Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels

by Priscilla West

  The words took away all her breath. Henry grasped her shoulders, pulling her up and pushing her back onto the lush, soft bedcover. She lay back, gazing at him, breath uneven. His cock stood up against his muscled belly, glistening with her saliva.

  “Spread your legs.”

  She did, watching him as he crawled over her. His hard body glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. Sophie stroked his shoulders and back, urging him upward until he knelt between her splayed thighs. His cock prodded gently against the slick lips of her sex. Sophie whimpered and slid her thigh against his hip, gasping at the feel of her skin gliding against his. They both moaned as he slid his shaft up and down her slit. “That’s it. Just like that.”

  He teased her, pumping his hips in tiny increments, rubbing the head of his cock over her clit. Each time the smooth, spongy tip kissed the throbbing bud it set off sparks in her belly. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, trying to coax him into her wet cleft. He bit her lower lip and plunged into her, burying his cock in her clinging flesh. Her thighs tightened around his hips as he began to move within her. He pulled out slowly and the slippery glide of his cock as he withdrew it tingled along her nerve endings. Then he pushed back in and Sophie lifted her hips to meet him.

  They moved together, and apart, and together again. Each time his shaft parted her he seemed to press deeper, touch someplace new. She undulated against him, welcoming him back inside her with each thrust. Her heart pounded in her chest in time with the throb of her clit. Henry ground his pelvis against her with every downstroke, rubbing against the turgid nub and sending waves of pleasure throughout Sophie’s body.

  His pace picked up. He thrust harder now, stomach slapping against hers with a resounding clap. His cock pounded into her, sliding against the wet silk of her inner walls. The delicious friction built a fire in her belly.

  Henry slowed again, drawing out languidly, his ragged breath tickling against the aching tips of her breasts. One hard hand slapped her hip. “On your hands and knees, dolce.”

  She rolled over and scrambled to her knees, bracing herself on her arms. Henry’s hands were warm on her buttocks as he kneaded the pale globes. He spread her open, notching the head of his cock back against her slick folds, and pushed into her once again.

  Sophie moaned, long and low. His hard, calloused hands stroked her back, gripping her shoulders and pulling her back against him, impaling her on the rigid length of his cock as he thrust forward. Sophie found herself begging, saying words she never thought she’d utter.

  He obliged, picking up the pace and pushing her head down deliciously until her cheek was rubbing against the sheets. She felt her hair being tugged. Oh god to finally be handled like this, roughly, the way her body wanted to be handled.

  “You’re going to come soon,” Henry moaned. His hand eased down from her hair to her neck to her shoulder as he fucked her harder still. “Now.”

  Every muscle seemed to go tight within her. The coil of delicious tension unraveled viciously from her pussy to her toes. Her body clenched around his cock and she screamed in pleasure as her orgasm washed over her like a sudden storm.

  “God you come good,” Henry rasped.

  She did. She came and came, and came some more. Each cell that had drawn in, expanded into a new wave of pleasure. Her slick inner walls clamped down hard on the rigid length of his shaft, squeezing him like a fist within her. Henry cursed, bucking against her, driving himself deep. Sophie felt the hot pulse as he spilled his seed. The sensation set off another cascade of pleasure. His fingers dug almost painfully into her hips as pressed her tight against his groin while his cock throbbed inside her.

  Sophie shivered. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d just had a nearly cataclysmic orgasm. When Henry glided his shaft in and out of her like that, it made her feel as if she could start all over again.

  Finally, after what seemed long minutes of twitching delight, the last drop of the pleasure was completely wrung out of her. Henry too, leaned heavily against her back, panting.

  He collapsed behind her, curling his body around her. She twined her fingers through his hair, turning her head to gaze into those inky black eyes. They were heavy lidded now, drowsy. She kissed him lightly, brushing his lower lip with her tongue. There were things she needed to think about. The edges of her brain fizzed with them as she let her eyes close.

