A Billionaire for Christmas

I whimper, but say nothing.

“This isn’t about me, baby. So relax. All you have to do is come for me. Can you do that?”

I nod.

“Good,” he says as he slides his hand down and cups me. “Christ, you’re slippery. I may have to fuck you sooner than I intended.”

“Okay,” I say, and he laughs, obviously surprised by my quick and heartfelt response.

“We’ll see,” he says, then drops to his knees. His hands are still on my hips, and his kisses start at my inner thighs. He works his way up, his tongue flicking over my clit just long enough to ramp me up again. Then he continues upward, his mouth tasting and kissing until he reaches my breasts. He nips at my nipples in turn, his oral ministrations alternating with fingers pinching until I’m half-convinced I’ll come that way alone.

Then he’s standing fully upright, his fingers twined in my hair as he tugs my head back to the angle he wants before closing his mouth over mine and claiming me in a wild, deep, violent kiss.

“Now,” he says when he pulls away. “Hold on, baby,” he says, then grabs my ass and lifts me so that, for a moment, I’m supporting most of my weight with my arms on the jet. Then he thrusts inside me, and I cry out in both pleasure and surprise as I close my legs tight around him, both to relieve the pressure on my arms and so that I can draw him even further inside.

“Let go,” he orders, and I do, moving my hands to his shoulders as he turns us in one quick move and slams my back up against the glass shower wall.

“Ease up, baby,” he says as he grips me at my upper thighs. I’m trapped, held in place by the glass and by the force of his thrusts as he moves deep inside me, over and over. I grip his shoulders hard, and look deep into his eyes as he fills me, hard and deep, taking me closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, baby. Come with me.”

His words are a demand that my body obeys, shattering suddenly as if I’d gone supernova. But never once do I close my eyes or break the connection. And as my soul spins out of control, it’s the intensity in Damien’s eyes that brings me back again. Back to the arms of the man I love.Chapter FourIt’s a gorgeous December morning, the sun shining down on the stunning homes that dot the hills of the Pacific Palisades. The ocean glitters behind us, and as we go over hills and around turns, we catch small glimpses of those deep blue waters.

I glance into the Range Rover’s back. Lara is absorbed with reading her current favorite book, Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, while Anne draws furiously with crayons in her new Christmas-themed coloring book. Neither is car sick or whining or complaining about her sibling.

Truly, the holiday season is a miraculous time.

I resettle myself in the passenger seat as Damien turns onto Jackson and Sylvia’s street. When we’d first met Jackson Steele, he was living on a houseboat he keeps docked in Marina del Rey. After he and Syl got married and Jackson built this house, he’d kept the boat as an office for a while. Now, the entire operation has moved its base from New York to Los Angeles, and it’s far too big a company for a boat. Instead, Steele Development is in its own building at The Domino, a retail and office complex in Santa Monica that was designed by Jackson and co-developed with Stark Real Estate.

As for the houseboat, he currently rents that to my lifelong friend, Ollie McKee. A former lawyer, Ollie recently transitioned to the FBI. More important to me, he’s once again living permanently in Los Angeles, and I’ll see him in just a few hours at The Domino’s Winter Wonderland event.

We round a bend, and the stunning contemporary that Jackson built for Sylvia rises in front of us. Elegantly minimal, the house seems to be part of the landscape, not something plunked down onto it. The lines flow, some to the sea, some to the heavens, and the front door of glass and steel offers the only view to the driveway and the street beyond. All the other windows face the ocean.

It’s unique and lovely, and I’m pretty sure it’s been featured in every major architectural magazine, as have most of Jackson’s designs.

Damien maneuvers into the drive and parks behind the sleek black two-seater Ferrari that he gave to Jamie years ago. I frown, wondering if that means that Ryan’s sister, Moira, cancelled. I hope not. I know she’s busy finishing up her Masters in marketing, but it would be a shame if she missed out on the holidays. Not to mention the fact that the girls adore her, and always beg for Moira to babysit when Gregory can’t watch them.