Secrets of a One Night Stand--A pregnant by the billionaire romance Page 3

  She knew what she looked like. Knew what she brought to the table. Also knew her connections, her name, her pedigree were as much an enticement as her face or her body. Sometimes even more so.

  Yet this man wanted her in spite of those trappings. Those...albatrosses.

  That deepened her hunger for him.

  She didn’t analyze it. Just accepted it.

  More than that. She ached for it.

  “So... Am I closing out tabs here or what?”

  Mycah jerked straight, her head snapping to the side to meet the narrowed gaze of the bartender. Out of her peripheral vision, she caught Achilles slowly leaning back. Behaving much less “caught in the act.” Which was ridiculous on Mycah’s part since it hadn’t been her who’d been making visual promises to get naked with the bartender.

  “Yes,” he said to the other woman without the least bit of guilt or regret coating his voice. “You can close out both of them.” He reached into his back pocket.

  “That’s not necessary—”

  He shot her a hooded glance. “Oh, it is.” Returning his attention to the bartender, he removed several bills that appeared more than enough to cover the tabs and laid them on the bar top. “Close out both and keep the change.”

  Rising from the stool, he held out his hand toward Mycah, palm up. For a long moment, she stared at that big hand with its long fingers and clean nails. Not only was she about to place her hand in his, but so much more. Her body. Her pleasure. Her safety.

  All of that with a man whom she’d known for less than three hours.

  It was crazy. Nonsensical. So not her...

  She slid her palm over his. Tangled her fingers with his.

  And when he tugged her to her feet, she went, her chest brushing his, her thighs nudging his. The heavy weight of his cock branding her belly.

  She closed her eyes, lust spiraling through her in a heated glide that incinerated breath and any lingering doubt.

  “Let me hear you say it.” His other hand gripped her waist, squeezed it. She locked her jaw to contain the whimper that climbed her throat. With a will she hadn’t known she possessed, she forced the needy sound back down. “Use that pretty mouth and tell me this is what you want.”

  “If you expect me to cry foul tomorrow, I won’t. No regrets, Achilles.” She inhaled a deep breath and tilted her head, studying him. “Now, if you’ll let me go, we can get out of here. I can grab a room at whatever hotel you’re staying at for whenever we’re...finished for the night.”

  “Finished for the night,” he enunciated, a note of incredulity imbedded in his voice. But in the next instant it was replaced by a darker, hungrier tone that vibrated through her, thrumming in her breasts, low in her belly, high in her sex. “What dickless wonders had you in their bed and were satisfied with being finished for the night?” He snarled those words with such a healthy dose of scorn that even if she’d suddenly lost her hearing she wouldn’t have missed it.

  Maybe she should’ve been embarrassed at his astonishment. But the fact that he seemed insulted on her behalf and angry at the men who’d shortchanged her alleviated some of the sting.

  “I think...” She cleared her throat, but the lust thickening her voice didn’t evaporate. To hell with it. “I think you should stop talking so we can get out of here and go catch a cab.”

  He made a sound low in his throat that could’ve been a laugh or a grunt.

  Both had warmth spilling inside her.

  Both had her chest squeezing tight.

  Both had danger alarms blinking like warning signs on an unlit road.

  And allowing him to guide her from the bar, she didn’t heed them.

  Three

  For the first time since arriving at the luxurious five-star hotel with its over-the-top decor, Achilles was thankful for the arrangements his father’s estate had made. While he still cringed at the floor-to-ceiling windows that had him itching to yank the drapes closed against the Boston skyline and terrible feeling of exposure, Mycah no doubt appreciated the panoramic view.

  What would she think of his cabin? Or the mountains that surrounded it? Would she appreciate the beauty there? Or would the silence, the solitude, the lack of amenities bore her inside a couple of days?

  He mentally shook his head. Why was he even entertaining those questions? They were pointless because this—Mycah in his hotel room, the sex that would happen—wouldn’t go past tonight.

  But they did have tonight.

  And from the moment she’d stood up from that stool, confirming every fantasy about her body, he’d been exceedingly grateful to deities both Christian and pagan for tonight.

