Page 71 of Heart of Stone (Dark Billionaires)

His kiss tasted of her, a metallic twang that she couldn’t get enough of. Because it meant he washers.

And when he swiped his cock through her folds, bathing the head in her slickness before sliding inside her, she was his.

They moaned together at the bliss of their joining. A simple act that brought endless pleasure.

Warren teased her at first, rolling his hips to stir his cock inside her, hitting her somewhere that even she’d never been able to find. He played her body like it had been made for him. And maybe it had—because how else could it feel so good?

It didn’t take long for his rhythm to quicken. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but still he worked on, and Kate was happy to reap the rewards of his efforts, crying out at the impact of each thrust. Her fists tangled in the bedcovers until her fingers screamed for release—almost as much as the rest of her body.

Kate came with full-throated carnality, but even then Warren didn’t let up, groaning out his own pleasure as she contracted around him. Their gazes locked, and Kate tried to commit every second to memory. The rasping groan when he came. His clenched jaw. His rough hands on her skin. The intent look in his eyes—and the softness hiding within.

When the storm of her orgasm began to recede, she pulled him on top of her, desperate for the intoxicating weight of his body.

Was he too heavy? Yes.

Did she give a shit? Absolutely not.

He was hers. And she was his.

She always had been.

12

Kate

Thesoundofretchingswept her into consciousness, as though the Goddess of Sleep had shooed her out with a broom. Kate peeled her eyes open, grumbling at the bright morning sunlight. She tugged the covers over her head to shield them. Why had she drunk so much?

And by the sounds of the noises coming from the loo, she wasn’t the only one regretting her choice.

“Kate,” Warren’s voice came from the bathroom. Even that small sound made her wince.

“Mm?”

“I think I need to call my doctor. I’m throwing up blood. Can you bring my phone?”

That woke her up. Kate scrambled to her feet, blinking away light-headedness as she hurried over to the bathroom in time to catch Warren binning a toothbrush and spitting mouthwash into the sink. He was wearing his 3D-printed prosthetic instead of his regular one, presumably because it was quicker to attach and remove.

“Oh Christ, that’s so much more than I was expecting.” The bright red toilet bowl distracted her from the nose-wrinkling stench.

“Take a photo of it on my phone to show the doctor so I can flush it. Fucking smell is making me want to keel over.”

“Right.” Her tender head becoming a priority of the past, she followed Warren’s instructions as he collapsed on the ottoman cradling his stomach. His face had become alarmingly pale. “The NHS website says,” she started, “gastritis, ulcer—”

“Call my doctor.”

Kate flicked through Warren’s contacts. “Name?”

“Roger Burley.”

The doctor answered on the second ring. Kate left Warren to talk to the man, taking the time to fetch him his regular prosthetic and a fresh liner from the drawer. To stop herself from hovering, she washed and dressed, albeit in the bedroom ensuite, purely to avoid the stench of sick.

Warren was holding a small bin under his chin when she came out of the shower, whilst his phone had been put on loudspeaker, haphazardly lying on the ottoman. The bin’s contents—paper and an old deodorant can—had been turfed out onto the floor. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

“Yes,” the disembodied voice replied forcefully. “You called me for my opinion. My opinion is you need to get to a hospital as soon as you can. You’re bleeding internally. The cause could be benign… Or it could very much not be. The last thing you want is to have ignored a problem until it’s too large to solve.”

Kate inserted a £2 coin into the hospital vending machine, going back for her sixth fizzy drink of the day. Letting out a yawn, she ambled back to the ward.

She seemed to have spent half her life in a hospital recently, what with Sarah’s chemo and now Warren’s gastritis. It had been a relief to have Warren’s diagnosis be something simple, however. A quick blood test had been all the doctors had needed before starting him on a course of antibiotics. He’d thrown up several times today, but the doctors were optimistic that the nausea and stomach pain would calm down soon. Indeed, it seemed to be calming down already.

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