Page 21 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Fifteen

Seraphina

Xavier Blackwell—once my greatest nemesis—is in my kitchen, with his jeans zipped but unfastened. No shirt. No shame.

The man is a walking sin—mussed hair, bare feet, sipping coffee like he owns the sunrise. And me.

Somehow he managed to figure out the high-tech coffee maker, which I’m grateful for. It appears so complicated that the only word I can come up with to describe it is moody. I wasn’t looking forward to the learning curve when I needed coffee.

“Decided to try the Ethiopian roast.” His voice is still scratchy from sleep, and it sends tendrils of awareness through me. “Hope it wasn’t something you wanted to save for a special occasion?”

Even if it was, having him here on a Sunday morning would definitely count as a special occasion.

Because coming closer to him is potentially dangerous, I lean against the doorway, arms folded under my chest to hide the way my nipples are perking up like they’re yearning for his masterful touch. “Is it good? I’m not really a connoisseur.”

“Couldn’t tell that after the way you replaced that crappy drip coffee maker in my office with that one cup-at-a-time brewer. And ordered pods for it that cost a small fortune.”

That had been one of the first things I handled when I went back to work for him. “I read a bunch of reviews before buying it.” I shrug. “But for myself? I don’t know Arabica from robusta. I’m betting that Tasha does, though.”

“It’s damn good.” Xavier lifts the mug to his lips. “I’d say her gift basket included some excellent choices.”

Pricey too, no doubt.

“May need to order some of this for myself.”

“Should I add it to my task list, sir?”

“I like the way you say that. So respectful. Maybe you should do it more often.”

My tummy flips as he drags his gaze over me, slow and sure.

“Goddamn it, Seraphina. You look like temptation.”

“Me?” After I got up, I reached for the first thing I could find, which was his T-shirt. The moment I put it on, the fabric seemed to wrap around me like a hug. It smells like him. And I’m not entirely sure I ever want to take it off. “I’m not the one half naked, Mr. Blackwell.”

He doesn’t seem inclined to change that.

“Can I pour you a cup?”

After last night’s lack of sleep and how sore my body is, I might kill for an extra-strong coffee. “Please.”

I can’t believe how at home he seems to be in my new place.

After everything last night, we showered together, and he dried me off, and then he tucked me into bed, naked, next to him.

Sometime around three, when we’d both drifted back into consciousness, we made love again before falling asleep for a few more blissful hours of rest.

He finds me a mug that isn’t chipped, fills it, and adds the right amount of mocha creamer.

“You’re spoiling me, Blackwell.”

“Last night, it was Xavier.”

And this morning, I need a little bit of emotional distance between us.

“But, yeah. I think you deserve it.”

The problem is, I could get used to it.

He offers me the beverage, and I inhale the amazingly rich, nutty aroma with a hint of citrus that makes my taste buds sit up and beg.

Then I take a sip. The flavor is deep, velvety, and so smooth it feels indecent.

Maybe I should save this for special occasions.

It’s a brew to enjoy, not gulp in desperate need for a caffeine buzz to make it through the day.

Drinks in hand, we both end up moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretches out beneath us. The sun is shining brightly, turning the glass of the downtown towers to gold and making the green of Buffalo Bayou blaze like emerald fire.

“What are your plans for the day?”

Such a mundane question, the type couples in a relationship share.

Quickly I give myself a mental shake. We’re not in a relationship. We had sex, nothing more. “I have to go by the old apartment, pick up the last few things, and give it a deep clean.” That’s the thing I’m not looking forward to.

“I’d offer to help, but I have a meeting with Walt.”

His uncle, part owner of the company, and board member. I know he’s Xavier’s deceased father’s only sibling. From what I’ve overheard, the two are really close. “I wouldn’t let you help, anyway. But thanks for thinking of it. I’ll do what I can, take photos, and hope I get my deposit back.”

He gives me a look over the rim of his mug. “You’ll get it back.”

I narrow my eyes. “That sounds suspiciously confident.”

“Hungry?” He changes the topic so fast he gives me whiplash.

“I am. And there’s a lot of food in the refrigerator. I can whip up something.” I’m no expert in the kitchen, and there’s no way I can prepare the type of gourmet meal that he prefers.

After putting his mug on a coaster on an end table, he pulls out his phone and begins to scroll. “Let’s find something local.”

Is he serious right now?

“Introduce you to your new neighborhood.”

Breakfast out isn’t in my budget, but I keep my mouth shut because I’m sure that doesn’t matter to him.

“Vionna’s off for at least another hour. She takes her dog to the park on Sunday mornings. So we need to walk, if that’s okay?”

“Totally.” I nod. “Part of my attraction to this apartment was the walkability of the area. The vibe.” But that it appeals to him is yet another layer to his personality that I hadn’t expected.

