Secrets of a One Night Stand--A pregnant by the billionaire romance Page 10

  Chest rising and falling on labored breaths, she turned, giving him her back. “Hooks at the back. Zipper at the hip.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Hurry.”

  The next few moments were an exercise in patience as he worked his way through the delicate hooks of the corset-style top, but the brushes of his fingertips over her spine and the caresses of his coarse curses in her ears only heightened the rush of burning arousal in her veins. By the time the top loosened around her breasts and the skirt dipped around her waist, she trembled with lust, and gooseflesh pebbled her skin. And when he lowered the dress, the black material pooling around her shoes, leaving her clad only in a silk thong and thigh-highs, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip to imprison the sob of need that clambered at the back of her throat.

  “Turn around.” He paused. “Please.”

  That please in his gruff voice, with a note of the same need that burrowed through her, nearly sent her to her knees. Before she could do as he asked, though, he grasped her elbow.

  “Wait.”

  He knelt in front of her, and the air evaporated from her lungs. Her body and mind were of one accord as they both recalled the last time his face and that beautiful beard of his had been between her legs. But this time Achilles’s attention wasn’t focused on her sex but on her feet. Carefully, he removed her stilettos and swept the dress to the side. He sat back on his heels, staring up at her. Her body had never been the “perfect” size four, much to her mother’s dismay. Even so, over the years, Mycah had come to not just accept but to love her body, regardless of others’ opinions.

  And as Achilles’s gaze caressed her thighs, which had never been slim, her hips, which had always been rounded, her belly that had never been completely flat and her breasts, which had always been fuller than an A cup, she felt desired. Worshipped.

  Perfect.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Truth ran through his voice, in every syllable. And no matter what might pass between them elsewhere, here, in this, she believed him.

  “You’re overdressed.” She hiked her chin toward him, arching an eyebrow at his shirt, vest and pants.

  His hands went to his vest, and he shrugged free of it. When his fingers gripped the top button of his shirt, she sank to her knees. Lust pumped through her, hot and heady, as she brushed his hands aside and took over the task. With every slice of inked brown skin revealed, her arousal ratcheted higher. She squeezed her legs against the sweet pain in her sex, knowing her flimsy lacy thong hid none of the evidence of the desire dampening her upper thighs. And as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders, Achilles confirmed as much when he dipped a hand between her legs, stroking a fingertip across the skin just below her folds and lifted glistening fingers to his mouth.

  Deliberately, he slid them between his parted lips, licking them clean. His dense, black lashes fluttered close, and he moaned, the sound ravenous. She whimpered, an aching tug pulling hard in response.

  “Touch me,” she pleaded, past pride. “Touch me, please.”

  His arm snaked up, hand cupping the back of her neck and hauling her forward. Their bare chests collided, his mouth covering hers. She tasted herself on him, and the faint musk enflamed her. She opened wider for his possession. He cupped her behind with both hands, squeezing, and she arched into his hold, loving how he told her without words how much he enjoyed her body. Adored her body.

  Tearing her mouth from his, she trailed her lips over his jaw, down his strong throat. She paid special detail to the swirls, geometric patterns, lettering and biomechanical art covering his shoulder, arm and chest. He was beautiful, and she closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Silly. God, she was being silly.

  “Mycah?”

  He cradled her face. Or tried to. She dodged those big palms, ducking her head and flicking her tongue over his flat, brown nipple. His groan rumbled under her mouth, and she raked her teeth over the nub, then sucked it, drawing hard.

  “Damn, baby.” He carefully removed the band and pins from her hair, then drove his hands through the curls, tangling his fingers in them, tugging, sending darts of pain scattering across her scalp. “Again. Do it again.”

  She complied. Gladly. Placing her palms against his wide shoulders, she lightly shoved. One of his muscular arms wrapped around her, and he fell back to the carpeted floor. She took swift advantage, crawling on top of his giant frame, straddling his abdomen and moaning deep as those ridges pressed against her wet, swollen folds. Another moan rolled out of her, and she couldn’t have stopped herself from grinding against him if inhaling her next breath depended on it.