  As she glided across the sunken living area into the dining room, the lights from the crystal chandelier hitting her tight, raw-honey curls, his hungry gaze dropped to the sensual sway of her round hips. To the tight perfection of her full ass. The thickness of her thighs. And when she peeled off her suit jacket, laying it over the back of a dining room chair, his fascinated stare rose to the pull of material across her breasts. His fingers curled, straightened. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to imagine the feel of her undoubtedly firm yet tender flesh.

  Unbidden, like an animal scenting its mate—there he went again with the fanciful shit—he followed her. But not to touch her, even though the need to do so rode him hard. Like a child with sticky fingers and his face pressed against a candy store window, he enjoyed looking at her. Because no matter how much he wished it didn’t, her beauty captivated him. Dark brown, heavily lashed eyes that seemed full of secrets yet brimming with a vulnerable truth. Arrogant cheekbones, a patrician nose, stubborn but delicate jaw and chin, and a carnal mouth that he couldn’t stop staring at. Couldn’t stop picturing working him over until he trembled and begged...

  “Do you want me to get rid of my clothes so they don’t remind you of who I am? Would that make this easier for you?” she asked, turning away from the wall of glass, her fingers fiddling with the top button of her nearly sheer shirt.

  A teasing note infiltrated her voice, but he caught the hint of stiffness beneath. The...insecurity. And he’d put it there with his words, his personal hang-ups. It was his responsibility to erase that doubt. It didn’t belong between them. Not here. Not tonight.

  “Is that what you think?” He edged closer, cocked his head. Pinching a curl, he tugged it and watched as heat flared bright in those chocolate eyes and her carnal lips parted on a soft gasp. “That you can just strip off that suit, slip out of those shoes and I won’t be reminded of, what? How soft and delicate this skin is?” He rubbed the back of his finger down the satin of her cheek. “Of how cultured and sexy this voice is?”

  He lowered his hand to her throat, necklacing the slim column. If she’d stiffened or shoved at him—protested the hold in any way—he would’ve released her. But she didn’t. No, Mycah’s lashes fluttered, and she slightly leaned into his palm, as if relishing the show of dominance. His cock jerked behind his zipper, blood roaring south to fill his flesh in a flood that left him almost light-headed. He ground his teeth against the lust that scalded him.

  Inhaling, he dipped his head, dragged his nose up the tendon that ran along the side of her neck. “What? You think taking off your clothes will somehow erase this scent that’s grace, woman...sex?” He shook his head, brushing his lips over the line of her jaw and nearly growling at the skin-to-skin contact. “No, Mycah. Stripping can’t make me forget who you are. And it for damn sure wouldn’t make things easier for me. Just. Fucking. Harder.”

  “Achilles.”

  “Yeah?” He grazed another caress over her jaw, her chin, unable to help himself. Not sure he wanted to.

  “Kiss me. Please.”

  So demanding.

  So polite.

  And both had him crushing his mouth to hers in a greedy onslaught.

  That first taste. It crashe
d into him like a meteor set on a collision course with Earth. Hot. Cataclysmic. Fatalistic.

  She opened for him without hesitation, and he dived deep, taking immediate advantage. The kiss was...carnage. It left him wrecked, wide open and damn near shaking. He sent mental orders to his hands to be gentle on her hair, to not fist the strands so tight, to not pull so hard. But they didn’t listen. They didn’t loosen. Thank God Mycah didn’t seem to mind. No, the opposite. From the hot, tiny whimpers that he swallowed directly from her greedy tongue, she appeared to want it...crave more of it.

  So he gave it to her.

  He tugged on those rough silk curls, hauling her head back, angling it and diving deeper. Consuming more. Leaving nothing untouched, undiscovered. Every lick, every suck, every lap stoked a need that crackled and raged. But he wasn’t satisfied with burning in those flames. He wanted to be devoured by them.

