Page 24 of The Billionaire's Bargain

He redoubles his efforts, sucking gently on my clit while his fingers work their magic inside me. The dual assault sends me hurtling toward the edge, my thighs tensing around his head.

"That's it," he coaxes. "Come for me, Alice. Let me feel you."

Something about the command in his voice, the permission it grants, breaks the last of my restraint. Pleasure detonates through me, radiating outward from where his mouth is still working against me. I cry out his name, over and over, as waves of ecstasy crash through me, each one stronger than the last.

Alexander works me through it, gentling his touch as I become too sensitive, but not stopping entirely until the last tremor subsides. Only then does he lift his head, his mouth glistening with evidence of my pleasure. The sight should embarrass me, but it's the most erotic thing I've ever seen.

He crawls up my body, capturing my mouth in a kiss that tastes of salt and sex—of me. His hardness presses insistently against my thigh, a reminder of his unsatisfied state.

I reach between us, my hand finding the elastic of his boxer briefs. "Let me?—"

He catches my wrist, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Not yet."

Confusion furrows my brow. This is the third time he's brought me to orgasm, and each time he's refused reciprocation. "Why?"

Something complicated passes across his face—hunger tempered by restraint. "Because when I finally take you, I want it to be in a bed. Not on sand that will get in unfortunate places."

Heat flushes my cheeks at his bluntness. "But you could let me touch you."

"I could." His thumb traces my lower lip. "But I'm exercising what little self-control I have left where you're concerned."

I don't understand this man. I thought this is essentially what he paid for. Most guys would have already pressured me for sex, would have taken what I offered without hesitation. But Alexander—billionaire, powerbroker, man who always gets what he wants—is holding back.

He shifts to lie beside me on the sand, pulling me against his chest. The hard length of him still presses against me, but he makes no move to seek relief.

"Why?" I ask again, needing to understand.

His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek. "Because you matter, Alice. Because this isn't just physical for me."

The words hit me with the force of a breaking wave. This isn't just physical. For a man like Alexander Grant to say that to someone like me—it defies comprehension. And completley changes everything I thought I knew about this bargain he made with me.

And yet, as we lie there with the waves lapping at our feet and the sun warming our skin, I find myself believing him. More dangerously, I find myself feeling the same way. This isn't just physical for me either. It's becoming something frightening in its intensity.

I'm falling for him. For his contradictions and complexities. For the commanding CEO and the playful man who just tossed me into the ocean. For the lover who brings me pleasure without demanding his own.

And that terrifies me.

Because Alexander Grant is a force of nature. A man who reshapes the world to suit his vision. What happens to people who get caught in that reshaping? Do they maintain their own identity, or do they simply become extensions of his will?

I've spent twenty-two years becoming myself. Building Alice Clark from nothing but determination and grit.

Could all of that withstand the gravitational pull of Alexander Grant?

"What are you thinking?" His voice rumbles beneath my ear.

I consider lying, but something tells me he'd know. "I'm thinking that you scare me."

His body tenses slightly. "Because of what I want from you?"

"No." I trace patterns on his chest, gathering courage. "Because of what I'm starting to feel for you."

His hand finds my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. What I see there steals my breath—naked vulnerability beneath his usual mask of control.

"You think I'm not equally terrified?" The confession sounds torn from him. "I've built an empire without once risking my heart. Then you looked at me with those wide eyes after you spilled coffee on me—which was just as well because it tasted like battery acid."

A startled laugh escapes me. "Your coffee standards are impossibly high."

"My standards for everything are impossibly high." His expression softens. "You exceed all of them."

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