  Why did she need to breathe when pleasure so intense was turning her into living ecstasy?

  “No?” Achilles growled, circling her neck, applying just enough pressure to have a dark, erotic wave swirl through her lower belly and pool between her legs.

  “Yes,” she damn near whined, leaning into his hold. Another buck of her hips, another, and another, and she shuddered, so close to coming just from grinding over him and that illicit grip on her throat.

  How was that possible?

  Because it was Achilles.

  “I don’t want to want you.” He accompanied the admission with a sweeping caress of her nipple.

  Electricity sizzled in her veins, the sparks echoing in her head, but she still clearly heard him. And underneath the pleasure, hurt vibrated within her. She lifted her hand, preparing to shove him away from her breast, but when he pinched the tip, tweaked it, her hand fell away. She surrendered to the pleasure even as she couldn’t escape his words.

  “You’re everything I told myself I shouldn’t have. Everything that’s destructive to me. And yet—” he cupped her, levered up and sucked her into his mouth, his tongue licking and circling her flesh before crushing a kiss to her lips “—you’ve become my fantasy.”

  “And you hate us both for it,” she whispered against his lips.

  He stared at her, his wolf eyes so bright, so intense it almost hurt.

  “Yes. Almost.”

  A pain carved into her, sharpened by the tender care he gave her. She wanted to hate him back, to strike out at him for making her care. This was sex. Ill-advised sex, at that. Nothing more. But her pounding heart whispered liar.

  Good thing her heart held no power over her head, just as only her body could rule her for tonight.

  Breaking the kiss, she slid down his body, scattering kisses down his torso, her fingers grasping the tab of his pants, undoing them, then tugging down his zipper. Scooting farther down, she settled in the vee of his thighs and fisted his cock. His guttural growl broke on the air, and satisfaction flooded her. He might hate desiring her, but his dick didn’t. This part of him—she freed him from the confines of his black boxers—loved her.

  She didn’t waste time teasing him. Not when his dense, earthy musk teased her, and her mouth watered for the taste of him. Arrowing his length downward, she swallowed him. Another of his harsh moans rippled through the room and two large hands cradled her head, oddly gentle, and a contradiction to the barely leashed control of his straining body.

  Closing her eyes, she lost herself in him. The feel of him sliding over her tongue. The threat of him nudging the back of her throat. The power of him pulsing in her hand. The taste of him she coaxed on each glide back up the length of his cock.

  In this moment, as he bunched her curls in his hands, lifting them away from her face so he could glimpse every hard suckle, she was...powerful. He was hers.

  And she was his.

  In this moment.

  “Enough.” His gravel-roughened order came seconds before he grabbed her by the shoulders and hoisted her up and off his body. But only long enough to shuck his pants, remove a condom from the wallet and sheathe himself. Then he reached for her, pulling her back on top of him. Grasping one of her hips with one hand, he squeezed his cock with t
he other, holding himself at her entrance. “Take me, Mycah.”

  It could’ve been a demand. It could’ve been a plea.

  She gave in to both.

  Slowly, she sank down over him.

  Her breath snagged in her throat at the impossibly tight fit, and she paused, shaking. Yes, she’d done this with him before. But this position made him seem bigger, thicker. Her fingernails dug into the dense muscles of his chest, and she shook with the increasing pressure as she pushed down, taking more.

  The stretch. The burn.

  And underneath? The pleasure.

  Pleasure, simply because it was Achilles inside her, filling her, branding her flesh, marking her.

  “Shh. Easy, baby. Take what you need.” He cupped her breasts, whisking his thumbs over the beaded nipples, his long hair tangled around his head. His hooded gaze seemed to miss nothing—not her struggle, not even her pleasure. His face hardened into a mask of such fierce lust, it stole what little air she had left in her lungs. “You’re so fucking tight. So wet. Months I’ve been dreaming about this, and nothing came close to how perfect you are.”