  Untangling one hand from her hair, he lowered it to her throat again, feeling the mad thrum of her pulse under his palm. Reveling in the rush of it. Because it was for him. He sent blood pumping through her, excitement and lust rushing through her. Him.

  The knowledge lit up his veins, and he snatched his mouth from hers, ignoring her small cry of disappointment to latch on to that thin patch of skin. He tongued it, tasting the richness of her scent, grunting at the bite of her nails in his shoulders. His hips punched forward at that hint of pain, mating with the pleasure twisting and bucking inside him. He ground his cock against the soft swell of her belly, growling like an animal. His gut clenched, lust a vise clamping tighter. And tighter.

  “Fuck,” he muttered against her damp skin.

  Lifting his head, he captured her mouth once more, unable not to. He needed... God, he hated saying that word even in his head. Hated that it was true. But he did. He ached for her taste on his lips. Hurt for the cushion of her flesh against his throbbing dick. Hungered for the almost plaintive sounds that escaped her—that let him know he wasn’t in this struggle by himself.

  Though it cost him, he levered back and away from her. But just for a moment. Long enough to reach behind him, grab a fistful of his shirt and pull it over his head. Lips swollen and eyes hooded, Mycah watched him. And as he dropped the bunched cotton to the floor, she lifted her hands to the top of her own shirt, but he stopped her with a hard shake of his head.

  “Let me.” With fingers that suddenly felt too big, too clumsy, he plucked at the little pearl buttons, pushing them through the corresponding holes.

  His heart kicked against his rib cage in steel-toe boots as he revealed smooth brown flesh encased in light purple lace. All moisture fled his mouth, and he didn’t stop until he skated his palms over her shoulders, sliding her shirt down her arms and to the floor.

  “Fucking beautiful.” The last word scratched against his vocal cords as he traced a path along the pretty edge where lace met skin.

  Gooseflesh broke out where his fingertip tread, and he jerked his gaze up to her face, amazement sparking inside his chest. Yes, she’d allowed him to strip her of her shirt, let him touch these gorgeous breasts, but still... Part of him still couldn’t believe it. Still wondered when she’d change her mind.

  “Whatever you do tonight,” she said, grasping his larger hand in her smaller, more delicate one and pressing it harder to her flesh, “don’t treat me like I’ll break. I can take it, take you. Give me all of you, Achilles. Don’t hold back on me.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking, Mycah, telling a man like me not to hold back.”

  As...ominous as that sounded, he’d gone into that bar to forget about his dead sperm donor, about brothers he hadn’t known existed, about being forced into a world he wanted nothing to do with.

  About being rejected, scorned by that world—again.

  So yeah, he’d gone there seeking nothing more than to lose himself in oblivion—alcohol and sex. And that didn’t lend itself toward control or setting limitations on himself. And once he got his mouth on that dusky valley between her breasts or that dip where her torso and thigh connected—or her dark, wet sex... Yeah, control would be a pipe dream.

  Mycah shifted closer and lifted her arms, burrowing her hands into his hair, her nails scraping over his scalp.

  “Do your worst.”

  He shuddered, at her words and at her touch. Pleasure streaked through him. Groaning, he gripped her hips and, hiking her in the air, nudged the chairs out of the way and set her on top of the dining room table. Her soft, startled gasp segued into a sharp cry as he bent over her and sucked a diamond-hard, lace-covered nipple between his lips.

  His own low moan almost drowned her out, his mouth insistent, impatient. Ravenous. He pulled on the beaded tip, drawing on her. The pinpricks dancing across his scalp from her restless fingers only stirred him, encouraged him. With his free hand, he unsnapped the front clasp of her bra and quickly removed it, cursing as he cupped her flesh.

  “Achilles,” she whispered, twisting against him, thrusting her breasts into his mouth. “Please.”

  There was no way he could deny such a pretty plea. Switching to the other mound, he nuzzled the neglected nipple, then plied it with licks and sensual laps. By the time he finished, skimming his lips down her damp torso, her chest heaved, her stomach going concave under his tongue. But he didn’t pause, couldn’t. Not when passion and need swept him up in an undertow so fierce, he was powerless against it. Not when lust clawed and howled inside him like a voracious beast that demanded to be satisfied.

