The coldness inside him eased, the pleasure overwhelming everything, and he began to set up a rhythm, deep and slow, making her writhe and gasp as she tried to chase the friction. He kept one hand in the small of her back, guiding her hips to show her what to do, but she was a fast learner, picking up the rhythm in no time.
Oh Jesus, he wasn’t going to last. She was killing him.
Urging her legs up and around his waist, he slid even deeper, and when he kissed her again, she met it, and this time he could taste her own hunger. It was so sweet, making him even more desperate.
Everything began to slip away from him then and he began to move faster, driving himself deeper, harder. The rest of the world receded, there was only this. Only Mia and her arms around him, her body beneath his, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. Only that was real.
She whimpered, her fingers wrapped tight in his hair, so he slid his hand down between their bodies, finding the hard nub of her clit and slicking his thumb over it, timing it with his thrusts so that she began to give little hiccuping sobs. Then suddenly she turned her head into his neck, her body convulsing beneath his, her pussy closing around him like a fist.
And all his restraint snapped, and he was driving himself into her, over and over again until the climax rose up inside him and smacked him over the back of the head like a hammer.
He saw stars, probably even a couple of planets, maybe even the heat death of the universe. It was so fucking beautiful he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even move. He just lay there, feeling as if all his bones had been removed.
It wasn’t until she shoved at him that he realized that maybe he was a little big to be resting his full weight on top of such a slender woman. He shifted, putting his hands down on either side of her head, resting his weight on them rather than on her, then looked down at her.
She blinked up at him, breathing hard, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before in all her life.
“You okay?” He hoped to Christ that she was, silently swearing that he’d punch his own face if he’d done anything to hurt her.
“I . . . think so.” Her gaze roamed over him. “Are you?”
It was a weird question and one he couldn’t remember a woman ever asking him after sex. And now that he thought about it, no. No, he goddamn well wasn’t. Something had happened to him and he didn’t know quite what it was, but he was different. He was changed. Somehow it felt like something in him had cracked and . . . he wasn’t sure he liked it.
“Yes,” he lied, and shifted again, easing himself away from her.
Distance, he needed distance. Not questioning it, he got up, turning toward the bathroom. “Just dealing with the condom,” he muttered. “Stay right there.”
In the bathroom, he got rid of the condom then put his palms against the marble basin and leaned on them, taking a couple of breaths, his heart racing. The cracked feeling persisted, and like a thread of rust in stainless steel it made him feel weak, undermined.
It had to do with her, he knew that. With losing control and just taking her. Ignoring the voice in his head that told him to take it slow and easy, to be gentle. He hadn’t been any of those things. He’d been rough, hard, shoving himself inside her and hurting her.
“Why do you do that, Xavier? It’s like you hurt me deliberately.”
His mother’s voice echoed around in his skull, and he had to turn on the taps, splash his face with icy cold water to get rid of it. Okay, so he was pretty much an asshole when it came to women, but he’d been trying with Mia, he really had.
She’d just . . . gotten under his skin so badly he hadn’t realized the full extent of his desperation for her until she’d been naked and trembling in his arms from the effects of the climax he’d given her. Until she’d said his name.
Grabbing a towel, he dried his face and straightened. A part of him wanted to do what he normally did after he’d enjoyed a quick and dirty screw, which was to kiss the woman concerned, get his keys, and get the fuck out.
But he couldn’t. Because this was Mia. A vulnerable, homeless woman, and he’d . . . hurt her. He’d lost it and hurt her and . . . Christ . . . he had to make it up to her somehow.
Cursing under his breath, Xavier found a washcloth and ran it under the hot tap for a few moments. Then he took it back into the living area, only to find Mia with the shirt wrapped tightly around her, reaching for her panties and sweatpants. Her curls were a wild halo of black around her head and her face was still pink. She gave him that same wary look she always did as he approached, and although that cracked feeling inside him was telling him to get out while he still could, that wary look was even worse.
He went over to her, pulled the sweatpants out of her hand, then gathered her up into his arms.
“Hey,” she said, glaring at him. “What are you doing?”
“Looking after you,” he answered shortly, turning and carrying her down the hallway, heading toward his bedroom.
When he got there, he sat put her down on the edge of the bed, pulled the shirt off her so she was naked entirely, then gently moved the washcloth between her thighs. She made a protesting sound, trying to push his hand away, but he ignored it, kneeling on the floor in front of her and easing her thighs apart, moving the hot cloth against her sensitive flesh.