  Months? So she hadn’t been alone in not forgetting that night?

  A silent cry echoed in her head, and she sank lower. Oh, God. She had to move. Had to...do something. Using his chest as leverage, she rose off him until just the tip of him kissed her folds, then she took him back inside, the wide, thick length of him claiming her just as she claimed him.

  Twin ragged groans penetrated the room, and with his hands still caressing her breasts, she rode him. Cautiously, at first, but gradually, with more abandon until he filled all of her and her behind slapped his thighs. It was so damn good.

  Achilles replaced his hands with his mouth, drawing on her, sucking on her, torturing her as his big hands encouraged her to fuck him...to break him.

  He tunneled a hand into her hair, pulled her head down as he reached between them and circled a blunt fingertip over the nub of flesh at the top of her sex.

  “Let me feel you come all over me, baby.”

  This was all demand. And she obeyed. He gave that engorged, pulsing flesh two more hard, relentless circles and she exploded, came apart for him. For herself.

  And as he followed close behind her, his giant body surging and pitching beneath her, she clung to him, wringing out every last bit of the orgasm snapping through her like the hottest of lightning bolts.

  Just like this release, she would claim all of tonight for herself because tomorrow she had to start the process of letting go all over again.

  * * *

  “Will you tell me about her?”

  Beneath her, Achilles’s body jerked, then stilled, as if he hadn’t meant to betray his reaction to her question but hadn’t quite managed to hide it. His heart beat solidly, but at an elevated rate under her ear.

  They continued to lie in his bed, the sheets twisted around their bodies from their last bout of sex. At some point during the night, he’d carried her from the living room up the stairs to the bedroom, and she’d discovered once more that slow, tender sex with Achilles was just as hot and mind-blowing as when it was fast and intense. But now, as the sweat dried on their skin and her thoughts had started whirling again, she couldn’t stop them.

  And couldn’t keep them from tumbling out of her mouth.

  Mycah didn’t repeat the request or say anything else to expound on the her. She didn’t need to; they both knew to whom she referred.

  He remained silent so long, she assumed he decided not to answer her. Disappointment flashed inside her chest, but not surprise. Sex didn’t mean he would suddenly confide in her. Especially about someone who’d obviously had such an impact on his—

  “What do you want to know?” The words erupted from him as if he’d propelled them out. Get them out or never say them at all.

  She blinked, part of her unsure she’d actually heard him, but she quickly recovered, not willing to squander this opportunity.

  “Are you still in love with her?” Oh, for God’s sake.

  She mentally cringed. That’s what she led with? Dammit, she sounded...needy.

  “No.” Gently grasping her shoulders, he lifted her. Sitting up, he slid across the mattress until his back hit the headboard. His hair tumbled about his face and shoulders, that piercing gaze narrowing on her. “Why would you ask me that?”

  She shrugged. How could she answer that, when she didn’t know herself? “When someone remains so angry with another person it’s usually because they still have strong feelings for them.”

  “I’m not angry with her.” His dark brows slashed down in a frown. “She taught me a valuable lesson I’ll never forget, but I’d have to care about her to be angry. And I don’t give a damn either way.”

  “What was the lesson?” Mycah whispered, certain she already knew.

  He watched her for several long, quiet moments, then said, voice flat but soft, “Most rich women will toy with someone out of their tax bracket, but when it comes down to it, they’re not settling for the dirty little secret.”

  Each word landed like a solid punch, and through sheer will she didn’t flinch from the blows. Did he believe she saw him as a dirty secret? Second class? Out of her league? She scrolled through their interactions, beginning at the bar and ending with the evening at her parents’ house. Here, in the living room with his confession about hating himself for wanting her.

  Yes, he did believe that.

