Page 28 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Twenty-One

Xavier

I push open the glass doors to my suite, still sweat slick from my workout, the cotton of my shirt clinging to my back. Then I freeze.

Celeste is here.

And she’s seated directly across the desk from Seraphina, a cup of coffee in hand, legs elegantly crossed, wearing the kind of bored expression that makes CEOs sweat blood.

What the actual fuck?

Seraphina looks up and smiles. She’s calm. Poised. Not a hair out of place. As if this ambush isn’t happening.

I narrow my eyes, looking between the two of them. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing.” My lovely assistant, my lover, is serene. “Celeste stopped by to see you. I explained you’d be back soon, and she opted to wait.”

The hell she did.

She wanted to check out Seraphina for herself. Celeste Fallon doesn’t have a patient bone in her body. She’s all about strategy and calculation, and she stopped by to see what the hell is going on with me.

Celeste smiles, the kind of smile that should come with a nondisclosure agreement. “You look like hell, Xavier. Haven’t been sleeping, hmm?”

My retort is not polite, and it’s everything I can do to bite it back. “I need a shower.”

“And I’m not waiting that long.”

“Good. Seraphina will show you out.”

Seraphina blinks as Celeste calmly sets down her cup, rises, straightens the cuff of her blazer, and follows me into my office as if she has every right to be there.

“You weren’t invited.”

“Good thing I wasn’t waiting for an invitation, then, isn’t it?”

I don’t sit. Not while I’m still damp and keyed up from deadlifts and the quiet burn of the memory of spanking Seraphina and fucking her hard outside.

There was never any danger of us being seen, but the idea of the entire world seeing me possess her so completely began to soothe my inner demons.

I’d arrived at her place and taken in her loose, flowy hair and flirtatious, welcoming smile. A moment later, I realized she fully expected me to take her to dinner in that outrageous outfit.

Rage had turned my vision red, and I had to draw deep, deep, for self-control.

Then I discovered she wasn’t wearing panties.

The spanking I gave her wasn’t a game to me. I was fucking pissed.

It was one thing for me to demand her panties when she was wearing a sundress that covered her, but last night’s choice barely brushed the tops of her thighs.

A breeze as we were exiting the car would have shown her beautiful cunt to anyone who was watching.

Anger demanded I spank her, claim her. And the only goddamn thing it did was prove to me how much she meant to me.

Making love to her helped me harness my untamed side.

But this morning, Walt requested another meeting.

And I hate how his words from Sunday replay in my head. More, I despise that he might have a point.

When it comes to Seraphina…I am blinded by lust.

It’s not just her beauty—that amazingly curvy body—it’s her soft, submissive sigh. And even more than that…her stunning intellect.

She can keep up with me, has no interest in idle gossip or spending my money on designer clothes, trips, massages, or facials.

In fact, if I even suggested she take a spa day on my dime, she’d probably toss a bottle of glycolic acid at my skull.

Even though I might deny it, Seraphina Hollis is my temptation. My obsession.

I’m torn up inside, but Celeste seems oblivious.

She’s made herself comfortable in a chair, and she’s observing me.

I fold my arms and perch on the edge of my desk. If I don’t give her what she wants, the annoying-as-fuck woman will still be in my office when I get out of the shower.

“Walter called me. He’s concerned.”

Goddamn prick.

“You’re fucking her, aren’t you?”

“Jesus. Not you too.”

She laughs once. “Walter didn’t say. Didn’t need to. It’s obvious. The way you look at her. The way she looks at you.”

I don’t respond. If I do, I might take her head off.

“She’s beautiful.” Voice steady, Celeste goes on, apparently not giving two fucks how I’m reacting.

“Sharp as hell. Doesn’t reveal anything.

Plays her cards close to her chest, as well as you do.

Honestly? I spent half an hour with her, listened to her sort out problems so they don’t have to get to you, saw her deal with IT when they came in to fix a problem she was having with her computer password. ”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“She’s an asset.”

I don’t reply.

“And I understand why your head’s not screwed on straight.”

My jaw flexes. “If there’s nothing else, you can tell my uncle you did your duty.”

“From me to you, I’m going to advise you to be careful.”

“I never asked permission, Celeste. Not from anyone, and certainly not from you.”

She stands. “For the record, Xavier? I never supported you firing her in the first place.”

That gets my attention.

“One of your rare, stupid moves. Keep your head on straight, and don’t make another one.”

She pivots cleanly, her heels biting into the marble, and strides toward the door.

Her hand is on the knob when I finally snap out of it.

“You didn’t come because of Walter.”

“No.” Turning around, she looks at me. “I wanted to meet Seraphina for myself.”

I scowl. “You were being nosy.”

“Thorough,” she counters. “Looking out for your best interests.”

“Nosy,” I assert.

Without acknowledging me, she opens the door and leaves.

In the reception area, she exchanges a few words with Seraphina. Then there’s a click, which means Celeste is gone.

But my foul mood is not. “Seraphina!”

My voice ricochets through the office.

A beat later, the door opens, and she enters—poised, polished, goddamn radiant in that fitted navy blouse and high-waisted pencil skirt that hugs her hips like a sin custom stitched for my destruction.