  Chapter Seven

  Grey morning light woke her. Sophie blinked and stretched. She groaned at the sweet languor still lingering in her muscles. Her body hadn’t felt this satisfied in years. Maybe ever. She had always enjoyed sex but last night, with Henry, she’d wallowed in it. The tastes, the smells, every sensation. Even remembering it caused a pleasurable fizz in her blood.

  She was alone in the vast bed, but she could hear movement nearby. Sitting up, she glanced around the room. She’d noticed little besides the giant bed and it’s velvety coverlet last night. Now she could appreciate the room’s clean lines, its dark, polished wood and the simple sumptuousness of it. It said a lot about the man who slept here. He liked his luxury—there were touches of it everywhere, from the cut crystal of the light fixtures to the electronic pad that clearly controlled the window shutters—but it was muted, not ostentatious. It fit with what she knew of Henry.

  Which was, admittedly, not much. However, the smell of coffee was wafting into the bedroom and her belly rumbled at the prospect of breakfast. She crawled to the end of the bed and swung her legs down.

  Hadn’t she been wearing shoes? She distinctly remembered Henry’s gruff ‘leave them on’. But her feet were bare now. She wiggled her toes. Shoes were not a priority at the moment. Clothes might be good though. The door that led from the bedroom to the sitting room beyond was closed.

  All of her clothes were out there. She couldn’t just waltz out completely naked. What if he had guests? She scanned the bedroom. He had to have something she could cover up with. Her eyes lit on the rumpled pile of his clothes. Perfect. She pulled his boxers up over her hips. They were much too big for her slender frame, but if she tucked and rolled them... By the time she got them to stay up on her, they resembled short shorts more than boxers.

  She found a button-down shirt and pulled it over her head, relishing the feel of the shirt’s fabric on her breasts. The sleeves were still half rolled up. She repeated the tucking and rolling process on them too. There, that was as suitable for company as she was going to get without her clothes. She ran a hand through her mussed hair and opened the door.

  The sitting room had been reorganized, the rug unrolled and the loveseats back in place. There was no sign of her clothes. Blood surged into Sophie’s cheeks at the idea of a maid finding her pants and shirt and bra strewn all over the stylish room. There was nothing she could do about it now, though, so she squared her shoulders and turned toward the terrace, following her nose toward the heavenly scent of coffee.

  “Good morning,” she said, smiling at Henry. He sat at the cafe table, reading the newspaper. He was fully dressed in a dark blue suit, minus the tie, and his hair was still slightly damp. Sophie was an early riser. You had to be when you were a dancer. She wasn’t wearing a watch, but she’d guess it was no later than seven, and here he was, dressed for the day.

  He looked up at her, dark eyes roving over attire. He didn’t smile, but she saw the slightest twitch of his lips and the heat flaring in his gaze. It seemed he enjoyed watching her walk in for breakfast in his clothes. She shivered with desire, plucking at the hem of the shirt, which nearly reached her knees. “I hope you don’t mind. My clothes seem to have disappeared.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” He motioned her to sit. “And I apologize about the clothes. Regina sent them out with the wash. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime, there’s something for you in the dressing room. But please, eat first.”

  Sophie spooned some mixed fruit onto her plate and snagged a piece of toast while Henry poured her a cup of coffee from the Fren
ch press. She popped a bit of melon into her mouth, chewing the sweet flesh slowly while she added cream and a bit of sugar to her cup. “Thank you.”

  They sat at breakfast like that for several moments—Sophie enjoying fruit and toast with her coffee, Henry reading the paper. As she munched on a bite of toast, studying his handsome face, she thought of the words he’d said the previous night and sudden understanding broke over her. “Oh! It’s Italian.”

  He looked up from his paper at Sophie, eyebrows raised. She flushed. “Last night. You were speaking Italian. You said you were from Argentina. I guess I expected Spanish.”

  Henry nodded. “My mother’s mother was Italian. She used to speak it with my mother, and I picked it up. I do speak Spanish as well, from my father’s family. But I prefer the Italian for...” He grinned, the dimple his cheek flashing. “You know, don’t you, dolce?”

