The Billionaire's Desire

The small, delicious part of me that loves his bossiness is reveling right now. He holds me tight, forcing me to look him right in the eye as he takes me. No matter how rough, how hard, I still want more. I want him to bruise me with his kisses; I want the marks of his fingers on my skin. I want him to make me his and hold me so damn tight that he keeps me together and I'm no longer in danger of falling to pieces.

Carter pulls back and grips me under my ass. "Ride me, Sanniyah," he orders, "I want to see you come on top of me." He rolls, flipping us around so that I am straddling him and the feeling of power is exquisite.

I rock forward, grinding him right in that special place. "Oh god, Carter, you're going to make me come."

"Do it for me. I want to see your face. No don't slump forward, baby. Let me see your head thrown back. I'm going to bite your neck while you come on me."

His words are like a drug, I am instantly addicted. My body can't move unless he's telling me exactly what to do. Mindless pleasure grips me and suddenly pulls me over the edge. I throw back my head and let out a strangled scream as the waves of ecstasy take me.

Carter surges upward and crushes me to his chest. When his teeth find my neck, I let out another scream that makes the walls shake. He answers me with a roar and suddenly we are falling together; shivering and shaking with the aftershocks of our pleasure.

Carter sags back on the couch, his torso gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat. I lean forward and lick him, tasting the salt on my tongue. He lets out a dramatic shiver that makes me laugh.

"Sanniyah." The way he says my names is like a prayer.

"Yes Carter?"

"That was fun."

I have to laugh again. "Not exactly what I was expecting to come home to."

"Oh right!" His face stretches into a gleeful smile. "I still owe you breakfast too!" He fixes me with a look that could melt me right down into a puddle and then dashes, still completely naked, into my kitchen, leaving me with nothing to do but bask in the wonder of his return.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Carter

I wasn't lying when I said I make a mean poached egg. My mother taught me how to hold them gently in the boiling water, waiting patiently for the heat to do the work for me. It's not something that can be rushed or forced and I think that's why I like it.

Sanniyah doesn't have a blender, something I make a mental note to rectify, so I have to cheat with a fake Hollandaise. Luckily, I ordered the ingredients from the grocery. As I blend everything with a fork, I can hear her moving around her living room and a little shiver goes through me.

It's not that I live alone. I have Rosa and Benson, but they don't actually...live with me. They hover on the shadows, being as quiet and deferential as they can be.

Sanniyah lives here. She slams around, taking up as much space as she needs, humming to herself happily as she picks our discarded clothes off the floor and shakes them out. She runs water and swears when she drops a container in the bathroom. She collapses back down on the couch with a sigh, then bounces back up again while muttering something about emails.

I'm living in the same space she is living.

This is more than I've been able to manage in two long, lonely years.

I look down and realize I have whipped the Hollandaise right out of the measuring cup and slopped it all over her counter. Wiping it up quickly, I mutter a silent prayer of thanks that she didn't catch me standing stock still in her kitchen, just listening to her. Maybe someday I can explain to her just how profoundly the simple act of being with her has shaken me to my core.

She appears in the doorway to the kitchen, framed like a work of art. "You're still naked, you know," she informs me.

She's wearing this silky black robe that makes me want to rip it off of her just so I can watch it slide along her skin. My cock stirs, and her eyes move down to it, pointedly.

I look down. "Habits," I explain.

She gestures to the kitchen window with its direct line of sight to an office tower across the street. "I guess you don't usually have to worry about giving people an eyeful," she grins. The way she lets those wide, warm eyes wander along my body makes the blood rush downward rather alarmingly. She saunters in, doing this little dance on her tiptoes. "Now, I don't mind. But they might."

All at once, the image of a telephoto lens pops into my head. That office tower would be the perfect vantage point. They could see me, see Sanniyah, see us kissing, invading our private moment with their intrusive cameras. They could track me, know where I am...

Shut the fuck up!

I scream at the paranoid voice at my head, and press myself firmly against Sanniyah, redoubling her kiss with a passion that makes her gasp. I need to silence the thoughts. I need to drown in her before I drown myself.

"Are you okay?"

She is looking at me, concern written across her face.

"I'm fine," I tell her brusquely. "Let's eat"

She watches me carefully as I pour the sauce over the towers of biscuits, bacon and eggs I have arranged on two plates. I must have made a good show of holding it together, because she relaxes and smiles as her stomach growls audibly. "Those look amazing, Carter."

"Dig in," I say, handing both plates to her. She takes them without question, heading into the living room, which gives me just enough time to quickly close the curtains in the kitchen.

The minute I do, my heart rate returns to normal.

"Who taught you to cook like this?" Sanniyah demands from the living room. She is tucked into the couch, the plate cradled in her lap, and her mouth is stuffed with food.

"My mother," I tell her as I pull on my pants and settle in near her. "She was a home-ec teacher through and through. She wanted me to be self-sufficient but I guess she never figured I'd end up having a cook." I flick a forkful of eggs together and lean over to her. Sanniyah opens her mouth greedily and gives me a nice eyeful of her lips closing around my fork. I teasingly try to pull it back and she growls at me before settling back, licking her lips. "She started with teaching me breakfast," I continue, warming to the subject of my mother. "And worked her way through the meals of the day, but my skills have eroded in the reverse direction. Now that I have Rosa, I'm helpless when it comes to things like cuts of meat or salad dressings, but I can still poach an egg. Next time, I'll show you my crepe skills."

"Ooh," she smiles appreciatively and then ducks down, veiling her eyes with those heavy black lashes as my words hang in the air. Next time.

Yes Sanniyah, I want there to be a next time. And a time after that and a time after that. I want to see what comes next with you.

She sops up the last bit of runny egg with a scrap of biscuit then leans back, sighing contentedly. My own food has grown cold, but I don't really care. I just want to watch her as her eyes flutter heavily.

"You're exhausted," I tell her. It isn't a question.

"It's been a hell of a day," she answers, sadness curling around her words.

"Go lie down," I order, grabbing her plate. "I may be rich, but I know how to wash a dinner plate."

"Breakfast plate," she corrects, smiling and stretching and yawning like a cat. "And leave them." She stands up and stretches her arms out to me. "Come to bed with me."

The sun has barely set, but I'm not going to say no to holding Sanniyah's body in my arms. I lie in bed, listening to her in the bathroom, the comfortable, lived in sounds of being with someone, and once again my heart does that strange, shuddering, sideways motion. The only way I can explain it is the feeling of an ice floe breaking away from a glacier.

Sanniyah appears in the doorway, arms full of pillows. "How many do you want?" she asks.

"One is fine," I smile and suddenly I can't hold back any more. "You are the best damn thing, you know that?"