“Xavier?” She knits her eyebrows together. “Is everything all right?”

Every time I see her, attraction hits me like a blow to the chest. The impossible elegance of her. The fire under the composure. The vanilla-laced scent that doesn’t just haunt me—it fucking brands me.

I drink her in.

My pulse pounds at my temples. My cock is already hard, pressed against my workout pants in a way that’s becoming unsustainable.

“Close the door,” I say, my voice low. Rougher than it should be.

She does.

“Now lock it.”

While she does as I say, I close the blinds, then wait for her. “Come here.”

She hesitates just long enough to make me twitch. Then she crosses the room, eyes locked on mine, the sway of her hips as deliberate as it is unconscious.

I shouldn’t touch her like this—not after a workout, not in this office, not with a board meeting looming, and my need battling with frustration—but she impressed the hell out of Celeste, and my pride is a living, breathing thing right now. All teeth and heat and territorial need.

The moment she’s within reach, I catch her wrist and pull her into me, my mouth crushing hers.

She gasps, then melts, one hand fisting in the damp cotton of my shirt, the other braced on my chest.

I devour her.

It’s not soft. Not tender.

It’s dirty and grateful and laced with every single time I’ve looked across this desk and imagined bending her over it. Lifting her skirt. Shoving aside files and electronics and pressing her face to the glass.

Last night, she made a mess of the coffee table, and now I want to see my desktop smudged with her fingerprints, marred by her nails. I want her soft pink lipstick to live in the grain of this wood and her tears to stain the documents I’m supposed to care about.

I deepen the kiss, hand tangled in her hair, hips pressing into hers so she can feel what she does to me.

She whimpers, soft and compliant, and I nearly lose the single thread of restraint I’ve got.

But I’m still soaked from the gym. Still supposed to be a professional.

And we have work to do.

I force myself to step back.

She sways a little, dazed, lips kiss swollen and cheeks flushed, and God help me, all I want to do is take her right here.

“This is inappropriate.” My voice is rougher than it should.

“I know.” She nods.

“This should never happen at work.”

“It shouldn’t.” Even though she agrees, she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t fix her blouse or put any distance between us.

“I’m way out of line, and you should tell me that.” And I pray she doesn’t.

“Of course you’re right, Mr. Blackwell.” But very deliberately she reaches down and cups my cock through my workout pants.

I groan, and she squeezes.

And then I can’t stop.

The desk moves slightly as I pin her back against it.

She watches me, wide-eyed, as I reach behind her to unzip her skirt. The fabric resists, but I tug it down, baring her inch by inch.

Her panties are lace. Soft. Damp.

Of course they are.

I groan, fingers gliding over her hips, then her thighs. I nudge her knees apart.

“You need to start wearing a garter belt to work,” I murmur. “And stockings. Every goddamn day.”

“Xavier!”

I slide her blouse free of her waistband, popping the buttons one by one until her bra is exposed—a delicate, lacy thing that barely restrains her. I press a kiss to the top curve of one breast, then another. Her breath catches.

“Tell me you want this.”

She grabs my face with both hands. Her voice is fierce, ragged. “I want you, Xavier. So much I can’t breathe.”

My mouth crashes down on hers again. My cock throbs, hard and aching, and there’s no turning back.

I drag her panties down, slow enough to torment, fast enough that my control starts to splinter. She kicks them away, her heels catching on the carpet.

I grab a condom from the drawer—fuck the implications—and tear it open with shaking hands. She’s already reaching for me, helping, curling her fingers around my length, guiding me as if she owns every goddamn inch.

And she does.

“This isn’t sex.”

Her gaze searches my face. “Then what is it?”

“It’s you. Me. And fuck the rest of the world.”

Her eyes fill with emotion. “Show me.”

I lift her onto the desk, spreading her thighs, sliding inside with a groan that echoes off the glass walls.

She gasps, fingers scrabbling for the edge of the desk. I grip her hips, anchoring her, grounding both of us.

“You’re mine, Seraphina.”

“Yours.”

And then there’s nothing but motion. Sound. Heat.

I take her hard, but it’s not rough. It’s worship. Promise.

Every thrust is an apology. Every stroke, a vow. I kiss her throat, her breasts, the shell of her ear, drinking in every broken sound she makes.

She comes apart with a cry, shaking, clinging to me.

And I follow with a hoarse shout, buried deep inside her, shaking with the force of it.

For a long moment, there’s only our breath.

Then I press my forehead to hers. “I can’t lose you again.”

Her voice is a whisper. “Then don’t.”

And maybe, just maybe, this time I won’t.

She’s flushed. Lips bruised from my kiss. Her blouse slightly askew.

And Christ, she looks even better like this.

Reluctantly I help her to dress.

“Come back to me in twenty minutes.”

Seraphina blinks, still breathless. “Of course, sir.”

I can’t be away from her for much longer than that. “We need to go over the projections for the board meeting. Again.”

“I’ll be here.”

She turns, heels clicking as she walks out—unrushed, composed, like I didn’t just lose my mind, destroy the HR manual, and fuck her like a mad man.

What the hell does she do to me?

I bite back a curse and force myself into a cold shower so brutal it could make a priest repent.

And it’s not enough. It will never be enough.