Page 7 of Her Sun-Drenched Billionaire

I held her through it, kissing her shoulder, murmuring how beautiful she was. When her legs steadied, we shed our clothes in a haze of urgent touches and stolen kisses. Her hands were shaking as she helped push my shirt off, and I took my time with hers, savoring every inch of newly revealed skin.

Once we were both naked, I lifted her. She wrapped her legs around my waist instinctively, her arms circling my neck as I pressed her back against the glass. The city glowed behind her now, a glittering backdrop to the way her eyes locked on mine—trusting, a little nervous, but full of want.

I went slow. So slow. The head of my cock nudged against her entrance, slick with her arousal, and I eased into her inch by inch, groaning at the tight, velvet heat enveloping me. She was incredibly tight, her body resisting at first before yielding. A soft, surprised sound escaped her lips, and I stilled, breathing with her.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I forced out, fighting every instinct to thrust deeper.

She felt like heaven—hot, wet, gripping me so perfectly it bordered on pain. I rocked gently, letting her adjust, kissing her through every shallow breath and quiet whimper until she relaxed around me.

Then I sank the rest of the way in, burying myself fully. The moan she let out vibrated against my mouth, and I answered it with a deep groan of my own, the sound rough and unrestrained.

We moved together against the glass, her legs locked tight around me, the cool surface at her back contrasting with theheat where we joined. I thrust deeper, steadier, losing myself in the slick slide of her body, the way she clenched around me with every roll of my hips. Her moans grew louder, breathy and desperate, mingling with my own ragged sounds—low growls and her name on my lips. I could hear the faint rhythmic thump of her back against the window with each thrust, the wet sounds of our bodies meeting, her quick gasps turning into cries as pleasure built again.

I could tell she was close but not quite there. I shifted my grip, holding her steady with one arm under her thigh.

“Touch yourself,” I whispered hotly against her ear, my voice rough with need. “Right here, like I did. Let me feel you come while I’m inside you.”

Her breath hitched at the words, but she didn’t hesitate. One of her hands slipped between us, her fingers finding her clit. The first tentative circles made her tighten around me so sharply, I had to grit my teeth to keep control. The sight of her touching herself while I moved inside her—slow, deep strokes that let me feel every flutter and squeeze—was the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced. Her moans grew higher, needier, her forehead pressed against my shoulder as she worked herself in time with my thrusts.

“That’s it, baby,” I groaned, the words rough against her skin. “You feel so fucking good. Let me hear you.”

Her fingers moved faster, her body starting to tremble. I kept the rhythm steady and deep, grinding against her with every thrust, feeling her walls pulse and flutter around my cock. Her sounds turned into desperate little cries, her free hand clutching at my back, nails digging in.

When she finally came, it hit her hard—her whole body seizing around me, a sharp, broken moan tearing from her throat as she clenched and pulsed in waves. The sensation dragged me over the edge with her. I buried myself deep andcame with a guttural groan, spilling inside her as pleasure slammed through me in blinding pulses. We clung to each other through the aftershocks, breathing hard, hearts hammering in sync as the last traces of sunset faded into night behind us.

A few minutes later, she was curled against me in the bed. The valley was dark below us, the city reduced to scattered lights through the glass. Her head was on my chest, and her breathing had slowed. Her fingers were tracing the ink on my shoulder, following the lines without asking what they meant.

The house was quiet. It was always quiet, but tonight the silence had something inside it. Her breathing. Her fingertips on my skin. The warmth of her body pressed against mine under sheets that had never been shared.

Four years I’d lived in this house, and it had never once been quiet like this—the kind of quiet that had something in it.

Eliza shifted against me, her hand settling flat over my heart.

For the first time since I’d moved in, the house felt like what I’d built it to be.

5

ELIZA

Iwoke up in a house made of light.

It came from everywhere at once—east, south, west—pouring through the floor-to-ceiling glass until the whole bedroom glowed. The canopy outside filtered it green and gold, and the valley spread out below the windows like something you’d see from a plane, except I was lying in the middle of it, wrapped in sheets that smelled like August’s skin.

He was still asleep. On his stomach, one arm stretched across the mattress where I’d been, his face turned toward me. The beard, the jaw, the ink across his shoulders and down both arms. In sleep he looked younger, quieter. The stillness he carried on purpose was just stillness now, and I watched the slow rise and fall of his back and felt something open inside me that I didn’t know how to close.

I lay there for a long time. Longer than I should have.

Then I got up, found my clothes on the bedroom floor, and got dressed without waking him. I wrote a note on the back of a receipt I found on his kitchen island—Had to get to work. Last night was everything.—and left it next to the coffee grinder where he’d see it.

I ordered a rideshare from the driveway and rode back to Pixel Lofts with my forehead against the window, watching the trees thin out as the road curved south toward the city. My hair smelled like his shampoo. My body was sore in ways I’d never been sore before, and every time I shifted in the seat I felt him.

By ten, I was at my desk in 3B with the gala binder open and a cold cup of coffee in the First Light mug. The event was two days away. I had a final headcount to confirm, a catering timeline to approve, three donor packets to assemble, and a sound check scheduled at the Evergreen Room for tomorrow afternoon.

I stared at the binder, the sticky notes, the seating chart, and the color-coded spreadsheet I’d been living inside for six weeks. But all I could think about was the way he’d pressed me against the glass.

The guilt didn’t build slowly. It crashed in before I could brace for it—a wave that knocked the breath out of me and left me sitting at my desk with my eyes closed, replaying the sound of his voice in the dark instead of thinking about the sixty-two kids who needed this gala to go right. Ava needed scholarship funding secured by fall. Omari needed a new mentor match after his current one relocated. Ananya’s AP Bio scores were coming back next week, and she’d already texted me twice asking if I’d heard anything.

And I was sitting here thinking about a man.