  Not when he doubted he could ever be satisfied.

  Even as the sacrilegious thought skipped through his head and his heart thudded in protest, he pressed a hand to her chest, gently urging her to lie back on the table. She watched him, a wary expression flashing across her face.

  “Trust me?” Why he asked that, he didn’t know. He didn’t need her trust; that’s not what tonight was about. But he didn’t try to retract the question. Partly because, though it didn’t make sense, he wanted it. He wanted her assent.

  After a moment, she slowly dipped her head, sending relief coursing through him. “In this—” her gaze flicked down her bare torso to where his fingers lightly gripped the tab at her waist “—yes. I trust you.”

  It was enough.

  In quick work, he freed her of the pants, taking her panties with them, pausing only to remove the heels from her slender feet. Placing fleeting kisses along her instep, he trailed a worshipful path back up her inner thighs. He closed his eyes, inhaling her earthy musk, savoring it. Craving it on his tongue.

  “Achilles.” Mycah cupped his head, her beautiful legs tightening around him. Preventing him from moving. “I haven’t... I’ve never... I don’t—Hell.”

  He stopped, settling into one of the dining room chairs as if having a woman spread out before him like a delicious buffet was a common occurrence. No, not a woman. Mycah. And there was nothing common about her. Trying not to stare at her trembling breasts with their beaded, dark nipples or the lush beauty of her thighs or the soaked, swollen folds of her sex was a struggle that defied human strength and veered into something out of mythological trials.

  “You haven’t what, Mycah? Had a man’s mouth on you? Do you want me stop?” Jesus Christ, it might kill him—especially when he could see the evidence of how much she wanted him on her flesh—but he would. Cold anger pulsed inside him for the selfish pricks who hadn’t given her this.

  “No, of course I’ve...had a man’s mouth on me. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you while you’re literally sitting between my legs,” she muttered, pressing the heel of her palm over her eyes. She propped herself up on her elbows, curls wild around her face and shoulders, her face an adorable mixture of confusion and surprise.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked again. Because to him—and his dick—that was the most important issue here.

  “No,” she whispered,
her eyes glazing over.

  “Then what have you never done, Mycah?”

  “This.” She waved a hand down her body, encompassing him. “On a table. With the lights so...bright,” she finished, her voice containing a tinge of embarrassment. “Could we possibly go to the, I don’t know, couch or bed, where I don’t feel so...exposed? I mean, people eat on this table.”

  “No.”

  She stared at him. Blinked. “No?”

  “No.” He shifted to the edge of the chair, simultaneously gripping her hips and tugging her closer to the end of the table. “You told me not to treat you like you’re fragile, like you’ll break. Light won’t break you. Pushing you out of a comfort zone won’t break you.” He pushed his face into the fragrant space where her torso and thigh met. Inhaled. Growled. “Like you said, people eat on this table. Well, so will I.”

  He dived into her.

  Palming her thighs, he spread her wide and feasted on her. He dragged his tongue through her folds, losing himself in the sweet, spiced taste of her. Taking his time to lick and nibble. To explore and discover what made her legs tremble, that little bud of flesh flinch. What drew whimper after whimper. He became a connoisseur in everything Mycah.

  Though his dick ached, he could stay here, his mouth buried against her, pleasuring her. An inane thought crept in his mind, there and gone before he could banish it: purpose. I’ve found my purpose. Giving this woman ecstasy.

  “Achilles.” Once more her fingers had found their way to his hair, tangling and pulling, holding him close. Her hips bucked, rocked, demanded. There existed no ambiguity about what she needed from him. “Please. I need...” A sound between a whimper and a cry escaped her but the abrupt flex of her ass telegraphed her request. “Please,” she whispered.

  Before, he’d thought her pleas pretty. This time, they shredded him. And that primal part of him that desired—hell, was obligated—to provide what she asked of him. Sucking the bundle of nerves that crested her sex, he thrust two fingers inside her. Deep. Hard.