The Billionaire Shifter's Second Chance (Billionaire Shifters Club Book 3)

by Diana Seere

  “I’m starting to feel very warmly toward Shane.”

  Edward swung his face toward hers. His voice dropped to a growl. “Don’t go near the man. Forget I mentioned him. You’ve been pawed at by the wrong men more than enough for a lifetime. If he ever saw you—if you were wearing that dress—I swear upon my maker, Molly, I’d—” The truck swerved into gravel.

  “Hey. Easy, tiger.” She caressed his shoulder. They were too close to heaven on earth to die in a car accident prematurely. “Forget I mentioned his name.”

  “Lion,” Edward growled.

  Her voice rose. “He’s a lion too?”

  “Hell no. He’s not a shifter. The world would never survive such a thing. Derry has been more than enough.” Edward suddenly turned into a narrow road, recently plowed. “You called me ‘tiger.’ I was clarifying.” He turned and pulled up along a high snowdrift. A small cabin, its porch light glowing yellow in the dark, rose up ahead of them. He parked the truck and killed the engine.

  She flung herself against him, stroking and exploring, trying to crawl into his lap, digging her hands under his shirt, seeking skin and hair and muscle and flesh, unable to wait another moment. Her mouth found his, and his hands came up around her waist and lifted her with him out of the truck. He carried her as if she were nothing, found a key somewhere without ever breaking the contact between her lips and his, and brought her through the door and into the cool, dark interior. Only then did her feet hit the ground.

  “Edward, I want you so bad,” she gasped, fumbling with his fly.

  He grabbed her wrists and held them at her sides, holding her in place as he feasted on her mouth. “It’s been too long to ruin this by going too fast,” he said roughly, moving his lips to her neck. His breath was hot and quick. Wet tongue lapped at her pulse.

  A moan escaped her throat as her knees buckled, but he continued to pin her wrists in an iron grip, preventing her from holding on to him for balance.

  He solved her steadiness problem by bending down and lifting her onto his shoulder. She felt his hand slide up her thigh and over her ass, patting lightly, then not so lightly.

  “Let’s get a fire started,” he said.

  “Forget that, Ed. Already burning. Let’s just do it now, and we can do it slow later,” she pleaded. A strand of her hair, which had fallen into her face as he carried her, caught on her lips.

  And then she was flying backward, her hair floating with the rest of her. A thick duvet over a wide, pillowy mattress broke her fall.

  “Oh!” she cried.

  “Hold that thought.” He strode over to the fireplace and flicked a switch. Gold flames burst into life. As the first warm air was creeping over to touch her toes, Edward turned to stare at her, one hand on one hip, the other reaching for his shirt buttons.

  Desire made her throat go dry. “Get over here already,” she said, reaching for him.

  He shook his head. “I’m going to make this last if it kills me, Molly.” The shirt came apart, exposing more broad, powerful muscle than she’d ever suspected under all that preppy, boyish goodness. He was tight skin, bulging veins, with the kind of rippling abs honed through hard manual labor and fine genes. “And it just might.”

  She flung herself back on the bed and cried out in frustration. She didn’t want it to last, she wanted it now. They could make it last later.

  Patience had never been her strong suit.

  “You’d better not die on me,” she said. “What would I do with the body?”

  He dropped his pants, exposing tight, black knit boxers.

  Oh my. What wasn’t she going to do with his body? “Just so you know, I’m on the pill,” she blurted out.

  Quick as lightning, the boxers were gone too. Now he was naked. He cleared his throat and spoke in a low purr. “And just so you know, shifters can’t transmit human sexual viruses.”

  That helped explain Derry’s behavior, she thought.

  Suddenly too hot to breathe, she clutched at the neckline of her dress.

  “Take it off,” he said, taking a step toward the bed, all prowling lines and thick promise.

  Sucking in shallow breaths, she tugged and pulled unsuccessfully at the fabric encasing her body, her fabled fashion skills abandoning her. The buttons wouldn’t work. Or was there a zipper? It was a wrap dress, but the designer had added complications below the breast line.

