Page 10 of High Stakes (The Morrison Brothers #2)

"For me too," Michael assures me, pulling me close again. "Definitely for me, too."

I stare at him, thunderstruck. Is this really happening? Am I sitting in Michael Morrison's lap on a private beach, his arms around me, his lips still warm from our kiss? I blink hard, half-expecting the scene to dissolve like a mirage.

But he remains solid and real before me, his dark eyes watching me.

The setting sun casts golden light across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw with its perfect five o'clock shadow, turning his skin to burnished bronze.

He looks like something from a fantasy—my fantasy—yet here he is, touching me, wanting me.

My breath comes faster as heat pools low in my belly. I can’t help but notice every point where our bodies connect—my thighs bracketing his, his hands at my waist, his throbbing cock pressing against me through our swimwear.

God, I want him. All of him. Right here on this beach with the waves as our soundtrack and the sand beneath us. I want to feel his weight above me, want to taste every inch of his skin, want him inside me where I've ached for him through countless office meetings and late-night work sessions.

"Elena?" Michael's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Where did you go just now? You seemed a million miles away."

I drop my gaze, suddenly embarrassed by the direction of my thoughts. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't believe this is happening."

His fingers gently lift my chin, bringing my eyes back to his. "What's going on in that brilliant mind of yours?"

"You can't judge me," I whisper, gathering my courage. "I know I said I didn’t want to do everything here… But I was wrong. I want more than just kissing, Michael. Much more. I want everything."

His eyes widen slightly, "I was hoping you'd say that," he murmurs, his hand sliding to the small of my back. "Because I want everything with you too, Elena."

His palm travels lower, fingers dipping beneath the edge of my swimsuit bottom to curve around my ass. I gasp at the intimate touch, a shiver racing up my spine despite the tropical heat.

"Wait," I say, pressing a hand against his chest.

He immediately freezes. "Is everything okay? We can stop if—"

"No," I assure him quickly. "Everything's perfect. I just... I want to see your face. I want to look into your eyes."

Understanding dawns in his expression. He helps me shift around until I'm facing him properly, his hand returning to its previous position, now curving around my hip, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to explore.

This time, he doesn't hesitate. His fingers find their way between my legs, quickly discovering how wet I already am. I arch against his hand as he begins to stroke me, my fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

"Fuck, that feels good," I breathe, my voice trembling.

The sensation of Michael Morrison—my brilliant, demanding boss—touching me so intimately is almost more than I can process.

Emboldened by his response, I reach down and tug at his swim trunks.

"Take these off," I command softly. "I want to see all of you."

His eyebrows rise slightly at my boldness, but he complies, lifting his hips to push the trunks down and off. His cock springs free, thick and hard, even more impressive than I'd imagined during my most private fantasies.

"Oh my God," I gasp, momentarily overwhelmed by the sight of him.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face at my reaction. "We don't have to—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," I interrupt, wrapping my fingers around his length. "I want this. I want you."

His head falls back with a groan as I begin to stroke him, learning the feel of him, the weight, the way he responds to different pressures and rhythms. His fingers continue their own exploration, circling my clit, occasionally dipping inside me as if testing how ready I am.

The dual sensation—my hand on him, his fingers on me—is torture. I lean forward to kiss him again, deeper this time, hungrier. His free hand tangles in my hair, holding me close as our tongues dance.

Almost without conscious thought, I change my position, sliding down his body until my mouth is level with his cock. I look up at him through my lashes, making sure he's watching as I take him between my lips.

"Fuck, Elena," he groans, his fingers tightening in my hair.

The taste of him, the weight on my tongue, the look of stunned pleasure on his face, it's all intoxicating.

I take him deeper, letting saliva slick my movements as I work him with my mouth and hand together.

Drops of spit trickle down my chin and onto the sand beneath us, but I don't care.

All that matters is the way Michael is looking at me, like I'm performing some kind of miracle.

He continues touching me as I pleasure him, two fingers now sliding inside me. The angle is awkward but perfect, building pressure that makes my thighs tremble and my movements falter.

After several minutes of this, Michael gently pulls me off him.

"If you keep that up," he says, voice trembling, "this will be over much too soon."

He withdraws his fingers from me, and I make a small sound of protest at the loss.

"I think it's time to take this to the next level," he says, his eyes staring at mine.

"Yes," I breathe, beyond rational thought now. "Please, Michael. I need you inside me."

A smile curves his lips. Not his boardroom smile or his polite social smile, but something primal and possessive that I’ve never seen.

"With pleasure," he says, shifting our positions so I'm on my back on the beach blanket.

He moves over me, his body casting me in shadow as he settles between my spread thighs. I reach down to help guide him, impatient for the feeling of fullness I've craved for months.

