Page 23 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

He pressed his lips to the soft skin between her breasts, taking a light nip to sample her sweetness before lifting his head. “I was hoping I could get you across it again.”

“Oh, you will.” She gazed up at him in a way that made both his chest and his cock swell. “We’ve got all night, right?”

“Damn right.”

He drove into her again and again until he shuddered and exploded with an almost guttural groan. When his breathing evened, he brushed a damp hair off her cheek and rested his forehead on hers. “That was…”

“Yeah.” The word came out on a sigh that tickled the underside of his jaw.

“I’m not usually so…”

“Passionate?” she finished for him. “Forceful?”

“Fast.” He scrubbed a hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “Rough.”

She pressed a kiss to the still racing pulse at his throat. “I like fast and rough.”

“I hope you like slow and gentle, too. Because that’s where we’re headed next.”

He carefully withdrew and disposed of the condom in the trash can. Then he scooped her up and carried her out of the kitchen.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to his shoulders, her fingernails digging little crescents into his skin. With each step he took, her suede boots rubbed seductively against his hips and ass. “Where to?”

“I think it’s about time we found ourselves a bed, don’t you?”

“No objections from this corner.”

Her makeshift bedroom was at the opposite end of the studio, behind a folding screen that gave her some privacy. He deposited her onto the plush, dove-gray comforter and followed her down, stretching out beside her. As promised, he took his time with her this go-round, worshiping her body with his hands and mouth. He couldn’t get enough of the feel or the taste of her. It didn’t take anything more than a simple look or the barest touch to turn him into a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. She must have felt the same hunger because she returned the favor, exploring him from every angle until they were both finally sated and spent.

They lay tangled together in a sex-drugged haze. No recriminations. No regrets. No awkward post-coital conversation. Just two people who had scratched a mutual itch they couldn’t ignore.

At least, that’s what Eli’s brain tried to tell him as they drifted to sleep, even as his heart told him it was fast moving into something more. Something new and unfamiliar that he hadn’t known existed.

When he awoke, the other side of the bed was empty. Sunlight spilled in from the double-hung window, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee teased his nostrils.

Holy hell.He’d stayed the night. It usually took him months to get to that point with a woman. But not Brooke. His first time alone with her in her apartment—hell, his first time in her bed—and he hadn’t wanted to leave this smart, strong, sensual woman who made him chuckle one minute and climax the next.

He didn’t have time to overanalyze the situation, thank fuck, because the woman in question appeared beside him, a steaming mug in her hand. She looked sixty shades of sexy, her eyes still misty with sleep and her hair all morning-mussed and flowing freely around her shoulders. She’d thrown on a tank top and a pair of form-fitting workout pants that didn’t leave much to the imagination—not that he needed to imagine the curves and valleys he’d spent hours memorizing last night—and he adjusted the sheet to hide the beginning of yet another raging, Brooke-induced hard-on.

“I wasn’t sure how you took your morning caffeine, but you strike me as a strong and dark kind of guy.” She bent to set the mug on the bedside table, giving him an eyeful of her magnificent cleavage.

He sat up, letting the covers fall to his waist, and her gaze lighted on his bare chest. Her breathing quickened, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips, making his already erect cock impossibly harder. She was as ready for round three as he was. Or was it four? He’d lost count somewhere during the night.

Eli reached for the mug and took a sip of hot coffee. “Perfect.”

“I’m not much of a breakfast person, but I’ve got a box of peanut butter Captain Crunch in the cabinet if you’re hungry. It’s like crack to me. Or if you’d prefer something more sophisticated, I can whip up some french toast.”

He was hungry. But not for Captain Crunch or french toast. What he was craving would take more than the—he glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand—fifteen minutes he had before his telephone status conference with Ginny. Hopefully she had a lead on their mole and some news about his bid for Candy Court.

The second thought sobered him for a moment, but he shook it off. He’d already started preliminary discussions with a couple of local landlords who had space available. If the sale went through, all of the tenants, including Brooke, would have suitable substitute housing in Sunset Park before one brick was disturbed at Candy Court. No, not suitable. Better. Together, because they’d formed a sort of family he didn’t want to split up. More affordable. In a neighborhood revitalized by the new and improved Candy Court. It was the perfect solution for everyone involved, not just him.

“Thanks, but as much as I’d like to stay, I’ll have to pass on breakfast. I’ve got an early status conference.” He looked around for his clothes then realized they were probably still where he’d shed them—in the kitchen, on the other side of the privacy screen.

“Status conference?” Brooke picked up a pile from a nearby chair and handed him his neatly folded shirt, jeans, and boxer briefs. While he’d been dead to the world, she’d been busy playing housewife. Making him coffee. Folding his clothes. The casual domesticity was strangely satisfying, but her next words hit him like a splash of cold water, dousing his momentary contentment. “What exactly is it that you do for a living?”

Shit.Him and his big fucking mouth. He’d been so eager to assure her that he wasn’t running out the door without good reason he hadn’t considered that his reason might touch on secrets he wasn’t ready to expose. Soon, but not yet. And certainly not when he was about to head out the door after a night of mind-blowing, life-altering sex. This wasn’t something he could blurt out and run. “I’m in finance.”

It wasn’t a lie. Exactly. He worked with numbers every day. Cap rates. Overruns. Closing costs.