Page 27 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Twenty

Seraphina

Knowing things will be worse if I stall, I lower myself on to the vanity.

“I said smushed.”

With his large hand, he forces me down even harder.

“Oof.” Oxygen is forced from my lungs, and the stone is much cooler than I expect. Rather than feeling good, it’s another contrast that short-circuits my brain cells.

And then the bastard reaches for a glass that’s nearby, fills it with cold water, and pours it over my buttocks.

“That’s better,” he approves.

If what he said is true, then what’s coming next is going to be awful.

Truly I had no idea at all what I was getting myself into with him.

Nothing in my wildest imagination could have prepared me for any of this.

A spanking, yes. But the edging, the way that need crawls through me, the pain from his swats amplifying all of it…

His first stripe is awful. Much harder than I expect. “Damn!” The flat, wooden part is unforgiving. “Xavier!”

He gives me another, making my legs quiver.

A third follows. I whimper. Since he’s spanked me so many times already, my skin is sensitive. And the wood is harsher than his hand. Not that that hadn’t been horrible too. But adding in the wetness makes it unbearable.

When he hits my sit spot, I cry out. “I can’t take any more.”

“And yet you expect me to take more and more of your sass and disrespect.”

“It was only a skirt.”

Instantly he contradicts me. “It was letting other men see what belongs to me.”

He spanks me until my ass and thighs burn bright red.

“It was going without underwear so that someone other than me might catch a glimpse of your beautiful cunt.”

With his hand, he spanks me there.

Suddenly I’m sobbing, not from pain but from need.

Then he tosses the brush next to my head, pulls me up, and wraps me in his arms. “Lesson learned?”

“Yes.” Yes. Anything to stop that and have this, the feel of his heart thundering beneath my ear. Of being held this tight—a promise that nothing bad will ever happen to me. To us.

Every part of me is on fire and yet more content than I ever remember being, as if things are finally as they’re supposed to be.

In the distance, the doorbell chimes.

Disoriented, I blink.

“That’ll be Vionna with dinner.”

Everything that happened in the last half hour or so had made me forget that the real world existed.

He reaches for my robe.

“But she’s waiting.”

“Another minute won’t hurt her.” He helps me into it and ties the belt tight around my waist. Then he feathers back my slightly damp hair, his thumb brushing my jawbone. “You did so well, little troublemaker.”

Trembling, I melt, needing to use a wall to hold me upright.

I’m vaguely aware of their voices, but I’m not able to rouse myself to say hello or thank her for her efforts.

Every part of me is aching and lethargic. Well, every part that isn’t on fire for an orgasm that he’s yet to allow me to have.

Without getting dressed—and not wanting to push him further than I have—I join him in the living room.

I’m surprised to see he’s set up our dinner on the balcony, with real plates, silverware, and wineglasses that are already filled. In the middle of the table is a half-empty bottle of burgundy that’s older than my high-school diploma.

I stay in my robe while he’s still fully dressed. His tie is only slightly askew.

Acting like a gentleman rather than a beast, he holds my chair.

When I sit, I wince.

“A spanking should be a daily requirement to keep you in line.”

Why do I yearn for exactly that?

We enjoy our pan-roasted chicken and a wild rice medley with dried cherries and pistachios under the last blush of sunset, the sky bleeding orange and gold over the city.

The bayou glitters below and the skyline winks with light.

By the time dessert is gone—dark chocolate mousse with raspberry drizzle—the stars are out, and somehow my legs are across his lap.

Absently he slides a hand along my thigh. My robe’s slid halfway open, and the warm night air actually feels good on my tender skin.

He glances down, then up. “You’ve been very quiet.”

I grin. “I was reflecting.”

“On?”

“The consequences of my behavior.”

He traces the edge of the robe. “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

I shift in his lap, sore and still aching. “Yes, sir. I’d say you were thorough in your explanation.”

He raises a brow. “And you’ll be a good girl in the future?”

“Of course, Mr. Blackwell.” I try to look innocent. “I wouldn’t want a repeat of that.” Liar, liar, skirt on fire . I’m already planning my next thrift store run to fill an entire basket with micro miniskirts.

As if he’s not certain he believes me, his eyes narrow.

“In that case…” He slides his hand between my thighs, fingers stroking gently. “Do you think you’ve earned an orgasm?”

I lean in, mouth at his ear. “If it pleases you, sir.”

He smiles. “You are a good girl.”

His words make me molten.

“Stand up for me, Seraphina.”

“Yes, sir.” Then I head back inside, only to have his voice stop me in my tracks.

Turning back to him, I blink. “Xavier?”

“Get back over here.”

Then, here, outside, he lowers himself to his knees.

Holy shit.

He can’t mean…

Frantically I look around.

The balcony is filled with plenty of foliage for privacy, and no one else seems to be outside or looking in this direction. Almost all window coverings are closed, or lights are off in the rooms.

Still, this is dangerous and dirty.

And so damn arousing.

