The Magnate's Manifesto
Page 24
He captured her hands in his and pressed them back against the bed above her head so their fingers were entwined and their eyes locked. “I’m right here,” he murmured. “Every step of the way. Guide me.”
She nodded. Her gaze clung to his as he brought the hard length of himself against her and teased her with it, back and forth until she closed her eyes and gave a soft moan. “Jared—”
He eased inside her, just the tip to allow her to get used to his possession. She was tight, incredibly tight, and he shook with the control it took to stay there and not move. “Breathe,” he instructed huskily. Her chest rose as she did, depressed and rose as she took in another puff of air. And he felt her relax around him. He eased deeper, her flesh clenching him; accepting him and rejecting him all at the same time.
“Bailey—” he demanded roughly, “you okay?”
She nodded. “You feel…amazing.”
His soft curse split the air. “Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart. I need more.”
She did and he pushed deeper, a fraction at a time, stopping to let her adjust as he went. Finally, he reached the barrier he’d been waiting for, felt her flinch beneath him. He brought his mouth to hers. “I’ve got to hurt you for just a second and it’ll be over.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. He claimed her fully, pushing through the barrier with a smooth, sure stroke that made her gasp and twist beneath him. He kissed her through it, holding himself completely, agonizingly still until her body relaxed around his and she sighed into his mouth.
“That’s it,” he encouraged huskily, “stay with me. You’re good now.”
He started to move, excruciatingly slowly although his rock-hard body was begging him to go faster. Their hands were still laced together, her eyes glued to his as he caressed her with his pulsing flesh, her muscles clenching him as he withdrew and entered her again and again until she was arching against him and taking him deep.
“You feel so good,” he told her, her incredibly tight body fitting him like a glove, making him swell even bigger. “Tell me how you like it. How it feels…”
Her eyes were glazed; she was just this side of incoherent. “So good,” she muttered. “So good. God, Jared, don’t stop—please…”
He released a hand to cup the sexy curve of her hip. To anchor her to him so he could put more power behind his thrusts, hit her in that place that gave a woman the deepest, most powerful orgasm.
“Talk to me,” he urged, dangerously close to the edge. “Tell me, Bailey.”
“Amazing. It feels amazing. Jared—I don’t think I can—”
He released her hands and reached between them, setting his thumb against the hard nub of her just above where their bodies were joined. Slowly, deliberately rotated it against her until her hips were writhing against his thumb. She threw her head back and came for him, her body clenching around his so fiercely, it took him only a few strokes to push himself into oblivion. His body exploded inside her, a hoarse cry tearing itself from his lungs as a shattering release swept over him.
It was minutes, long minutes later before his body stopped shaking. Before the chill in the air stole over him. Bailey shivered, her legs still wrapped around him, his flesh buried in hers. And he wondered how he could still be semi-hard after that.
He left the warmth of her body to push back the comforter and tuck her beneath it. Bailey protested, a tiny whimper that made him smile. “One second,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I am not nearly done with you yet.”
He found a bottle of water on the dresser and drank half of it down while he quite frankly tried to compose himself. Because that hadn’t been just sex. He felt open, raw, as if someone had stripped off his layers and left him exposed. And the instinct to roll over, to reclaim his power, pulsed through every cell.
Bailey lay there sultry and replete, platinum hair spread across the pillow, gaze tracking him as he drank. Oblivious to the storm in his head. Watching her there, strong, sexy, unforgettable, the thought crossed his mind that he could have her a million times and it would never be enough.
His hand tightened around the bottle. That was truly crazy talk. No matter how much he’d wanted a woman in the past, it had always faded. Soured. Relationships ended. People got bored. It was just the way it was.
He set the bottle down. Reached for her. Bailey studied his face as he took her in his arms. “You’re regretting this?”
He shook his head. Lied. “I want more. And I’m not sure you’re ready.”
She pulled his head down to hers and gave him a long, lingering kiss as her answer. It was all the encouragement he needed to stir to life. He curved his hand around her shoulder, slid it down to press against her shoulder blade and turned her over.