  She couldn’t remember, and she certainly wasn’t going to break her gaze on Edward’s muscled, aroused physique to look now.

  “You’re going to tear it,” he said. “Let me.” He bent over, put his hand on her foot, slid it over her ankle, up her shin, under the hem of the dress, and then over her knee and higher, his fingers sliding down to the soft swell of her inner thighs as he moved up—but then he moved outward, pushing the fabric over her hips until it folded around her.

  He was on his hands and knees, straddling her legs, watching her with dark, unblinking eyes.

  She swallowed and stared back, her hand still clutching the fabric between her breasts. “I think there’s a zipper in the back.” As she pulled the sash loose, she cursed herself for her sartorial choice.

  “You don’t say,” he said softly.

  She nodded.

  “Roll over.”

  She nodded again. But he was on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. “I can’t move,” she said.

  With a faint smile, he rose up on his knees, his erection jutting out between them. She stretched for it, but he pushed her hand away, reached down, and flipped her over with one hand.

  Because she was only wearing a thong, she could feel the warm air from the fireplace brush across her bare bottom. And then she felt two strong, large hands grabbing on to her.

  “God, Molly,” he said.

  “I think the… zipper… is up… higher,” she said between breaths, arching into him.

  “I’ve changed my mind. You’re beautiful just like this.” He continued to stroke her ass. “I don’t ever want you to wear this dress again for anyone except me. Do you understand?”

  She shivered. His cock rested between the cheeks of her ass, sliding back and forth. He reached under her hips and shoved his fingers between the mattress and her soft flesh until he moved into wet, slick heat. She bucked, desperate to roll over and spread her legs for him, take him now, deep and hard, but he held her and teased her until she began to whimper into the pillow. Gasping for breath, she flung the pillow off the bed and lifted her hips to give him better access to the throbbing need building between her legs.

  “Please,” she begged.

  As if to prolong the suffering, his fingers slid out from under her body and up her spine. Brushing her hair to one side, he bent down and licked the back of her neck, then rested his open mouth on the taut, delicate muscle. She felt his teeth as his fingers unzipped her dress, the relief of being freed barely registering compared to the arousal that built in her, a pressure that made her want to burst.

  “Please,” she begged again. Her eyes were damp, as if she were crying. Going slow was going to kill her, not him.

  “Please what?”

  “Please keep touching me.” Her voice was a whimper.

  He stroked her ass. “Like this?” He knew what she wanted.

  “My clit,” she said, getting bolder. “Rub my clit.”

  Growling into her ear, he shoved his hand under her body again and wiggled his fingers between her thighs. She wasn’t shy about shifting her body to invite him, meet him, take him. His index finger slid around the thin strip of her panties, and then his palm hit gold. He was rough, firm, strong.

  “Like that?” His voice demanded she pay attention to him.

  She arched and flung her head back, rubbing her cheek against his bearded jaw. “God, yes. Yes.”

  “You like that?”

  “Of course I like that!” She sucked in a breath. She better not yell at him, or he might stop. “Perfect.” She shuddered. “Perfect. You’re perfect.” And he was. She
felt like everything was new but ancient, too, as if it had always been this way. They’d always been together and always would be. They’d met a million years ago and would be entwined a million years from now.

  But no. This was the first time, and this might be the only time.

  Her head spun. “Edward,” she whispered, a buzzing coming over her, potentiated by his skin. Their cells seemed to hum together, growing louder, higher, hotter.

  His voice softened to match hers. “Molly.”

  I love you, she almost said. But that was too much. “Thanks,” she said instead.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m really enjoying this.” Now she felt like an idiot. At least he couldn’t see her eyes. She was rolling them.

  He exhaled against her neck, pressing his palm into her wet folds. “Me too,” he said roughly, stroking faster, and then everything was suddenly all right again. Better than all right.

  Way, way better.

  “Let go, Molly,” he whispered.

  “I want… let’s come together.”

