New York Billionaires Series

My gasp of surprise turns into a breathless laugh as he lifts me up. Carries me through the living room and into his bedroom, shutting the door in the face of an all-too-curious golden retriever.

I slide down his body, feet touching the floor, but I keep my arms around his neck. His hands are reverent and soft over my naked skin. They sweep in arcs over my bare back and down my hips, like he’s mapping my body.

I touch him the same way. Trace the strong, wide curve of his shoulders and the groove down his stomach. Grasp the hard length of him in my hand.

He groans against my lips, breath quickening when I start to stroke. “So it wasn’t that cold in the water,” I tease.Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

His answering chuckle is hoarse. He rests his forehead against mine, chest rising and falling with the force of his breathing.

I smooth my thumb over the blunt head and he groans. It’s been a long time since I’ve touched a man like this, and he’s deliciously soft and hard and silky at the same time.

He tips my head back and kisses me, tongue slipping between my lips, mimicking the movement of his hips against my hand. I’m so full of him my head is swimming and he’s not even inside of me yet.

Anthony walks me back to his bed and lifts me again. Effortless for him, it seems.

He lays me down on the soft linen. I cradle him between my legs as he moves down my body, mouth tracing collarbones, across my breasts, finding the hard peak of a nipple.

He bites down.

I gasp, legs widening in a plea.

Anthony hears it. His hand slides up my inner thigh, closer, and closer still, until his fingers finally brush over my most sensitive skin.

He gives a low groan of approval and switches nipples, fingers moving. My breath hitches in my throat as his thumb brushes over the right spot.

He hears that, too, fingers returning without mercy to the swollen nub. Taking it between two knuckles and rubbing until I have to hold on to his shoulders for support. He presses his lips against my neck and whispers how hard he is for me, how good I feel, how much he longs to be inside of me.

I break apart with an ease I didn’t know I could, cheeks flushing with the force of my orgasm.

Anthony kisses me and knots a hand in my wet hair. Reaches for a pillow and props it up beneath my hips, hands spreading my inner thighs, looking down at me.

He doesn’t say a thing, but it’s there in his touch, the reverence.

I’ve never felt more wanted.

I reach between my legs and grasp his erection again. Pull him forward, pressed against me.

“Condom,” he says.

I hadn’t even thought of that. And I always think about that. “Do you have one?”

Anthony nods and reaches for his bedside drawer. The crackle of foil follows and we both watch as he rolls it on in a smooth motion. Nerves and a throbbing ache mingle inside of me, watching as he presses my legs apart with his knees and reaches down to guide himself inside.

I sigh with pleasure at the first entry. It’s like I’m welcoming him home, and as I wrap my legs around his hips and run my hands over his broad back, I realize it’s never felt like that with anyone before.

Anthony braces himself above me, burying himself to the hilt with a groan.

I clasp his face between my hands and kiss him as he starts to move. Tears blur behind my eyes with the force of it all, my own pleasure heightening my emotions.

Anthony drives an arm beneath my neck and bends his head to my collarbone. Wet, salty hair falls against my cheek, but his breath is hot.

I hold him as his body surges with power, his hips speeding up. One of his arms locks beneath my knee and pulls my leg up, the fit growing deeper. The new angle sends waves of pleasure through my body with each quick thrust, until I’m hovering at the edge. It’s Anthony’s own pleasure that sends me over it. He loses control as he crests, thrusts growing erratic.

He groans against my neck with the force of his release and I grip him tightly through my own, my world beginning and ending with us, as close as two people can be.

“The round knob is for the plate cabinet,” Anthony says, voice dry. “The triangle is for the glass cabinet.”

I open both and take in the neatly organized plate-ware. Small beads are attached to the wooden cabinet dividers. I run my fingers along them. Two beads for water glasses. Three for bowls. Four for plates.

“Did they give you instructions for this?”

“There’s a manual somewhere. I can’t remember where I put it.” He takes another bite of the omelet on his plate. “Come eat your breakfast, Summer.”

“This is interesting.”

“It’s fucking depressing.”

I don’t let that stop me, though, not as I open the fridge. It had struck me as supremely well-organized before. Drawers with large labels and plastic bins. Now I see it for what it is.

A support system.

“You already took out the orange juice,” he comments.

“That’s right.” I close it and sit down beside him at the kitchen counter, my bare legs against the leather seat. I fold up the shirtsleeves of his button-down and cut into my own omelet.

“We have one day left here,” he says, reaching for his orange juice.

“When is your driver coming to pick us up?”

“Four.”

“Hmm. What do you want to do?”

Anthony gives me a look that sends blood flooding to my cheeks. “I know exactly what I want to do,” he says. “But I’ll understand if you want to take in the scenery.”

I reach for my glass of OJ and take a deep sip. We’d fallen asleep together in his bed last night. Woken up late, and gotten up later still after our decision to indulge in one another again. Anthony had entered me from the side, one of his hands on my breast and the other between my legs, until both of us were fully awake.

The memory makes me blush.

“Let’s stay in,” I say.

His lips curl. “Let’s.”

“But we have to walk along the beach again, and we definitely have to swim in the pool.”

“I’m starting to think you have an addiction.”

“To pools?”