Page 52 of A Billion Dollar Romance
“Yes,” he said, “every part of you. Since you mentioned taking your romance novels to the bathtub, I’ve wanted to have you here. I’m sure I can improve upon whatever men you find between those pages, Edie.”
“I don’t know…” I said, unable to help myself. “Are you a werewolf duke mafioso?”
The expression on his face was… I kissed it away before I was forced to start laughing.
The hands on my ass pulled me up, water running from my lower back, and then his cock was at my entrance and I sank down, the fullness perfect as I lowered myself onto him.
“Wait,” he said, “a condom–” but I shook my head, rolling my hips and taking another inch of him inside.
“You’ve been tested?”
He nodded. “Regularly, before–before you.” His eyes were gentle when he continued. “Since you, I’ve been… faithful.”
“I’m on birth control,” I said, “and I got tested last year.” I blushed. It had been a while since I’d been with anyone else, before James. The test had been with Flora, for moral support, but he didn’t need to know that. “And I’ve been faithful, too,” I said, wondering at the warmth in my chest at the word. “I want to feel you.”
“Fuck, Edie,yes,” he groaned, and his forehead dropped to my damp collarbone. “Of course, anything you want.”
“I wantyou, James,” I murmured, tangling his silky hair between my fingers, and letting myself relax into the feeling of him, his warm skin against mine, the slow drag of his every ridge magnifying my pleasure as I slid back up his cock.
“Have I told you recently how good you feel?” he groaned as I bottomed out. “You’re so fucking perfect for me,” he said. “And these,” he said, his hands cupping my breasts. “So beautiful, Edie.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, James,” I said. “My own personal cover model.” His laugh was muffled against my breasts as he lifted them together, massaging them with firm fingers.
The steam made my chest ache as we moved together, his hips thrusting up against me as I rose and lowered through the water, buoyancy keeping my thighs from straining. His mouth found my nipple, the heat of it matching the heat of the water, making it seem as if his lips and tongue were on every inch of me. He bit down softly and I arched my back, shoving my breasts into him.
“Yes,” I whispered as his tongue licked over the place his teeth had been. “Again, James, please.”
We rocked together, letting the heat rise slowly through our bodies like the steam rising from the surface of the water, not chasing our pleasure but letting it come to us–lapping at our toes, our ankles, until it washed over us, drowning us in each other.
CHAPTER27
James
“Third quarterwe’re seeing lower-than-expected earnings across the industry,” the speaker droned, clicking through a slideshow filled with charts I had no interest in deciphering. I’d already forwarded the relevant slides to sales and marketing, the CFO, a boring man I avoided as much as possible, and, of course, Bridget and Lyle.
Thanks, boss,I’d gotten back from Lyle.Fucking Lyle.
I’d left Edie after breakfast this morning, saying, “Duty calls,” with a smile that slipped from my face as soon as her back was turned. She hadplans, she had told me, with Samantha. “And this afternoon,” she’d said almost apologetically, “I’m going to get a pedicure with Mills–Millicent O’Connor. It not as frivolous as it seems, Samantha told me Mills recommends all the women’s fiction that her husband signs–”
“Have fun,” I’d said, leaning across the table to give her a soft kiss on the cheek, whispering, “I know you’ll be all mine tonight, Edie.” I’d sat back and been rewarded by a soft blush, then after a beat, a wicked grin.
“What?” I’d asked suspiciously.
“After our meetings, we’ll…debrief,” she’d said, pressing her lips together to stopper her laughter.
“Go, Edie,” I’d said, waving her away with one mock-disdainful hand, and she’d stood to leave, eyes glittering and full of promise.
“Martin? Any comment?” I blinked.
“I–” What were we talking about? I glanced up at the screen, which displayed an unfamiliar slide. How many had I missed? “Could you repeat the question?”
The man beside me–an older gentleman with a boutique luxury imprint–chuckled. “Thinking about that fiancée of yours, Martin, I’d bet money on it.”
“And you’d win, Mr. Lee,” I admitted with a matching chuckle. He’d go home to his wife and tell her I was head over heels, and she’d tell her friends, andthat’s how this was supposed to go.
After the meeting ended, a group of us lingered over the leftover pastries, and Lee seamlessly picked up the conversational thread he’d dropped: “Did I hear your fiancée’s a writer, too?”
“She is,” I affirmed. “Unpublished, but very talented.”