  “We will. Later.” He moved away and she felt cold, but then he was flipping her over again like a pancake on a griddle and—oh—he ducked his head between her legs and gave her a long, hungry kiss.

  She let her knees fall open—finally—and felt a rush of pleasure unlike any she’d ever known. Gasping, she looked up at the wood beams in the ceiling and then closed her eyes as the waves of ecstasy washed over her, bathing her in stars. She heard herself crying out—she’d always been noisy in bed—but before she could come down from the trip into the stratosphere, he was pushing her dress and bra down to draw a nipple into his mouth, and she crested another wave, and another, every nerve in her body electrified, connected to him, overwhelmed.

  “Molly,” he said simply, softly.

  It took her a moment to find her voice. “Edward.”

  “I’m so terribly sorry.” His voice was thick with regret, and it worried her out of her hazy happiness.

  “But why?” she asked, lifting her head from the pillow. The hairs at the back of her neck were sticky with sweat.

  He rose up on his knees, his thick cock in his hand. “Because I can’t go slow after all.” His knee shoved hers to one side as he climbed on top of her. “I need to be inside you.”

  Fresh lust burned deep within her. She nodded and closed her eyes, opening herself wider for him.

  And then she had a truly naughty thought. What if she made him wait a little longer? He’d teased her, hadn’t he?

  She brought her knees up to her chest, out from under him, and rolled off the bed before he could stop her. There was a little kitchen—maybe there was something interesting. The skirt of the dress dropped over her hips as she jogged away from the bed and out of his reach.

  “Molly! Where are you going?”

  He’d made her beg.

  Turnabout was fair play.

  Laughing, she flicked on the kitchen light and opened the fridge. While she explored its contents, she found the wits to finally unfasten her dress and let it drop to the floor. She stepped out of it and decided to lose the bra and panties, too. She’d need to wear something back to the Stanton estate. He’d almost ripped her dress to shreds already.

  The cool refrigerator air made her nipples tighten into hard buds. Idly caressing them, she was well aware of the electric presence of the man behind her. She could almost hear the tension thrumming in his body.

  “What,” he said tightly, “are you doing?”

  She ran a hand over her belly. “I was hungry. Ooh, fabulous. My favorite.” With a grin, she pulled out an aerosol can of whipped cream. After a quick check of the expiration date—vacation property pantries could be dangerous—she closed the door, turned around, and shook the container, well aware that the movement made her breasts jiggle.

  When his gaze fell, taking in the show, she aimed the nozzle at her left nipple and pressed down. “Hungry?” she asked, as whipped cream mounded on her skin.

  He stared and shook his head at what she was doing, his hand at his mouth, the same fingers that had just been in her now lightly brushing against his upper lip.

  “You’re not hungry?” She squirted a dollop on the right nipple. Most of it slid down, but she leaned back slightly. Arching her back only exaggerated her chest, of course. “Boy, I sure am.” She lifted the can to her mouth and shot a generous amount inside.

  Pretty good.

  She managed to swallow before he caught her up in his arms and began licking the cream off her nipples. She’d been laughing, but all humor died as she felt his tongue and the hard suction of his mouth on her breasts. He licked her clean in long, firm strokes while his hands held her ass, lifting her to the counter and pushing his body between her legs.

  She arched back for him, wanting his mouth everywhere, wanting to squirt the cream on his body, show him what she could do, but he held her too tightly, he was too rough, he was too fast. The cream was gone, and he was kissing her throat, her chin, her cheek, her mouth, feasting on her mouth, devouring her tongue as his fingers dug into her thighs and lifted her higher. Tasting her own juices and the sweet dessert on his lips, she hooked her legs around his hips and invited him closer.

  She was so wet, so ready for him—she felt his cock at her entrance, his fingers stroking her wider, heard his groan of approval as they dipped inside—and then with a shout he thrust into her. Hard, desperate, deep. The counter dug into her ass, the cabinet banged the back of her head, his fingertips ground into her flesh, and all of it was just what she wanted, to have this quiet, gentle man go wild for her. He’d totally lost control. He was groaning, shouting, pounding into her.

