Page 17 of The Billionaire's Bargain

I nod, beyond words now.

His hand slides up my thigh, beneath the hiked-up hem of my dress. His fingers find the edge of my underwear, tracing along the seam where it meets my skin. The touch is both too much and not enough.

"You're shaking," he observes, his voice strained with restraint. "We can stop."

"Don't stop," I manage. "Please."

Something like a growl rumbles in his chest. His fingers hook into the fabric and pull it aside. When he touches me directly for the first time, we both groan.

"You're soaked," he says, his voice threaded with wonder and satisfaction. "All this for me?"

I can't answer, can barely breathe as his fingers explore me with exquisite gentleness. He finds places I didn't know could feel so good, circling and stroking with devastating precision. All the while, his eyes hold mine, watching every reaction, learning what makes my breath hitch and my hips jerk forward seeking more.

"That's it," he encourages when I unconsciously grind against his hand. "Show me what you need."

I couldn't articulate it if I tried, but my body knows. It moves against his skilled fingers, seeking something just out of reach. The pressure builds inside me, unfamiliar but undeniable.

"Alexander," I gasp, clutching at his shoulders.

"I've got you." His free hand tangles in my hair, guiding my face to the crook of his neck. "Let go for me, Alice. Let me feel you come."

His fingers move faster, more deliberately, finding a rhythm that has me panting against his skin. The sensation builds and builds until I'm certain I'll shatter from it. And then his thumb presses just right, and I do shatter—breaking apart with a cry that his shoulder muffles.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me as he works me through it, his touch gentling but not stopping until the very last aftershock subsides. I'm boneless against him, dazed by what just happened, by what he just gave me.

"Perfect," he murmurs into my hair. "So fucking perfect."

I become aware that he's still hard beneath me, maybe even more so than before. His hips shift restlessly, seeking friction. Without thinking, I rock against him, pressing the damp center of my underwear against the rigid line of his erection.

Alexander's hands fly to my hips, not stopping me but guiding, setting a rhythm that makes his breath come faster. His forehead presses against mine, our panting breaths mingling in the scant space between us.

"Keep going," he urges, his voice strained. "Just like that."

I follow his lead, grinding against him in slow, deliberate circles. His hands tighten painfully on my hips, but the discomfort only heightens my awareness of his pleasure, of the power I have over this powerful man.

"Alice," he groans, the sound raw and desperate. "Fuck, Alice, I'm going to?—"

His words cut off as his body goes rigid beneath me. His hips jerk upward once, twice, three times, and then he holds me tight against him, grinding me down onto his pulsing hardness. I feel the wet heat spreading between us, soaking through the fabric of his expensive suit pants.

For a long moment, we stay like that—foreheads pressed together, bodies locked in an intimate embrace, breathing eachother's air. His hands gentler now, stroke up and down my back in soothing motions.

"I made a mess," he finally says, a hint of rueful amusement in his voice.

"I don't mind." And I don't. There's something thrilling about having undone him so completely.

He kisses me softly, reverently, so unlike the heated kisses of moments ago. "You're extraordinary, Alice Reynolds."

I smile against his lips. "For someone who's never done this before?"

"For anyone." His hand cups my cheek. "And I'm going to enjoy showing you everything you've been missing."

The promise in his words sends a renewed flicker of heat through my body, even as satisfaction still hums in my veins. Outside the tinted windows, the city slides by unnoticed. Inside our private bubble, the only thing that matters is the man beneath me and the promise of what comes next.

Suddenly, belonging to Alexander Grant for thirty days doesn’t seem so bad.

eight

. . .

---