and neither of us cares.

His gaze never leaving mine, he backs me toward the bed. Then he captures me, sits down, and pulls me gently to stand between his legs.

“I told you I want you to forget your promises.”

“Yeah.” He drags his hands up my thighs. “But I want you to break them for me.”

“What do you mean?” I blink. “How?”

He leans in, kissing the swell of one breast, then the other. His mouth is hot, insistent. “Get on top.”

The words stop me cold. Not because I don’t want to.

Because I do.

So much that it scares me.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see you take what you want.”

My breath stutters.

“I want to watch you come apart from something you chose.” He slides his hands up my waist, stopping just beneath my breasts. “I want to feel your rhythm. Your pace. Your pleasure.”

“Xavier…” I’ve never been the one in charge in the bedroom.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” His voice is equal parts promise and reassurance. “I just want you. However you want me.”

In that moment, my nervousness evaporates.

I climb onto the mattress slowly, straddling his lap, my thighs bracketing his. I press down, the heat of him solid and pulsing against me. His breath catches.

I wrap my arms around his neck. Then I channel my inner vixen, leaning in to whisper, “Then shut up and let me take.”

He groans as I shift my hips, finding the perfect alignment.

“Wait a second.” He reaches for the nightstand. His wallet is there, and he digs out a condom.

Silently thanking his foresight, I squeeze my eyes shut. When it comes to him, desire short-circuits reason. For the second time this evening, I would have forgotten protection.

“Do this for me?” He offers me the package.

My fingers are shaking, and I drop it. With a grin, he offers it again.

Finally, somehow, I manage to tear open the foil.

“Good. Now put it on me.”

I swallow hard.

He’s already thick and hard, pulsing against his stomach, his erection straining upward like he’s sculpted from need and steel.

Oh… God.

My breath catches. My body clenches in anticipation.

I slide down his thighs, the warmth of his skin making me dizzy, and settle between his legs.

“Put it on my cockhead, then roll it down.”

I curl my hand around the base of him, and he groans—raw and low, like the sound got torn straight from his chest.

The weight of him fills my palm. Hot, heavy, pulsing with restrained hunger. He jerks slightly under my touch, and it does something wicked to me.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “How did you even fit ?”

“It was close.” His voice is frayed.

I stroke him once—slowly, deliberately—and he mutters a curse, his head tipping back, his hips twitching under my grip.

“You’re not helping,” he grits out.

I grin, emboldened, and stroke him again, teasing just beneath the head with my thumb. “You said to do this for you.”

“I didn’t say edge me like a fucking tease.” His eyes blaze.

Somehow I hold back my grin. Knowing I can do this to him is more power than I’ve ever experienced. “I’m learning.”

“You’re not just learning. You’re going to kill me.”

“Good.”

He hisses as I roll the condom down over him. Every twitch of his cock under my hand feels like power.

My legs are shaking.

He’s so hard it’s almost intimidating. Almost.

But the slick ache between my legs doesn’t care about fear.

I want him again. I want him deep.

I rise to my knees and crawl back over him, my hands braced on his chest, and his eyes follow every movement like a man starving.

“Lie back,” I whisper.

And when he obeys—when he stretches out beneath me, arms behind his head, every gorgeous, lethal inch of him on display like some dark gift—I’m not afraid anymore.

But the moment I start to lower myself onto him, I wince slightly. I’m more tender than I imagined.

Because he’s been watching me completely, he clamps his hands around me. “Stop. Not yet.”

“But—”

“I don’t want you hurting.”

“I told you I’m okay.”

“Before we do this, I want you soaked. Dripping. ” His voice is all gravel and heat. “I want to taste how badly you need me.”

And then— oh God —he shifts, muscles flexing as he pulls me up, guiding me forward with firm hands on my hips.

“Xavier—”

“Come here.” His eyes lock on mine. “Right here. Over my mouth.”

My heart stutters. “What?”

“You heard me.” His grip tightens. “Sit. On. My. Face.”

Everything in me jolts. “You can’t be serious. I’ve never?—”

“You will now. For me.”

Momentarily I squeeze my eyes shut against my embarrassment. But when I look at him again, his jaw is set in an implacable line.

“Be my good girl and do as you’re told. Unless you want a spanking?”

Shaking, I move, getting into position with my knees bracketing his head. The moment I hover above him, he grips my thighs and tugs me down until I’m flush against his mouth.

“Oh—oh God.” I gasp, grabbing hold of the headboard as his tongue parts me.

He groans like I’m the first real thing he’s ever tasted. Like he’s starving.

His mouth is everywhere —his tongue circling my clit, then diving deeper, lapping into me like he can’t get enough.

Jerking my hips, I struggle to catch my breath. “Xavier?—”

He answers by sucking hard on my clit, and I nearly come right then, the pleasure blinding.