He licks my pussy. One terrible, perfect stroke.

I moan and arch.

He laughs darkly. “No. Not yet. Not even close.”

He edges me again, right there, fingers stroking slow, tongue flicking wickedly against my clit until I’m trembling, panting, begging.

Then he stops.

Again and again.

I’m sore and wrecked, my thighs slick, my ass still burning from the way he used the bath brush on me.

He drags me to the glass, pushes me flat against it, arms high above my head. “Don’t you dare try to move.”

My chest is heaving, and I don’t have the courage to try to defy him. He’s already shown me I’m not match for him.

He licks one nipple, then bites the other.

I cry out, shuddering.

“Do you remember what I said about having no doubts?” He cups my breasts and squeezes, making me gasp. “Seraphina?”

“I won’t forget.”

He captures my shoulders and turns me around, telling me to press my palms on the window.

Around us, glass towers pierce the sky. Below us, the city is alive with cars, lights threading through the dark. In the distance is a glimmering Buffalo Bayou. The stars are faint, overwhelmed by Houston’s electric sprawl, but they’re there. Watching.

Just like he wants them to.

But for me, it’s as if nothing exists but two of us and the moment.

“Do as you’re told, Seraphina.”

My palms meet the cool windowpane and my breath fogs it.

I see our reflection—his dark form behind me, suit pants still on, shirt unbuttoned now, white sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms are carved steel. Veins bulge. Power coils in every line of him.

And me?

I’m in nothing but the robe, loose around my shoulders. Beneath it, I’m flushed, throbbing, spanked, used—and still aching. Still denied.

“Look at you.” He trails a knuckle across my nape. “So naughty. Just for me.” His voice is velvet filth.

He steps closer, his chest against my back, his cock pressing hard into my hip. “And I’m not done with you yet.”

His voice does wicked things to my insides.

“Lower your hands for me.”

I do, gasping when he pushes the robe off my shoulders. It slides to the patio tile like water, puddling at my feet.

“Now back in position, and this time, your breasts will be flat against the window.”

This is beyond risqué, and I never object. The glass is cold against my nipples.

And his heat is everywhere else.

He grips my hips, guiding me to arch just enough.

Behind me, I hear the metal of his belt buckle, hear the hiss and slide of leather, and a tiny rip of foil.

Moments later, the head of his cock is pressed at my entrance.

“Anyone can see me fucking you like you deserve. Your tits pressed to the glass, your body begging for mine.”

No one but him knows I’m already shaking.

Because he’s edged me for so long, the moment he begins to ease in, I’m wet for him.

“Perfect little girl.”

And then he pushes in.

Slow.

Deep.

My mouth falls open. A broken sound escapes me.

“Oh, fuck?—”

“You’re going to do it.” He groans, fingers digging into my hips. “Take every damn inch and be grateful for it.”

He bottoms out with a growl, holding me there, filled, stretched, owned.

“I’ve been hard for hours,” he bites out. “Every time you begged. Every time I denied you. This”—he thrusts, once, sharp, and I cry out—“is what I’ve been thinking about.”

He sets a brutal rhythm, dragging me back onto him with every thrust.

My breasts bounce against the glass. My nails press foggy crescents into the pane.

He reaches around, pinches my nipples, then slides one hand down, cupping my sex.

And he circles.

One perfect press to my clit.

I shatter.

My orgasm hits so violently I scream, forehead hitting the glass, knees nearly buckling. I tremble and sob and clench around him, and he holds me upright, growling praise into my hair.

“That’s it. Come for me. So fucking perfect.”

I’m still coming when he slams in deeper, his powerful hips snapping hard.

And then he’s there too.

He grunts low, hoarse and buries himself to the hilt as he spills inside me.

His body jerks, shudders, and then goes still.

For a long moment, we just breathe.

Sweat slicks our skin. My forehead rests against the glass. His chest is warm at my back. Behind me, the city glows on, unaware.

He kisses my shoulder. My neck. My spine.

Then slowly, gently, he pulls out.

I wince. Every part of me is tender now, and my senses are overstimulated.

Xavier is there, catching me as I sag, lifting me in his arms like I weigh nothing. Then he carries me inside to the bed.

He lays me down like I’m breakable.

Like I matter.

He covers me with the robe again, then slides in behind me, wrapping himself around my back. His hand curls possessively over my hip.

His mouth is at my ear, breath warm and ragged. “That’s what happens to good girls.”

I hum, smiling, eyelids heavy. “I’ll have to be good more often.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I know.”

He kisses my neck again, slower this time. Softer. His cock presses against my ass—still half-hard, still hungry—but his grip stays gentle.

We lie there, sweat drying, heartbeats slowing, the city twinkling around us.

And for the first time in days. I feel like we’ve come home to each other.

I’m sore, used. Satisfied.

Xavier doesn’t just own my body tonight.

He owns me. A reckless part of me wants this forever.

With a slow smile, I reach for his cock, already wondering what else I can get away with.