  She clung to him and never wanted it to end.

  Chapter 13

  He was mad. Mad with need.

  Lust took him to this primitive place, his mind long gone, his body closer to animal than human as he hammered into Molly, taking his pleasure as she moaned in his arms, her heels digging into his hips, her breasts smashed against him, mouth bruising his. Molly’s juices coated his beard, her neck a delightful playground to suck and lave as his climax built so rapidly it engulfed him.

  He was fire.

  Burning for her, he braced his palms on the countertop, pulling her in for a better angle. Aching with a yearning that didn’t make sense, he felt thousands of miles away, even as he was embedded in her, closer than he ever thought possible. It was as if her blood drew him in, attaching him to her.

  Eternally.

  “You’re so—God, this is unbelievable!” Molly rasped, her hands around his neck, eyes catching his, the gaze beseeching yet unflinching. As long as her eyes were on his, he could not hide. Naked in more ways than one, reeling with desire, connected to her in the most intimate of ways, Edward slowed his movements, sweat making their skin slide, his hips acquiring a rhythm less frantic.

  One designed to savor.

  She swallowed, her alabaster skin spasming, her pulse beating erratically, as if her blood had lost her life’s drumbeat.

  Blood.

  Molly’s blood.

  A cold dread mingled with the heat of passion as she maintained the gaze, tilting her head, curling her hips into him, urging him deeper. All the frosty fear faded, replaced by an unshakeable sense of knowing, a knowledge so deep he could taste it within his cells.

  “You feel so good. So fucking good, Molly. I want to be in you forever,” he murmured against the tender flesh of her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. They found a rhythm, her slickness making him draw it out, the layers of pleasure too much. Losing control would be so easy.

  Losing himself in her was already a done deal.

  She clenched, drawing him in, the magnetic pull mixing with the sweet wetness. He groaned and nipped her ear as her hands found his ass and grabbed him, hard, pulling him closer.

  Something about that small gesture made him roar, the charge of his orgasm like a seawall in a typhoon, cresting over and over as he thrust har
d, her head tipping back, knocking into the cabinet, his hand shoving aside towels and sundry items to gain more purchase.

  Each thrust brought him closer to a beat he’d never felt before. As her fingernails dug into his shoulders, her guttural sounds telling him Molly was surrendering to her climax, he moved with purpose, his thighs rubbing against hers, hands rough and filled with her abundant, lush terrain as he found his way home.

  Home.

  Home.

  Home.

  Her eyes flew open and caught his as her lips parted, and he roared into her, the heat too much, too fast, too ancient, too divine, until they were panting and grunting, straining and vulnerable, authentic and revealed.

  Edward let go.

  Molly let him.

  Finally, he thought, but it wasn’t his voice he heard.

  She slumped against him, her body limp, and he wrapped her legs around his waist, carrying her to the bed, still inside her. Edward felt the aftershocks of her orgasm, little tightenings that made him jerk and gasp until he was on top of her, in control again, finishing what she rightly deserved.

  “More?” she moaned, the word fading from a question to a request as her tone changed, his body eliciting a reaction she clearly did not expect.

  He smiled against her shoulder.

  “Always.”

  With a shift in angle, he found her spot, that tantalizing, perfect place that made her cry out his name, over and over in time to the beat.

  The Beat.

  Losing himself, his own flush of pulsing sensation took over, his fingers threading through her hair, his mouth taking in her rosy nipple until he shouted her name as he came. Spilling his seed, he found ecstasy in motion, Molly’s skin a safe harbor, a sanctuary, an asylum.

  For he was mad, after all.

  Mad about her.

  “What did you do to me?” she asked in a sultry voice, the sound scratchy and forced, as though she spoke through sand.

  “Whatever it was,” he said, propping himself on one elbow, brushing the wet hair off her brow as he smiled over her, “you seem to like it.”