  Sophie licked toast crumbs off her lip and wondered how long it would take her to get him out of that suit. Suddenly he was standing beside her and touching her chin, drawing her face up until she looked into his eyes. The obsidian depths sparkled with desire. His thumb brushed her lip. He held out his other hand. Sophie took it, letting him draw her up and into his arms. She slid her hands around his neck, pressing herself against him, running her fingers into the hair at his nape. He leaned down, brushing his mouth against hers.

  “Day dreaming about me already?” He nipped at her lower lip. She looked at him through her lashes, unable to stop the flush of her cheeks from deepening.

  “Since our first dance at the studio. That night, when I went home...” She trailed off, unable to confess the scope of her dream.

  “And was I as good as you imagined?”

  She slapped at his chest, but laughter bubbled up her throat as well. “Better, actually. It turns out my imagination is severely lacking.” She fiddled with his lapel. “What about you? Did you think about me?”

  Henry squeezed her tightly against his chest, leaning down to nibble her earlobe. “I went home that night and relived that dance in my head several times. Although, in my version, your assistant never came in and interrupted us. I kissed you, like I’d wanted to.”

  She sighed as he slid his mouth back to hers and kissed her, deep and sweet. When he lifted his head she smiled. “I’m torn between finding that charming and upsetting. I was imagining you naked.”

  “Do I seem like the kind of man whose fantasies end at a kiss?”

  Sophie took in a quick breath. “Well, it’s romantic that it started there then.”

  He leaned down, rubbing his lips against hers. “Ma tutto comincia con un bacio, dolce.”

  “What does that mean?” she murmured against his mouth.

  “It all begins with a kiss.” His tongue emerged to tease at her lips. Sophie melted against him, clinging, as he explored her mouth. His kisses were as addictive as any drug. He gave her one and she immediately wanted more. When he lifted his head, she stood on tip-toe to chase his lips, sucking the full lower one between her teeth.

  “I like it the first way better. Remind me to thank your grandmother.” She tugged playfully at his lapel. “You make it sound almost as if she raised you.”

  A door might as well have slammed shut, Henry’s hot gaze went cold so quickly. His arms tightened the slightest bit around her, and then he let her go and stepped back. “You should probably go. I have meetings all morning.”

  He was checking his watch, gathering up the cell he’d left on the table. Anything but meeting her eyes. “Henry?” Sophie’s head throbbed with the sudden change in his tone. Was this what whiplash felt like?

  Henry glanced up at her quickly, gaze barely touching her face before darting back down to the cell phone’s display screen. “The dressing room is through the bedroom. Regina put a dress in there for you. I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer.”

  She watched him disappear around the terrace corner, mouth agape. What had just happened? Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about his family. But he’d gone from playful and affectionate to cold and distant so fast her head was still spinning. She was still trying to adjust emotionally as she stepped into the dressing room.

  Sophie barely noticed the opulent bathtub. Normally, she would have admired it and possibly filled it with warm, soapy water so she could soak for hours. But Henry had made it clear that it was time for her to go. She found the dress he’d mentioned hanging from an armoire above her shoes.

  He’d taken them off her. She knew it. At some point during the night, Henry Medina had slipped off her high heels. It was a tender gesture completely incongruous with this sudden shift to an all-business demeanor. He was acting as if they’d shared a cab, not a night of soul shaking passion. Bewilderment settled over Sophie as she tugged the soft fabric of the dress down over her head.

  In other circumstances she might have marveled at the perfect fit, the way it bared her slender arms, hugged her breasts and hips, and flared dramatically down to her knees. She might have admired the bold pattern. It would be a good dress to tango in. But she filed all that away for another time, hastily pulling it on and slipping into her shoes. Her hair-tie was gone.

  Had Henry slipped that off her too? Did he run his fingers through her light hair, watching her as she slept? Sophie sighed. Who was that other Henry, the one who did those things? If only he was here, instead of this brusque man who was hurrying her out the door.

