Her Bossy Billionaire (Love in London 1)

Incredibly, a feeling of power surged back into her, galvanizing her muscles—the pure energy of desire. Recharged, she arched, running her hands down his back to his butt and pulling so he’d lie on her. He resisted for a second, spreading her legs further with strong hands first and then settling between her thighs. She almost purred with the pleasure of feeling his weight upon her, of feeling his hard length push at her slick entrance.

She rocked to hurry him, loving how the pillows beneath her hips drove her core closer to his. He put his fisted hands to either side of her, pressing down into the mattress while his arms remained straight so he arched above her—his pelvis pushed against hers. She devoured the view of his magnificent bared torso, her gaze drifting lower to see how close they were to being joined.

“Libby.”

At his strained whisper she immediately looked back up to his face—reading the rigid restraint there—and then watched the unbearable pleasure as slowly he moved into her.

She moaned as a sensational feeling of fullness—completion—engulfed her, inch by inch. As she’d suspected, ecstasy came instantly. She trembled, succumbing to bursts of bliss, while he continued to stoke the inferno. He pulled back and then pressed close again—harder, to the hilt—and paused. Delight locked in.

“As amazing as that was before,” she breathed in the exquisite rush. “Nothing but nothing beats this.”

So damn good.

He breathed in and out harshly through his nostrils, pausing, like a reined in stallion, rearing.

“Please,” she murmured with a small, satisfied purr. She wanted him out of control in his desire for her—as she was for him.

He growled, a short, rough sound and then moved. She met him, slow thrust for slow thrust. Every movement sent pleasure rippling through her. His arms spread wider, the sheet caught in his fists as he sought traction. She too clung, her hands curled round his biceps, feeling the tension beneath her fingertips.

He moved in slow, sweeping, circular motions, watching her close, a small smile on his lips. His gaze dipped to her breasts and that smile faltered—his nostrils thinned as he breathed in deeply again. His muscles tautened as he looked, dark heat flaring in his eyes, color slashing across his cheekbones as he ground deeper into her with those delicious movements. She understood the pleasure he found in having her spread before him—beneath him—accepting his invasion. She reveled in it too, feeling sexy, desirable, riding the heat, the sweat, the energy. They’d left this world and gone to another of their own—a higher, hotter, paradise.

His hard plank of a body worked into hers, yet he was so warm and fluid in his movements and so tender in his smile. It was slow, addictive torture and she groaned as the tension caught her again, winding her tighter, ever tighter.

His biceps bunched as he braced above her. Their rhythm increased. He was all she could see. There was nothing else in her head but him, the way he looked right now, the way he felt.

Passion built. She shivered as the fever took hold, faltered as small slivers of ecstasy surged through her…tiny precursors to her next release. She called out in increasingly quick, breathy moans, closing her eyes as the intensity became too much. Her body clamped and locked, seeking the final hit that would send her over the edge.

He moved to meet her moaned demands—thrusting faster. Her eyes snapped open—wide—as she watched his muscles pump as he plunged through the fierce, rigid hold of her body. The friction so intense, so pleasurable, so damn good. His face locked in the grip of determination, of fire, a growl escaping through gritted teeth. But she smiled as the sensations conquered her consciousness. Her eyes flicked shut again as she sank into ecstasy Her moan became a shout as sheer, sharp pleasure surged in spasm after spasm, blissful contractions shivering outwards from her core. In the height of the storm his fingers dug into her hips as he pushed her closer still, grinding into her with fast, wild force. His abs slammed against her stomach, his chest crushed hers as he dropped from his dominant position and simply embraced her as a deep moan was wrenched from him.

She looped her arms around him, her hands smoothing his sweat-slicked back. She held him, uncaring of how hot she was, how she could hardly breathe, could hardly hear for his rapid, rough panting in her ear. Every so often she’d shiver again—her body locked in aftershocks. Until the tension slowly ebbed and that languorous warmth slid along her veins.

“So,” she said breathlessly, trying to find a way back down to earth. “That wasn’t sustained?”

His laugh was combined with a pained groan. “Must have been your performance enhancing muesli.”

Eight

Jack stared out the bakery window as he waited, still in a daze ten hours after she’d left his bed. Despite their intimate marathon, he’d hardly slept. Instead he’d wound his arms around her and held her until she’d woken—too early. She’d quickly kissed him and thanked him for a lovely night and left. What an idiot he’d been to make his move on a weeknight when she had to be at her local council copywriting job the next morning. He laughed—stupid—even if it had been the weekend, she’d be up early wanting to resurrect her cereal business.

But it was the cereal that was his way back in.

He sat at the counter when she turned up—not touching her, simply getting on with his work. She smiled, clearly determined not to let any awkwardness build between them. She thought she could be like a pal now? Like a buddy? He didn’t think so. But he said nothing. He knew the chemistry wasn’t anywhere near burned out—hell, with her flushed cheeks and her tight nipples and her restlessness, it was obvious.

So he sat like he had the other nights and got on with his work. To his immense satisfaction every time he glanced up he caught her looking at him. So he stood and got himself some water from the fridge. Turning back he nabbed her snatching a look at his butt. Yeah, he had a number of nail marks proving how much she liked that part of him. He stood socially unacceptably near to her at the counter—watching her work. He’d see how long she could hold out for.

“Where’s your younger sister?” She asked eventually, her voice a little shrill. Her cheeks were getting redder by the minute.

“At university, thank goodness.” He didn’t step away, not when he saw the way she couldn’t help the downward flicker of her gaze over his body. He liked being this close—near enough to touch in a heartbeat.

“Is she into rowing too?”

“She wasn’t, for a long time. But now she’s a cox,” He wickedly emphasized the word, knowing from the quick touch of her tongue to her lips what she was thinking of. “It seems to be in the blood.”

“It must have been hard for you.” She sent him another quick glance from beneath her cautious lashes.

He bit the inside of his lip. People were curious—of course they were. Mostly he brushed it off, but with Libby he had an urge to be honest. “It wasn’t as hard as many other people have it. I was able to generate cash to get the business underway. And they were good kids. Well, as good as could be expected.” He frowned.

Libby raised her brows. “Did they give you a hard time?”

“Being the stand-in parent means you get the brunt of rebellion and resentment.”

“You should’ve been out sowing your wild oats.” She sent him a look from under her lashes. “You still should be.”

Jack tensed. Tom had said that recently, Anne too in her own way. But he’d figured that had been because the two of them wanted him off their backs. Now he wondered if they were right. He’d gotten in the habit of bearing responsibility and working so hard to make sure they had all they needed and to build the business. But stupidly, hearing it from Libby flicked his pride—his past hadn’t been completely boring.

“I did ok,” he said. “It wasn’t all a desert in that time.”

But none of those random hook-ups had given him the kind of experience he’d had with Libby last night.

“No girlfriend could put up with the sullen teen sister or my work hours.” H

e couldn’t help explaining. He hadn’t had time to manage a relationship. Then he’d gotten used to the hours. Once his business interests took off, they increased more. He still didn’t have the time for anything serious. Fortunately Libby didn’t want anything long-term. They could enjoy this moment by moment—have a few laughs together over an oat-strewn counter.

“I don’t believe you,” Libby said, measuring almonds. “There would have been girls lining up round the block to give you the kind of support you needed.”

He laughed. “That’s a sweet thing to say but it’s not true.”

“It’s true.”

She was wrong. “I spent most of my time with building contractors, engineers and inspectors. It’s a sad reality that at that time most of those people were not female. It comes down to sheer opportunity.”