The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

He kissed her breasts through the thin silk T-shirt, sucked her nipples into his mouth and she went crazy beneath him, sobbing his name, clutching his shoulders, and he thought, Slow down, slow down, God, slow down or this will end much too fast.

But he was lost.

Lost in Ivy’s scent, in her taste, in the silk of her hair and the heat of her skin.

He pushed up her shirt. Bared her breasts. Kissed the creamy slopes, teased the pale pink nipples, her sweet cries urging him on.

He sat her up. Pulled the shirt over her head. Unhooked her bra and her breasts, like the most precious fruit, tumbled into his hands.

He kissed them, kissed her belly, round and taut with his child and thought, as he had before, how perfect it would be if he and she had made this child together.

Then he stopped thinking because she was tug

ging at his sweatshirt.

He reared back and tugged it off. She arched against him, her breasts hot against his chest, and her moans of ecstasy almost unmanned him.

Her panties were the merest whisper of silk. He drew them down her legs and she arched again so that he sank into the spread of her thighs.

“Ivy,” he said thickly.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please, yes.”

She lifted her face and he kissed her, tasting her tears, tasting her sweetness, and something stirred deep, deep inside him, something stirred within his heart.

And then he was inside her. Inside her and she was so tight. So tight…

“Damian,” she sighed, and put her hand between them.

The world spun away.

He groaned, thrust forward and Ivy cried out and came apart in his arms.

He held on as long as he could. Sheathing himself within her. Pulling back until it was torture, then sinking deep, feeling her come again and again until, finally, he let himself go with her. Fly into the night, into the sky, into the universe.

And knew, as he collapsed against her, that sex was, indeed, only sex. Making love was what really mattered.

And though he’d been with many women, he had never really made love until tonight.

CHAPTER TEN

DAMIAN was asleep.

Ivy had slept, too. For a little while, anyway, safe and warm in his embrace.

Then she’d awakened.

And, just that quickly, the memories came rushing back.

She’d lain beside him for another few minutes, telling herself not to let this happen. Not to spoil the wonder of Damian’s lovemaking with the ugliness of those memories.

It hadn’t worked.

Finally, carefully, she’d slipped from under the curve of her lover’s arm and risen from the bed.

A soft cashmere throw lay at its foot. She’d wrapped herself in it, held her breath while she opened the French doors and stepped out on the terrace.

When would she finally be able to forget?