  Her purse was here too. She snatched it up almost angrily. Not almost. Beneath the confusion, a small cauldron of resentment was beginning to boil. She stalked to the stairs, determined not to be brushed off like some one-night stand. Even if she had sort of acted like one. Well, that changed now.

  “Henry,” she began, walking up to where he waited by the private elevator. “I think we should talk.”

  “Of course, but not now. I really do have meetings.” He flashed her a quick smile as he ushered her into the elevator, but it was a shallow one. Flashy and handsome, but not real.

  She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “Last night—”

  “I agree. It was amazing,” he interrupted. “Better than I imagined. And I did imagine a lot, Sophie. You are a talented woman.” The smile he gave her at that moment was more genuine, with a bit of dimple and a brief glance from his hot black eyes. Sophie felt the blood in her cheeks and ground her teeth. She was trying to talk seriously and he was making her blush. It threw her off balance.

  “Uh, thank you, but—” The elevator doors slid open. The ride up yesterday had been interminable, but this morning barely a minute seemed to have passed. Sophie blinked and stepped out of the elevator car. Henry held the door, but remained inside.

  “Maurice!” he called, raising his hand to the doorman who stood at attention across the lobby. Maurice looked up, nodding courteously.

  “Morning, Mr. Medina.”

  “Call Sophie a cab, would you please?”

  Maurice was already opening the door. “Of course, Mr. Medina!”

  Sophie stared up at Henry, heart crawling up into her throat. He finally met her gaze. The look in his eyes was unreadable. His left hand rose and touched her cheek softly.

  She turned into the caress, seeking his warmth. For a moment, it seemed he was going to kiss her. His head bent slightly and that odd flat look in his eyes softened. But then he froze and thrust something into her hand. “Here,” he said,“for the dance last night. And the first one.” Henry stepped back quickly and the elevator doors closed, as if in collusion with him on his swift escape, leaving her alone in the palatial lobby.

  Her heart squeezed like a fist in her chest and tears stung her eyes. She glanced down at the envelope he’d shoved at her. It wasn’t sealed.

  Inside was a thick sheaf of green bills. Sophie swallowed hard, thumbing through them. They were hundred dollar bills. The tears that had been threatening filled her eyes, spilling out over her lower lashes and dripping onto the envelope.

  This was far more than he’d offered her for her
time. What was the extra money for? Unless...

  Unless, he was paying her off, like she was some whore. That cauldron of anger that had been heating in her belly cracked, spilling fury into her veins. Beneath the molten anger was the acid sting of hurt and a curl of smoking shame. She knew this melange of negative emotions well. She’d last felt them when Christian had left her on the rehearsal room floor, walking away from her.

  Who does this? Why the hell would this man go through so much trouble just to humiliate her? She thought of an old joke she’d heard in college: you don’t pay whores for sex, you pay them to leave. And here she was, walking out the door as Henry went back up to his penthouse for “meetings” and whatever else he had to do. It didn’t really matter; she had to get out of this man’s life and not come back.

  She flung the envelope at the elevator doors, heedless of the thousands of dollars spilling from it, and spun on her heel, the swish of the dress’ skirt around her knees only fanning the flames of her wounded emotions. If only she could tear it off and toss it after the envelope. She wished she had something else, anything else, to wear.

  Get home. That’s what she had to do. She strode toward the front doors quickly, trying to hold back the tears that insisted on sliding down her cheeks. She shouldered the door open roughly.

  Maurice looked around in surprise. “I’ll have a cab for you in a second, ma’am. They’re—”

  “Don’t bother. I can walk.” It was more than thirty blocks and the sky was darkening with the threat of rain, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to spend one more second standing in front of this man’s building. The doorman was still talking but Sophie ignored him, wrapping her arms around herself against the chill in the air and turning her face toward home.

  The walk was long, and full of time to think. She had horrible taste in men, clearly. First Christian, and now Henry. She’d thought he was different. He hadn’t been turned off by her scar or her inability to dance gracefully all the time. They’d talked, really talked. But he had given her very little in the way of personal information, she realized now. He was always vague.