After another sip, coffee in hand, I head down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Little troublemaker?”

His voice stops me in my tracks, and I turn back to face him.

“Wear something respectable.”

I scowl.

“Unless you’re looking to have a hard time sitting on your chair at the restaurant.”

“You’re—” Furiously I blink. “You’re threatening to spank me…if I don’t dress the way you say?”

“It’s more than a threat. It’s a certainty. You’ll learn to do as I tell you without questioning my orders.”

And for one wicked second, while I hurry to my closet, setting down my coffee on the way, I’m tempted to push him.

Ruthlessly I shove aside the wicked thought.

If he never spanks me again, it’s too soon. Right?

I rip open a box of summer clothes and find a sundress that’s slightly longer than the shorts I’d worn to dinner last night.

As I’m slipping it on, he walks in, stands in the closet doorway and watches.

My fingers fluttering nervously, I smooth the bodice into place. “Is this suitable?”

He makes a motion with his index finger, indicating I should turn around. And I do. He whistles long and slow, sending goose bumps up my arms. “Sensational.”

Really? I’ve had it forever, and it’s nothing special.

“As long as I’m with you, you can wear it.”

“As long as?—”

“No other man gets to see what’s mine. Are we clear?”

“I…”

He takes an intentional step toward me, making me retreat.

“I guess you need a reminder.”

He moves like a shadow—quiet, inescapable. One step, then another, until my back hits the wall. Before I can draw a breath, he captures my hands in one of his much stronger ones and pins my wrists above my head.

“Xavier…” But it’s already too late. I didn’t give him what he wanted when he wanted it. And now he’s in total control.

Then he cups my sex with a hard, possessive pressure that makes me whimper.

“This”—he squeezes intentionally—”belongs to me. Are you clear?”

His grip isn’t painful, but there’s no doubt of his possessiveness or his seriousness.

“God, you’re soaked.” His voice is pitched low. “I can feel the heat of you through this little scrap of fabric. You’re trembling for me, aren’t you?”

Deliberately he slips his fingers into my panties and strokes between my folds, teasing, parting me with wicked skill. “So soft. So fucking wet already.” With the pad of his thumb, he grazes my clit, smiling when my knees buckle. “You love this. Don’t you? Being touched. Being claimed.”

I gasp as he slips one finger inside, then another, curling them so that he finds my G-spot. If he hadn’t been holding me trapped, I wouldn’t have been able to stand.

He thrusts shallowly, then curls. Again. Again. Until I’m panting, hips arching into his palm, my inner thighs quaking from the pressure building inside me.

“That’s it, Seraphina. Let me feel you fall apart.”

His mouth crashes onto mine, the kiss hot and deep and filthy. He drives me up and over until I’m moaning into his mouth, clinging to him, clenching around his fingers.

“See how wet you are for me? Only me. Come. Now.”

The orgasm rips through me with shocking force. His mouth swallows every sound I make. His fingers stay buried, working me through every aftershock until I’m boneless. Helpless. And completely undone.

“Good girl. See how wet you are for me?”

With his touch, his command, he destroys me.

He continues to hold me until my breathing is more normal. When he finally eases his fingers from my pussy and releases my wrists, I’m shaking from loss of control.

His gaze drops to the soaked fabric clinging between my thighs. “Take them off, Seraphina. And give them to me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Is he mad? He wants my damp underwear? “You’re not serious.”

Implacably he folds his arms and waits. He hasn’t backed off, and there’s no way past him.

Overwhelmed by what he’s just done, as well as his sensual demand, I hold on to the hand he offers and peel the scrap of satin down my legs. After I step out of them, he scoops them from the floor.

As I watch, astounded, he folds the fabric and slips it into his back pocket like some sort of trophy.

My jaw drops. “Why would you?—”

“Now let me ask you, Ms. Hollis”—he leans toward me, his jade-green eyes glittering—“any questions about who you belong to or whose orders you follow? Or have we settled that discussion?”

“I…” Unable to think straight, I finger comb the mess of my hair. In this moment, I believe that he means exactly what he said. And he won’t be satisfied without my surrender. “The matter is settled.”

He narrows his eyes. “We don’t have to have this discussion again?”

When I whisper, “No,” he nods his satisfaction.

Finally he takes a step back, giving me room to breathe, and I need it. Lord, how I need it… “Just let me put on a fresh pair of panties.”

“Skip them.”

“But—”

He draws his eyes together with lethal force. “I want you aware of your nakedness and the fact you’re obeying me and pleasing me.”

That word—obeying—should make me bristle. Instead it lights up something hot and dangerous deep inside me.

What the hell has happened between us in the last twenty-four hours?

He’s made my life even crazier. I’ve always wondered how I’ll survive Blackwell. Now?—