I try to lift off, overwhelmed, but he won’t let me. His grip on my thighs is iron. He groans again—this desperate, hungry sound that vibrates through me.

Helpless, I grind against his tongue, my movements awkward as I try to find a rhythm. But then he grabs my ass, guiding me. Controlling me. Worshiping me.

Damn. My head falls back. “I can’t?—”

“You can. You will.”

And somehow I do.

I move faster, slick and aching, rocking against his face until I’m unraveling.

Tension coils in my spine. I’m close…on the very edge of the edge. I grip the headboard even more tightly as my thighs begin to shake. My whole body is tight, and relief is right?—

He tightens his grip and lifts me off him.

Stunned and denied, I call out his name.

He grins up at me, chin slick, eyes feral. “Oh you’ll come, little troublemaker. With me inside you.”

He lifts me once more and urges me back into position. His hands trail fire down my torso as he moves over my belly, my ribs, my breasts, until I’m whimpering.

I reach between us, hand trembling as I guide him to where I need him most.

He groans, low and hoarse, as the tip of his cock finds me.

I stroke him against my entrance—slow and deliberate—coating him in me, savoring the burn of anticipation.

“Seraphina…”

I lower myself slowly, inch by thick inch, and it’s glorious.

Stretching.

Filling.

Devastating.

He’s too big. Perfectly too big.

I slide down farther, and he grinds out a curse, his head falling to my shoulder.

“Oh my God, ” I breathe. “You feel…” I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t.

Because he rocks up, just once, and my eyes roll back in my head.

He grip my shoulders, and my heart is pounding so hard I swear he can feel it.

He stills, just for a moment, buried so deep I swear I can taste him in my throat.

And then—finally—he starts to move again.

Each thrust, each grind sends sparks racing up my spine. His name slips out of my mouth in a broken breath.

He moves again, sitting up, locking one arm around my waist, kissing my throat, my jaw, my mouth.

And I ride him, chest to chest, gasping his name as if he’s my salvation when I know he’s anything but. “I?—”

“Take it.”

As aroused as I am, holding back would be impossible.

I come hard and fast, like lightning. He follows, buried deep, arms wrapped around me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

When it’s over, I collapse against his chest, panting, my skin slick with sweat and wonder.

For a long time, we don’t move.

Finally he presses a kiss to my temple. “That,” he murmurs, “was fucking perfect.”

And the scariest part?

I think he’s right.

He holds me against him for an impossibly long time, one leg over mine.

Our breaths are ragged, and neither of us speaks.

Tenderly he wraps a finger into my hair. It’s casual and intimate all at the same time.

Minutes pass, and maybe I doze.

I wait for regret to plow into me, but it doesn’t.

On all levels, what I did tonight was stupid. Sleeping with my boss, the one man who has more power over me than anyone ever has. And yet… I wouldn’t change a thing.

This time, when he offers to get me a warm, damp towel, I accept. I’m too tired to argue, too tired to do it myself.

In my bathroom, water runs, and he comes back a couple of minutes later.

“Spread your legs.”

“Uh… I can do it myself.”

“Did I ask that?” He raises a brow, making me sigh.

Back to being bossy.

I close my eyes and obey. It’s not like he hasn’t recently had a close-up shot, anyway. But still, doing this when we’re not making love seems strangely even more personal.

He bathes me, and after my initial hesitation, I relax into his tenderness. I never would have expected anything like this from him.

“Your pussy is a little red and swollen. I need to give you a rest.”

Not for very long. Please.

“Be right back.”

With him gone, I have to wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill from the blasting air conditioner.

Less than five minutes later, he returns, carrying my water and the wineglasses that he’s topped off.

I sit up, and he slides in next to me.

We’re both quiet, and I watch the city lights glittering outside the windows. The whole world feels distant, wrapped in glass and quiet.

“Talk to me. That was a lot.”

He’s asking about more than how I’m doing physically, and I take time to consider my answer.

“It was. And I’m good with it.” Surprisingly.

I’m actually content. I have an incredible new place, a job that’s challenging, a salary I can live on, a best friend who buys me five-dollar wine when I’m broke.

I swirl the bubbles in my glass.

And the best lovemaking I’ve ever experienced.

I know this won’t last, but for right now, here, with him, I feel safe.

He drapes an arm around my shoulder and draws me in a little closer. “I like you like this.”

“How?”

“Satisfied.” His eyes go dark. “And mine.”

I stare at him. His possessiveness should terrify me.

But it doesn’t.

Because it doesn’t feel like control. It feels like a vow.

I don’t answer. Instead I lean into him, let my head rest on his shoulder.

Long, peaceful minutes later, he sets his empty glass on the nightstand, then reaches for mine and takes it from me.

“Are you going to let me sleep?”

“Eventually.” His grin is slow and dangerous as he shifts toward me. “After you scream again…”