The Billionaire's Defiant Acquisition

‘I guess,’ she said unsteadily.

He took her by the hand and led her to the giant bathroom which had an enormous wet room attached. Amber was trying to stop herself from trembling because, after having been so upfront about expressing her needs, she could hardly turn round and tell him she was having second thoughts, could she?

Because she was. Suddenly she was scared. She realised that she was going to get exactly what she had asked for—and no more. No matter how good this felt, or how much it mimicked tenderness—she needed to remember that it meant nothing. So just enjoy it for what it is, she told herself fiercely. Don’t demand more than he will ever give you.

The tiled floor felt cool beneath her bare feet and he was tilting up her chin, so that their eyes were on a collision course, and it gave her a thrill of pleasure to read the raw blaze of hunger in his gaze.

‘I don’t know the protocol for removing a wedding dress,’ he said. ‘Are there all kinds of hidden panels?’

‘Nope.’ She gave the familiar Amber smile as she slid down the zip and stepped out of the gown. The easy, confident smile which had always hidden a multiplicity of insecurities. ‘It’s all me.’

It was gratifying to see his boggle-eyed look in response to what lay beneath, and maybe on

some subliminal level Amber had been hoping for this outcome all along. Last time she’d undressed in front of him she had been wearing her plain bra and those hideous big knickers—which she had now replaced with some of the most provocative lingerie she’d been able to find.

Something blue was what brides traditionally wore and she had chosen a shade of blue for her underwear—the same sapphire hue as his shuttered eyes. Wisps of silk and gossamer-fine lace pushed her breasts together so that they appeared to be spilling out of the bra like ice cream piled high on twin cones. The tiny high-cut panties barely covered her bottom and he gave a small groan of appreciation as he splayed his fingers possessively over the silky triangle at the front.

‘Wow. X-rated stuff,’ he said softly before peeling them off and unclipping her bra. ‘And the kind of lingerie I always imagined you wearing.’

‘You did a lot of that, did you?’ She tipped her head to one side as he stared at her breasts. ‘Thinking about me in my underwear?’

‘I refuse to answer that question, on the grounds it might incriminate me. And I think you’d better learn to undress me, Amber. I think my hands are shaking too much to do it with any degree of style.’

Hers were still shaking, too, and she didn’t know if he noticed but she didn’t care. Because suddenly she was hungry for him. Hungry to feel his hands on her skin again and that slow burst of pleasure as he pushed deep inside her.

She eased the jacket from his shoulders and laid it on a nearby stool. Next came his shirt and she freed each stubborn button until at last she could let it flutter free. She turned her attention to his belt and then slid the zip of his trousers slowly down. She gave an instinctive murmur of delight as he sprang free, hard and proud against the palm of her hand, and, even though this was a totally new experience for her, she told herself not to be shy. Every woman has to learn some time, she thought—and suddenly she was grateful to be learning from someone as magnificent as Conall. Experimentally, she trickled a finger down over the stiff shaft but the steely clamp of his fingers around her wrist and the stern look on his face halted her.

‘No,’ he said. ‘To touch a man when he is as aroused as this will make me come all over your fingers and will delay the gratification you are seeking.’

Amber wanted to disagree with him. She wanted to tell him that it would delight her to see him at the mercy of her touch. And she wanted to tell him not to be so anatomical about it all—to protest that surely sex was about more than just physical gratification. But she didn’t say a word and not just because she didn’t have the experience to back up her claim or because his words were so graphic. Because he was sliding on a condom and turning on the shower and hot water was gushing freely down into the wet room as he pushed her beneath the jets.

Sweet sensation flooded over her as his arms wrapped around her and he stepped in beside her. She was aware of the hot water gushing over her and the slippery feel of Conall’s hair-roughened skin as he drew her closer. His dark head was bent and he closed his lips down over one nipple to suck greedily on the hardened tip. She gasped as his fingers slid between her legs and she couldn’t tell whether the warmth which flooded through her came from the shower or from inside her own body. Her head fell back as he thrummed her there insistently, the urgent rhythm building relentlessly inside her.

He had made her come once before when he had been deep inside her—but the sensation of this second orgasm took her by surprise because it happened so quickly. One minute she was revelling in him touching her and the next she was gasping out her pleasure as violent spasms racked through her body. She was still gasping when he wrapped her legs around his hips and eased himself inside her, and she clamped her hands on his shoulders as he levered her back against the tiled wall and drove into her.

He was so big. A slow moan escaped from her lips. So very big. As if he had been made to fit inside her like that. As if her own body had been designed to accommodate him and only him. She could feel the heat building again and she sensed his own sudden restraint, as if he had felt it, too—so that when the spasms exploded deep inside her again, she heard him expel a deep and ragged breath. She felt his own jerking movements and heard him groan and she was completely overcome by the sensation of what was happening to her. She must have been. Why else, when her head flopped helplessly onto his shoulder, should she have the salty taste of tears on her lips?

Her eyes were closed as he turned the shower off and wrapped her in a towel, patting her completely dry before carrying her into the bedroom. He set her down on the floor while, with an impatient hand, he yanked off the bedcover so that all the red rose petals scattered down onto the beautiful Persian rug. Like giant spills of blood, she thought, with a sudden clench of her heart, as he put her into bed and climbed in next to her.

‘My hair is going to go crazy if I don’t brush it,’ she murmured.

‘Do you want to brush it?’ His lips skated over her neck and his words were muffled as he murmured against her skin. ‘Or could you think of something else you’d rather do?’

Her head tipped back to accommodate his lips and her eyes closed. There was really no contest. ‘Something else.’

It took longer this time. As if it were happening in slow motion. His fingertips seemed determined to acquaint themselves with every centimetre of skin. His kisses were lazy and his thrusts were deep, and her orgasm seemed to go on and on for ever. Afterwards he held her trembling body very tightly and lay there, just stroking her still-damp hair, while her cheek rested against his chest and she listened to the muffled thunder of his heartbeat.

Her eyes felt heavy and her limbs seemed to be weighed with lead. Just keeping her eyes open felt like the biggest effort in the world but there was something she needed to know, and through fluttering lashes she tipped her head back to look at him.

‘Conall?’ she said.

‘Mmm?’

She hesitated. ‘You thought I’d want to know why you’d never married before and seemed surprised when I didn’t pursue it.’

‘And?’

‘I’m pursuing it now.’ Her gaze was steady. ‘Why not?’