Page 29 of Dating the Billionaire
He wanted her—so damn badly. Tension gripped his body, making every muscle ache with desire. His skin tingled even through his shirt where her hands splayed across his chest. He wanted to pull her closer, wanted to swing her up in his arms and carry her right to the bed. But...
“I have a date,” he warned her.
“I know,” she said. “I’m your date.”
“But Miranda...”
“Miranda owed me a favor,” she said. Her lips curved up. “Actually she owes me a lot of favors.”
“If you wanted to see me,” he said, “all you had to do was answer the messages I left for you.” But she hadn’t, and he had to remind himself of that, had to hold on to control of his irrational need to be with her. She’d ghosted him, and she wouldn’t have done that if she was as attracted to him as he was to her.
She nodded. “I know. I’ve been busy. And it hasn’t been that long.”
Two weeks. It had seemed interminable to him. And usually, being busy himself, it wouldn’t have seemed that long. But something about her...
He’d never felt this way about anyone before, had never become so intrigued so quickly or so attached.
“It was too long,” he said as his grip on control began to slip. He wanted to resist, to protect himself, so that she didn’t stomp all over his ego again.
A shaky sigh slipped out of her lips. “So you don’t want me?” she asked.
He wanted her too damn much, so much that his control snapped. He swung her up in his arms and headed toward the bedroom.
And a giggle replaced the sad-sounding sigh she’d uttered moments before. Her arm slung around his shoulders, she arched up and kissed the side of his neck.
The tingling he’d already felt spread throughout him. He had plans for the night, plans that hadn’t included her. But now that she was here...
Everything was about Savannah. He laid her on the bed, but unlike that night where he’d been so concerned about her pleasure, now he could think only of how badly he wanted her, how badly he needed her.
So he followed her down onto the mattress, pressing his body to hers, so she would know what she’d done to him, how much he desired her. His erection strained against the fly of his dress pants...until she released it.
Her hands were between them, moving. First she pulled down the zipper, then she closed her hand around him, stroking him. The sensation of her skin against his...
He nearly came. But that would be too quickly and not enough. Not nearly enough pleasure.
In giving her pleasure that night, he’d intensified his own. So he pulled back now...just far enough that he could unzip her jeans and ease them down her long, long legs. While he did that, she arched up and dragged her sweater over her head and unclasped her bra. It fell away, freeing her full breasts.
Her body was perfect. So feminine and full, with generous curves and silky skin. He had to touch, had to trace his fingers around those mounds, had to cup the weight of them in his palms. Then he lowered his mouth and flicked his tongue across one taut rosy nipple and then the other.
She moaned and tunneled her fingers in his hair, holding his mouth against her breast. So he closed his lips around the nipple and gently tugged on it. And she moaned again, louder, longer.
She excited him so damn much, her responsiveness urging him to give her more and more. So he pushed her back onto the bed, and he moved his mouth from her breast, over the slight curve of her belly to where only a thin scrap of lace covered her mound. He tried to pull it down, but in his desperate grasp the lace tore and fell away from her.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes.”
She didn’t care about the underwear. He knew what she wanted.
What he wanted...
So he buried his face between her legs, licking and teasing her with his tongue until she writhed against the mattress, tearing at the sheets and then grasping his head. She ground herself against his mouth, desperate for release.
And he gave it to her, sliding two fingers and his tongue inside her. Her body convulsed as he drank in the sweetness of her orgasm. He’d missed this—the taste of her—so damn much; hell, he’d missed her—too damn much.
“Oh my God,” she murmured weakly as she lay limp on the mattress. “You really are that good.”
“I really am,” he assured her. His body throbbed for its own release, demanding it. Wanting to bury himself inside her wet heat, he stood up and quickly disrobed until the only thing separating them was the condom he rolled on with a shaking hand. His cock pulsated within his grasp as he guided it inside her.
She bucked beneath him, arching her hips, taking him deeper. He buried himself to the hilt, thrusting and thrusting. She felt so damn good, so tight, so hot, her inner muscles grasping at him, squeezing him. He had not exaggerated in his mind how amazing she felt; she was even more amazing than he’d remembered. She was incredible, so it was no wonder he’d not wanted anyone else...but her.
