Page 16 of Christmas with the Billionaire
10
Ellie
When Charles sent me a text out of the blue asking me to join him on this adventure, I thought I was experiencing the most impossible thing ever.
HavingtheCharles Thornton join me in the shower? I’m still wondering if something so unreal can really happen.
Then the curtain flutters and his thick fingers appear, clutching the thin sheet before revealing an expression on his face that stills my next breath in my chest.
The man I’ve stared at on covers of magazines and watched interviews—the reserved businessman who smiles for cameras—is gone. In his place is a stranger with a predator’s focus.
His gaze doesn’t just land on me; it consumes, stripping away the steam and the distance between us until I feel utterly laid bare. His green eyes, usually so cool and detached, are now dark, the pupils swallowing the irises whole.
They trace a slow, scorching path from my wet hair, over my flushed cheeks, down the slope of my neck, and over my breasts, as if memorizing the shape of me. There’s so much to drink in, but he’s swallowing every drop.
I hardly recognize him, but my body recognizes the heat that floods me under his stare, a liquid fire pooling low in my belly. I’m still trying to accept that this man, this Charles Thornton, thinks I’m beautiful. The thought is so foreign it feels like a dream.
My voice is a shaky attempt at bravery, a whisper that gets lost in the spray before it finds him. “Are you just going to stare, or are you going to join me?”
The spell breaks. That hungry stare leaves my body, his eyes flicking up to meet mine before he steps into the shower.
I don’t get a warning before I get an eyeful of the monster hanging between his thighs. Oh mygod.
My breath hitches. He’s thick and gutted, heavy with a promise that makes my knees weak. A mean-looking vein runs its length, a stark, pulsing road map of his arousal.
My mouth actually waters, and my heart hammers against my ribs, so loud, I’m worried he’ll hear it.
The reality of the situation crashes into me. I’m taking up all the hot water. “Here,” I manage, my voice untrustworthy. “Take some.” I take a step back, pressing against the cool tiles. The shock isn’t enough to cool the heat consuming my body.
He steps forward, but he doesn’t stop at the stream of water. He moves with a single-minded intent, closing the distance until his body is flush against mine, the heat of him searing through the warm water.
I don’t have time to prepare, to think, to do anything but feel.
His mouth crashes down on mine. Was this what he was thinking about, too?
The kiss in the bookstore now feels like child’s play compared to what’s currently happening. This is the inferno. This kiss is hot and heavy, a claiming that steals the air from my lungs.
His tongue parts my lips, not asking, but taking, and I surrender to the taste of him. All I can do is moan, enjoying as he takes everything he wants. Somehow, he wantsme.
I pull away, gasping, the world spinning. “Is this… is this really happening?”
A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating straight through me. “It better fucking be.”
His mouth finds mine again, and this time, I meet his hunger with my own. I suck on his tongue, a bold, experimental move, and the groan it elicits from him is the most rewarding sound I’ve ever heard. He likes that.
My hands slide up his slick, powerful shoulders, feeling the corded muscle bunch under my palms. Every inch of him is hard, his body tense from holding back for what feels like forever.
“Please,” I beg against his lips, my voice ragged. “Charles, touch me.”
I can feel a shiver move through him at the demand in my voice. They hover over my skin, a tremor running through his arms. His fingertips barely graze my hips, and I’m willing to bet it’ll ache so good once he grips them.
“Why?” I whisper, searching his face as I steady my breathing. The hunger is still there, but it’s warring with something else, something vulnerable and deep.
His eyes hold mine, and his throat bobs. “Because I’ve wanted to for so long,” he admits, the confession ripped from him. “I’m afraid if I do, you’ll disappear. That’s how every fantasy ends. You disappear.”
Charles Thornton fantasizes about me. I can’t believe it. He’s been wanting. He’s been dreaming. Just like me.
I don’t answer with words. I reach down and grab his wrist, his skin slick and hot under my grasp. I press his broad, calloused palm firmly against my breast.
