Page 11 of Tempting the Billionaire (Billionaire Brothers #5)

Emma

I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. I’m a New Englander, so of course I’m no stranger to weekend trips to the lake. But those trips usually entail a road trip packed with junk food, a crappy worn out cabin, and smores around a dilapidated fire.

Not private jets and a fancy luxury cabin right on the coast in Bar Harbor, Maine. But I suppose this is Ezra’s life. I’m just happy to be a part of it. At least for the weekend.

My phone buzzes—a text from Ezra’s driver.

I grab my stuff and hurry out to the curb where a black SUV is waiting for me. I tentatively climb in. “For Emma, right?” I ask.

The man nods. “Yep. I’m taking you to the airport.”

Instead of going to Boston Logan, like I’d assumed, we take a different route and end up at a completely different airport entirely. When I question the driver about this, he merely laughs. “Private jets don’t fly out of Logan, Miss,” he says.

Trying to hide my embarrassment, I just nod. Of course they don’t.

The SUV pulls right up onto the tarmac, parking near a jet. I see Ezra standing on the stairs leading up to it, and he looks up as the car pulls in.

I hop out while the driver grabs my bag from the back, and Ezra smiles, walking up to pull me into a hug. I giggle against his chest. “I saw you like two hours ago at work.”

“Yeah, way too long ago,” he murmurs into my hair. I swat him playfully.

He grabs my bag from the driver, thanks him, and then takes my hand, leading me up the stairs and into the plane.

While I know what private jets look like—mainly from movies—I’ve obviously never been on one.

And seeing one in person, my mouth drops open.

Instead of rows of bunched-up seats, there are couches and lounge chairs, with tables in between.

“How long is the flight?” I ask Ezra.

He shrugs. “Forty minutes?”

I shake my head. “I could spend the weekend in here ,” I say, gesturing around.

He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and squeezing. “That could be arranged,” he murmurs, making me giggle.

We arrive in the coastal town of Bar Harbor, Maine approximately forty minutes later. And although Ezra and I didn’t exactly join the mile high club, we definitely made it close.

Ezra has a car waiting for us when we land, which immediately takes us through the adorable town of Bar Harbor and then along some winding backroads until we come upon what I can only describe as a mansion located along one of the small island’s gorgeous beaches.

I stare in awe as Ezra grabs our bags from the driver and then approaches the front door. He unlocks it and then turns back to me with a smirk. “You coming?”

I close my mouth and follow him, trying to keep my surprise in check. I really shouldn’t be surprised. Of course Ezra Bishop owns an enormous beach house on an island in Maine.

The inside of the house is just as gorgeous as the outside. It’s got an understated nautical theme going on, with white couches, light wood furnishings, and huge bay windows looking out to the ocean barely steps from the back door.

Ezra busies himself in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine and pulling something out of the fridge and popping it into the oven.

“What’s that?” I ask.

He grins. “I had one of my private chefs mix something up and have it ready to go in the oven. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

I try to conceal my shock. One of his private chefs? He has more than one? I almost laugh out loud. We make our way to the porch out back, the sound of the waves crashing and seagulls chirping the only noise to be heard .

I stand against the railing, as close to the ocean as I can get. I smile. I can’t wait to explore the sand and beachcomb tomorrow. Ezra comes up behind me, wrapping his free arm around my waist and pulling me against him so he can press a kiss to my temple.

“It’s beautiful here,” I tell him.

He’s quiet for a moment. “I always thought I’d bring my family here. My family —like, wife and kids stuff. I really thought it would happen until …”

I twist around so that I’m facing him, looking up into his eyes.

“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I don’t mean to bring that up.”

“No,” I say, reaching up to rub my thumb over his cheek. “Don’t be sorry.” I search his eyes. “You know, it’s not like that dream has to be over. You’re not dead, Ezra,” I say with a small laugh.

He chuckles, pulling me tighter against him. “No, I’m not dead,” he says with a grin. He bites his lip, his brow furrowing as he stares into my eyes. “You’re probably right. I don’t need to throw that dream away entirely,” he says slowly.

His eyes darken, and I feel my lower belly tightening. He leans down to press a kiss to my lips, soft at first, but quickly more and more demanding. I cling to the front of his shirt with my free hand, trying desperately not to spill my wine with the other .

