Paris with the Billionaire

I have to keep reminding myself not to stare at his muscles throbbing in the thin fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sure this is the right room,” he says. “My staff is very thorough.”

“Wait a second … your staff?”

He shrugs. “I own this hotel. That’s why I didn’t bother checking if this room was booked. It rarely is and, when it is, I normally hear about it. It seems I’ve let you slip through the cracks …”

He stares at me, his blue eyes seeming to swirl, as though drawing me deeper and deeper into his gaze. My nipples prick and tingles move over my body, dancing over my skin, teasing me.

“This is where you tell me your name,” he smirks.

“Oh,” I giggle, placing my laptop down. “I’m Fiona. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Do you say that to everyone who breaks into your room, Fiona?” he chuckles, his voice husky as he offers me his hand. “I’m Forrest.”

I take his hand and we shake. Tingles sizzle up my arm and into my chest, taunting.

“Well, you had a key,” I smile. “So it’s not really breaking in, is it?”

This should feel so wrong, and yet I can’t wipe this naïve smile off my face. I need to remind myself that he’s only being friendly.

If I told him about the crazy thoughts rioting in my mind – about grabbing onto his boulder-like muscles and squeezing to feel the firmness of them – he’d laugh in my face.

“The thing is, Fiona,” he says, holding my hand for a moment longer than is necessary.

Or am I imagining that, wishing for it?

“I don’t want to stay in any other room,” he growls.

My mouth falls open as that enigmatic smirk dances across his clean shaven face. He steps forward, washing me in the musky scent of his cologne.

“What do you mean?” I whisper, my lips feeling dry, my body becoming tense with need. “Do you want me to move rooms?”

“No,” he says. “I mean we should stay here together.”

Chapter Two

Forrest

She gazes up at me with those wide gorgeous eyes of hers.

They’re a sparkling shade of green, brimming with naivety and causing tension to flood into my manhood. They’re the sort of eyes that say, I’ll do whatever you want, just show me how, and that gets my balls swelling and bursting with my need to unleash myself upon her.

Her hair is messy and wavy down to her shoulders, a perfect shade of oak. Her lips are full, practically begging to be used in a thousand different ways.

I can almost feel how they’d part for me as I drive my throbbing length inside of her, those innocent eyes widening as she whimpered around my girth.

She’s wearing a blouse with a little black bow at the throat, hiding her cleavage from my sight. But she can’t hide the shape of her body beneath her clothes, curves that make me want to bend her over the balcony railing and claim every inch of her voluptuousness for myself.

“You want us both to stay here?” she whimpers.

The poor naïve thing, she has no idea how much I need her. Her voice swells with skepticism, as though she can’t believe that I’d want her.

How could she ever doubt it?

My seed roars and riots, demanding that I drag her into the bedroom and throw her down on the silk sheets right now.

Primal instincts yell at me to claim her, to tear off her clothes and expose the shiny pinkness of her hole, to ram deep inside of her until she’s begging and raw and unsure if she can take anymore … and then I’ll give it to her even harder.

I smirk, masking this bubbling need.

I can’t afford to scare her away.

The second I laid eyes on her, I knew I had to have her. I knew she was going to give me the family I never even thought about before her.

“There’s more than one bedroom, Fiona,” I say, even as I burn with the urge to suggest that we share rooms.

She bites her lip for a moment, making her look like she wants to be drilled and toyed with right now. A flush creeps across her cheeks and down her neck.

She knows that the right thing to do is to tell me to get the hell out of here.

But she wants this just as badly as I do.

Doesn’t she?

I’m not misreading this, am I?

I’ve never felt the need to learn the quirks of a woman, content to spend my long days conquering the world of business, dominating it, only learning about women as much as I need to bend them to my will in the boardroom.

This is something else.

This is flaring desire and primal fate.

This – she – is everything I’ve been waiting my whole life for.

“Not to be rude,” she murmurs after a pause.

Her voice is breathy, making me think of how she’d pant and moan as I slide myself inside of her.