Page 61 of Caught Between Two Billionaires
Maybe we can have one night.
You don’t face a lifetime of humiliation and hurt after one night, do you?
His eyelids are heavy now, because he knows what happens next. Some part of him came here to do this with me, because it might be the last chance. It could be the last time I see him, which makes my chest hollow out. That’s the empty space where promises could go.
He hooks two fingers in the waistband of my shorts, bringing me flush against his body. My stomach sucks in and then out, in and out, in and out, sensitive skin brushing bare knuckles. “Are you nervous?” he asks, his voice calm and deep.
It makes me laugh, how un-nervous he seems. I’m made up only of nerves, strung together with dreams and desire and a penchant for trouble. “We’re going to do it in a bed, after all.”
A small laugh. “To spice things up,” he says, echoing me.
The words seem less like a joke now. More prophetic. The library counter had been spontaneous and wild. This is different, almost unbearably intimate.
This close I can see the pale striations set into his blue eyes. I could dabble in a thousand shades of blue and never capture them on canvas.
With a sharp pang, I know that I’ll keep trying anyway.
It will be my new life’s work, this sky.
I don’t see him move. We’re too close for that; I feel him shift against me. Then his hand cups the back of my neck. His lips meet mine. I suck in a breath, drawing the scent of him into my body. He uses the moment to part my lips. There is no coaxing, no preamble. His lips bite over mine, telling me exactly how our bodies will move. His tongue presses inside, insistent. Gentle, his mouth tells me. I’m going to be gentle with you. His hand tips my head back, making it easier for him to reach, keeping me from going anywhere. Gentle and implacable.
It’s like we never stopped that night in the hallway. This is what could have happened after, his tongue still salted from my body. His hand cupping my breast, his thumb and forefinger finding my nipple. A squeeze, enough to make me gasp. And harder, to whimper.
“I want you naked,” he murmurs against my lips.
He’s already had me with my skirts around my waist, leaning back against wallpaper. And he’s had me bent over a library counter. It’s more revealing to let him draw the black tank top over my head. There’s nothing underneath. No bra. Only my skin, flushed with arousal. My nipples hard and ruched from the way he touches me. I jump when those calluses brush the smooth curve underneath. It doesn’t stop him. He does it again, to see the way I move.
“I—I want—” I don’t know what I want, only that it hurts. Is this the good hurt he was talking about? It’s not exactly pain. It’s more like I’m going crazy.
“I’ll give it to you.” He bends his head to my breast, using his palm at my lower back to pull me toward him. His lips on my breast make me jerk—not away. I move closer. And then his lips close on my nipple, wet and hot and somehow bright. A cry comes out of me, a high pitch, a keen that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It sounds like grief, but it feels like heaven. He runs his teeth against my sensitive skin, and I gasp.
What a terrible deception. That he would give me what I wanted, but it only makes me want more. Is this how he feels about money, about power, always needing more?
A knock at the door makes me jump out of his hold.
He lets me. That’s the only way I could have gotten free of those hands that have held wood larger than my body. His eyes narrow on mine, not even glancing at the door. “Tell me you have room service coming.”
I shake my head. “It could be Bea.”
Except she would have called before coming down. Or invited me up, if she knew I was planning on leaving Tanglewood in utter despair, for her to comfort with wine and a fancy cheese plate. Hugo really does make the best cheese plates.
“Stay here,” he says, curt, like maybe it’s his hotel room instead of mine.
“I can answer the door,” I say, except there’s a cool breeze on my breasts. I’m not wearing a shirt, which is probably a good reason not to greet visitors right now. The black tank top somehow disappeared, so I grab a pillow and hug it to my body, facing the door.
Sutton opens the door and faces the newcomer with no surprise.
From the angle I can’t see who it is, but I know based on the low, angry voices that come next. From the cadence of the voice and the rumble of sound. From the excitement in my chest.