“Jared—” she murmured, a question in her voice.
“I want you this way,” he told her softly, pushing her hands apart and moving over her. It was testament to the trust they’d built that she stayed there, her breath picking up in rhythm as he nudged her knees apart, moved between them and pressed openmouthed kisses from the top of her spine to her waist. When she was fully relaxed and supple beneath him, he slid his hand between her legs and stroked her damp flesh.
“Okay?”
“Yes,” she moaned, shifting her legs farther apart, pushing up against his touch. It was all the invitation he needed to slide an arm beneath her, lift her and push inside her hot, welcoming flesh with a smooth thrust.
This time he could move slower, build it up, enjoy every centimeter of her undeniably sweet body. When she dug her fingers into the comforter and came with a guttural moan, as if the control he was exerting over her turned her on as much as it turned him on, it destroyed him completely. She was more than a match for him in every way.
He set a palm to the small of her back, held her where he wanted her and chased his own blindingly good release. When it came, tightening his limbs, sweeping through him like the lazy aftershock of a powerful tremor, he knew he’d never experienced such pleasure.
Bailey tucked into his side, curved against his warm body as the filtered Paris moonlight carried them off to sleep, his denial grew weaker. It was useless to pretend even for a second that nothing had changed. Because everything had.
CHAPTER NINE
THE PEAL OF HIS cell phone in the adjoining room woke Jared at six the next morning. Blinking against the light filtering through the windows, he slid out of bed, grabbed his boxers from the floor and hightailed it into his room in the hopes of catching it before it woke Bailey.
A glance at the call display told him it was Danny, his PI. Kicking the connecting door closed, he took the call.
“Stone.”
“You sound half-asleep. Thought you’d be halfway down the Champs-Elysées by now, running your little heart out.”
“Eventful night last night.” Jared crossed to the French doors and squinted out at the empty Paris streets. “You have something for me or did you just call to pay me back?”
“It’s your father. I had my contact do the usual check-in this week. He said he wants to talk to you.”
His father wanted to talk to him? He pressed his palm against the elegantly carved mahogany casing of the door. It had been, what, a year and a half, two years, since he’d talked to Graham Stone in a short, curt conversation to sort out some legalities.
“What does he want? Is he okay?”
“He wouldn’t say. Says you need to come to him.”
His shoulders stiffened. Why should he go running when his father had shut him out for almost a decade?
Danny read the pause. “He doesn’t look great, Jared. Pretty haggard from what my guy says.”
His chest tightened. This was not what he needed right now. “I can’t go for a couple of weeks.”
“I’m just relaying the message. Oh and Jared?” His PI’s voice deepened to a satisfied purr. “That dirt you wanted on Michael Craig’s proclivity to abuse his expense accounts? I have it. It’s bigger and better than you could have imagined.”
A twist of satisfaction curled through him. “Send it through. All of it.”
He ended the call and tossed his cell phone on the desk. Michael Craig deserved what he had coming to him. What caused an ache to sit low in his chest, ever-present but more pronounced now, was how much he loved his father. Graham Stone had never been too busy, even with his insane hours as a banker, to spend time with his son. Whether it had been building a car or throwing a football around, he’d always been there, even if it wasn’t as much as Jared would have liked. Then slowly, in the later years, his father had begun to sink. The massive amounts of stress had finally gotten to him, sending him to a place his youthful son couldn’t understand or help him out of.
A fist squeezed his chest, growing larger with every breath. When his father had made his biggest mistake, had stolen that money, it had been too late, far too late to do anything to save his soul. There likely would never be a day on this earth when Jared wouldn’t wonder what else he could have done to prevent it. He’d just learned to live with the guilt.
Or had he? The slow burn consuming him didn’t make him think so. He’d always thought that walking away, distancing himself from the shame that had enveloped his family, was the right thing to do for his own survival. For his business, where reputation was everything. His father hadn’t wanted his help, so what choice had he had?