Suddenly he pulls back, taking the glass from my hand and spinning around to place both our glasses on the table behind him. When he turns back to me, I reach for him, but he grasps my waist firmly, spinning me around and pinning me against the railing with his body.

I can already feel his arousal against my backside.

He presses his lips against my neck, his breath hot against my skin while he runs his hands over my breasts, my stomach, finding the hem of my t-shirt and lifting it. I gasp as he tugs the t-shirt up over my head and arms, tossing it aside.

I glance from side to side. The nearest house is quite a ways down the beach, but we’re still technically out in the open.

“Sshhhh,” Ezra murmurs against my ear, as if reading my thoughts. “No one’s out here. And if they are, well … too bad.” He nibbles my ear, causing me to moan softly.

He reaches up to cup my breasts, then he deftly finds the hooks at my back, undoing it and letting my breasts spill free. His hands are immediately on them as he squeezes and fondles them. I’m panting now, the wetness between my legs growing.

With one hand, he pinches my nipple—hard. I yelp, both in pain and pleasure .

He presses his lips against my ear. “You like that?” he asks.

I nod, surprising myself by the answer.

He pinches the other one, even harder, and I yelp.

Still squeezing and massaging a breast with one hand, he moves his other, lower, finding the waistband of my shorts and sliding a hand beneath them. Upon finding my wet center, he lets out a low growl.

“Fuck, Emma,” he murmurs. “I love how wet you are for me.”

I whine in response, pushing my backside up against him.

He slides a finger along my slit, up until he reaches my clit, and I cry out as he rubs slow circles around it.

“That’s my girl,” he says.

He pauses for a moment to grab the waistband of my shorts and underwear, pulling them both down in one stroke, leaving me completely and utterly naked, pinned against the railing.

“Emma,” he says slowly, and I about fall apart at the way he says my name. He continues to rub slow circles around my clit. “Are you on anything?”

I immediately know what he’s talking about. “I have an IUD,” I say quickly .

“So you’re okay without a condom?”

I nod.

“Good. I like the idea of filling you with my cum.”

My mouth drops open at his dirty words, my core heating up even more.

I feel Ezra step back slightly, and I look over my shoulder to see him unzipping his jeans. While I can’t quite see his cock from here, I remember the size of it from when I’d taken him in my mouth, and I feel a bundle of nerves growing in my stomach. Will it … hurt?

He presses up against me again, and I can feel the tip of him at my entrance. I stiffen, suddenly nervous, but once his hands are back on me, my breasts, my clit, I feel myself relax just a bit.

“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” he breathes against my ear.

I nod. “Yes.”

Then he enters me. I gasp at the overwhelming sensation of being stretched wider than I ever have. I grip the railing, feeling overwhelming pleasure and a tinge of pain.

“Shhhh,” Ezra breathes against my ear, seemingly sensing my discomfort. “That’s my good girl.” His words seem to open me up, taking all of him in .

He pauses for a moment, his cock fully inside of me. He runs his hands over my breasts, down my body, to my clit. I bite my lip, moaning softly.

Then he starts pumping. Slowly at first, but then faster. I grip the railing for support, leaning forward, my breasts dangling beneath me as he thrusts harder and faster. He reaches down to fondle them, plucking at and pinching my nipples as he fucks me.

I cry out with each thrust, feeling as though I might split apart at the seams. The pleasure is blinding, overwhelming. Sounds I didn’t know I was capable of making are coming out of my mouth, and I’m sure if his neighbors are home, they can hear everything.

“You’re such a good girl,” Ezra praises as he fucks me harder. “Taking all me like this.”

I moan in reply, hanging onto the railing for dear life.

He snakes a hand between my legs, finding my clit and rubbing.

I scream, seeing stars. I imagine the sight of myself, completely naked, being fucked over a railing by a fully clothed man, my breasts jostling below me.

“Ezra, I’m going to come,” I cry, my mouth open in a permanent shriek.

“Good,” he pants, somehow thrusting into me harder .

I feel my orgasm crash through me, tearing me apart from the inside out. I melt into the railing, gasping for breath as Ezra continues to pump, finally finishing and stilling inside of me. We stay there, panting, for a few moments, before he finally pulls out and steps back.

I twirl around, covering my breasts and suddenly remembering how exposed we are. I can already feel his cum dripping down my inner thighs.

He smirks down at me, taking me in. I blush. “Let’s go get you cleaned up,” he says.