Page 9 of The Billionaire's Princess

She immediately moans and wraps my waist in a death grip between her flexing thighs, her features twisting with gathering ecstasy. She’s my perfect match, meeting me thrust for thrust, groan for groan and kiss for endless kiss. She murmurs incoherently but urgently, driving me higher. She strains against me, smiling, laughing and teasing.

She blows my fucking mind.

And then she warns me—“I’m close; I’m so close”—before going rigid and letting loose with a single high note of astonished pleasure. An unabashed cry that will surely have our neighbors up and down the hallway cracking their doors open and poking their heads out to see what the commotion is all about.

I laugh as she rides it out, triumphant as I nip the side of her neck and elicit another sexy mewl from her sweet mouth.

“Next time I want to hear my name, tiger.”

I glimpse her sated smile.

“Next time, I imagine you’ll kill me outright,” she says, slapping me hard on the ass to get me going again.

What’s a guy to do?

I speed up, pumping my hips with an abandon that makes our flesh smack and threatens to throw out my back. I make guttural sounds that suggest some sort of zoo animal has possessed my body.

I lose myself in her, letting the rapture tackle me to the ground and pummel me into submission.

I shout her name as I come and come and come.

It takes a while for me to catch my breath and for the aftershocks to wind down, but that’s to be expected following an earthquake that’s broken the Richter scale. I reluctantly pull out and stretch out next to her. When it’s all said and done, we lie facing each other, more dressed than undressed, legs twined as we stroke each other’s faces and, for my part at least, wonder what the fuck just happened here.

I trace her eyebrows. Her nose with its sprinkling of freckles that I hadn’t noticed before. The tender cupid’s bow of her lip.

She runs her thumb over my cheek and jaw, a slight frown grooving down her forehead. Fun fact: she looks as satisfied yet vaguely bewildered as I feel.

I open my mouth, determined to get a few things straight from the get-go.

That she is surprising and unexpected.

That there is—or could be—something here between us.

That I hadn’t planned on anyone crash-landing into my life like this, but that plans change.

Above all?

That we both agree that we’re not done with each other.

Not by a long fucking shot.

But no words come.

Even so, she answers my searching gaze with a steady warmth that makes me wonder how I ever thought she was frosty. Then she tightens her hold on my face. Brings me in for a gentle nuzzle of a kiss.

“I know,” she says drowsily. “I know.”

I drift off with a lingering smile, my head full of plans for more sex during the night, a room service breakfast and leisurely shower in the morning and dinner tomorrow night, confident that she does know.

Which is why it’s such a horrific shock when I wake up to a cold bed and an empty suite.

I bolt upright, going from dead asleep to jarringly awake in half a millisecond.

“Carly?”

Nothing.

The sickening lurch in my gut tells me the truth. But, stupid MF’er that I am, I try again.

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