As the head of his cock presses against my entrance, I wrap my hands around his ass, pulling him toward me, urging him deeper. "All of it," I demand. "I want all of you."

He obliges, pushing forward until he fills me completely. We both cry out at the sensation, the perfect fullness, the tight fit, the rightness of our bodies joining.

"Jesus, Elena," he groans, his forearm flexing as he holds himself above me. "You feel incredible."

I can only nod in response, words temporarily beyond me. Michael begins to move, setting a rhythm that quickly has me gasping. Sweat beads on his brow, dripping onto my chest as he works above me, each thrust hard and fast.

He looks magnificent like this. Powerful, focused, his muscles rippling with each movement. This is Michael Morrison unleashed, primal and passionate in a way I've only glimpsed in rare moments.

“Let me on top," I request, yearning to take control.

He grins and rolls us smoothly, so I'm straddling him, his cock still inside me. I sit up, adjusting to the new angle, the deeper penetration in this position.

"Are you the boss now?" he teases, his hands settling on my hips.

I smirk down at him, feeling powerful and desired. "Absolutely," I confirm, beginning to move. "And I expect your full cooperation, Mr. Morrison."

"Yes, ma'am," he agrees, his eyes dark with arousal as he watches me ride him.

Michael helps guide my movements, one hand on my back, the other on my ass, his strong fingers digging into my flesh. The contrast of his tanned skin against my paler body is nothing short of pure erotic.

"Michael," I gasp as the pressure builds inside me. "Oh God, Michael..."

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. "Let go for me, Elena. I want to see you come."

His words push me closer to the edge. I'm vaguely aware that I'm making desperate, needy sounds, that my movements are becoming less coordinated as pleasure overwhelms me.

Michael must sense I'm close because he thrusts up to meet me, hitting a spot inside that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, intense and overwhelming. My inner muscles clench around him as waves of pleasure ripple through me, my vision blurring, his name a mantra on my lips.

Before I've fully recovered, Michael sits up beneath me, wrapping one arm around my waist to hold me close as he takes control again. He's no longer seated but kneeling, with me in his lap, his cock driving into me mercilessly.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot on my skin. "So perfect. I've wanted this for so long, Elena."

His pace increases, each thrust pushing me higher, building toward another peak I didn't know was possible. When I feel him start to falter, his hands shaking, I know he's close.

"Where should I—" he begins, his voice strained.

I cut him off, knowing exactly what I want. "Inside me," I demand, looking directly into his eyes. "I want you to come inside me, Michael."

He looks momentarily startled, then a slow, possessive smile spreads across his face.

"If I mark you like that," he says, his voice dropping to a growl, "you'll be mine. Always."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I reply, meaning every word.

With a groan that seems torn from the depths of his soul, Michael thrusts deep one final time. I feel him pulsing inside me, the warm rush of his release filling me as he holds me tight against him, his face buried in my neck.

For several long moments, we stay like that, joined and panting, his cock still inside me as our heartbeats gradually slow. Finally, I collapse against his chest, utterly spent and satisfied in a way I've never experienced before.

The sun has nearly set now, painting the sky in spectacular shades of pink and purple. The waves continue their rhythm against the shore. A gentle breeze cools our sweat-slicked skin. It's perfect. This moment, this man, this connection that transcends the boundaries we've danced around for months.

"That was..." I begin, then laugh softly. "I don't even have words."

"Extraordinary," Michael supplies, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. "Life-changing."

"Yes," I agree, lifting my head to look at him. "Exactly that."

His expression is open, vulnerable in a way I've rarely seen. The corporate mask is completely gone, replaced by something raw and real. This is the true Michael Morrison. Not the CEO, not the billionaire, but the man.

"We should probably clean up," he says eventually, though he makes no move to separate our bodies. "The boat will be back soon."

I nod reluctantly, equally loath to break this perfect connection. "Reality beckons."

"Only temporarily," he promises, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "We still have two more days in paradise."

"And after that?" I can't help asking, the real world starting to intrude on our bubble.

Michael meets my gaze steadily. "We figure it out together," he says with quiet certainty. "Because I'm not letting you go, Elena. Not now that I know what it's like to have you in my arms."

His words wash over me like a benediction, a promise.

Whatever challenges await us back in New York—professional complications, office politics, the inevitable gossip—we'll face them together.

Because what we've found here on this island isn't just a vacation fling; it's the beginning of something real, something lasting.

As I finally move off him, wincing slightly at the pleasant soreness between my thighs, I feel his release trickle down my leg. I should probably feel embarrassed, but instead, I feel marked, chosen, cherished.

Michael watches me with dark, possessive eyes. "No regrets?" he asks softly.

I smile, feeling more certain than I've ever been about anything. "Not a single one."