  Pain and anger sizzled inside her, but as quickly as it flared, she extinguished it. This wasn’t about her. And as much as she longed to defend herself, she couldn’t make it about her.

  “Will you tell me what happened?” she asked.

  He cocked his head, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Why is it important to you?”

  “Because I want to know who I’m being punished for. And why.” And maybe, just maybe, though he claimed he wasn’t angry, speaking about it could lance this obvious wound.

  Again, he didn’t immediately reply, but after a long pause, he finally nodded. Turning his head, he shifted his gaze from her to the glass wall that, during the day, would provide a phenomenal view of Boston Harbor.

  “I met her not long after my mom died,” he began. “My mom and I were living in Tacoma by then, and it’d been just us. You might not have noticed, but I don’t play well with others—” a slight quirk of his lips, there and gone in an instant “—so I didn’t have anyone among my coworkers that I’d call friends, just acquaintances. So with Mom gone, I was alone, and when this beautiful, sophisticated, cultured woman approached me at one of my company’s investors’ parties, I fell. And I fell hard.”

  Okay, maybe she didn’t want to hear this story. Jealousy sparked and writhed inside her, and though she reminded herself she’d literally asked for this, she couldn’t snuff it out. Couldn’t abolish the thought of this beautiful, sophisticated, cultured woman with this virile, gorgeous man.

  “She claimed to love me, said she was interested in my career, concerned about my well-being. Even encouraged me to see a grief counselor about my mother. But the moment the counselor cautioned me about jumping into a relationship so soon after Mom’s death, she found a way to shut that down. Told me the counselor was against us. And stupid-ass me believed her. Fuck.” He loosed a harsh bark of laughter. “I was so goddamn dumb and needy.”

  “Stop it.” For the first time since he started relaying his story, she spoke, scooting closer and grabbing his hand in both of hers. He turned from the window, dipping his head to stare down at their clasped hands. “The fact that you recognized you needed a counselor is brave. You actually going? Even braver. That she manipulated you into stopping, using your trust and love to further her own agenda, is her shame, not yours. So don’t you dare take that on you.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers. He didn’t nod, but he didn’t refute her, eith
er. Mycah took that as a win.

  “We were together a year and a half, although that was a year too long. In that time, I never met her family, although she promised I would, I just needed to be patient. She did take me around her friends, though. Bought me new clothes, dressed me up, trotted me out to the clubs, bars, parties. Though she said she cared about my career, if my work interfered with her social events, she resented it. Even tried to sabotage it by calling my supervisor and insisting I be placed on less demanding projects, and expecting to be obeyed since she was an investor. See, she believed her money and pedigree would solve any problem or situation. Including me. Because I was her toy to play with, dress up, bend and, when the time came, to put on the shelf.”

  “Achilles.” Part of her didn’t want him to finish. But again, not about her. Not about the hole he ripped in her chest with each word. So she didn’t say anything else. Just continued to hold his hand.

  “I finally ended it, but not because I woke up or got fed up. Only because a coworker who knew we were dating took pity on me and emailed me the engagement announcement in the Tacoma society pages. Her engagement announcement to the heir of a financial empire.” His mouth twisted into a sardonic caricature of a smile. “When I confronted her about it, she waved it off. As if her upcoming marriage meant nothing. Because to her, it didn’t. She expected me to remain her fucking side piece. As I’d been all along, I just hadn’t known it. And she actually appeared shocked when I told her hell no. Seems no one had told her that before.”

  He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then tunneled his fingers through his hair, dragging the strands back from his face.

  “I grew up in the roughest parts of Seattle, considered myself street-smart. I’d been through—” something hard...haunted flickered in his eyes “—some shit. But the first time a beautiful woman other than my mother showed me compassion, attention, I lost myself. I became someone I didn’t recognize. And I’ve never forgiven myself for it. I don’t know if I can. Because if I do, I’ll forget and I’ll do it again. I can never go back to that place. Ever.”