She shivered then sighed, relaxing. “That feels . . . nice.”
“I hurt you. I shouldn’t have.” His throat ached. “I’m sorry.”
Her shoulder lifted as if it wasn’t any big deal. “It’s fine. It’s supposed to hurt, right? At least that’s what I heard.”
“Yeah, which means I should have gone slower. I should have been gentle.” He stroked the cloth over her skin. There were marks on her hips. Red marks. And more on her neck.
You put those there. It’s your fault. It’s always your fault.
The thought stuck there in his head, a splinter he hadn’t ever managed to get out.
“It’s okay.” Mia was frowning at him. “I mean, if I hadn’t wanted you to do that, you’d have known about it.”
But it wasn’t okay, and deep inside, he knew that.
Chapter 9
Xavier said nothing, setting the washcloth to the side and rising to his feet. The look on his face was guarded. Was it something she’d said? Or was it the whole him-hurting-her thing?
It had hurt when he’d pushed inside her and yes, she’d been afraid. Having six foot and more of lean, muscular male lying on top of her had been scary, especially when she’d never experienced it before. She’d never had a guy between her legs, never had his cock pushing against her. But then, she’d never had a guy put his arms around her, hold her close, press his mouth to her throat as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Never had a guy whisper about how badly he wanted her, how he couldn’t wait. How he was sorry, but he just had to move.
People never apologized to her. Never ever.
She’d felt so small beneath him initially, so fragile and breakable. Yet, weirdly, when his hands had slid beneath her, gathering her close, and she’d felt the shudder that had gone through him, she knew that in a way, he was just as fragile, just as breakable as she was.
His hands had been shaking, and the look in his eyes when they met hers had been desperate.
The pain had been more than she’d thought, and he’d been a little rough. But then he’d started moving and some magic had happened, the pain ebbing and something else taking its place. Something that had filled her in a way that his hand on her couldn’t.
He’d been everywhere around her. His hands under her, his body on top, his cock pushing deep inside, the spicy hot scent of him surrounding her. And strangely, the fragile, breakable feeling had vanished, replaced by the sensation of being utterly safe, utterly protected. That sense that nothing could get to her while he was surrounding her, nothing could hurt her or harm her in any way.
Then he’d started to move and the pain went away completely, the ache between her legs deepening into need, into des
ire. For him. She’d pulled him to her, forgetting everything but the need to have him as close to her as she could, wanting even more. And even though he’d been inside her, if she could have climbed inside him in return, she would have.
She’d never known anything quite as intense as the orgasm that had hit her when his hand had pushed between them, when his fingers had touched her clit and he’d thrust so hard into her she’d thought she might break.
And really, you did break.
Yes, she had. Completely. In the best way possible. When she’d come back to herself, she’d felt like a newly hatched baby chick. Everything seemed new and bright, and the electric blue of his eyes had felt like the beginning and end of the entire world.
Compared to that, a little pain, a little fear, was nothing. She’d had plenty of both in her life. Him pushing inside her was nothing to the cigarette burns to her skin or the impact of the wooden spoon on the backs of her legs. God, even the physical pain seemed small in comparison to the words that had rained down on her for seven years. “Worthless girl. Stupid bitch. No wonder your mommy ran away. Can’t you do anything right? I should have given you away, but no, I kept you because I’m a good person. You should be fucking grateful.”
Mia looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He gave her another once-over, as if checking to make sure she was okay. “Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere else? There are. . . .” He trailed off as if he couldn’t bring himself to say more, gesturing to her hip then her throat.
She glanced down and saw the slight marks on her skin. It gave her a shock, though not in a bad way, not at all. In fact, she almost liked them. They made what she and Xavier had done real. She looked back at him. “They’re just marks. And they’re good ones.”
But he wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked grim. “Nothing like that is good, Mia.”
“What I meant was, they’re there because what we did was good. What you did made me feel was good. It’s not like you put a cigarette out on me or anything.”
He looked away at that, his beautiful face hardening. As if he didn’t believe her.
The black shirt he wore was all crumpled and half of it was coming out of the waistband of his pants, and she wanted to go over to him and unbutton it, take it off him, explore him. She wanted to touch him the way he’d touched her.
She’d never wanted to do that to a man before, and even if she had wanted to, she’d never have actually done it. But things were different now. Xavier’s had shown her what she’d been missing all this time: simple human contact, the comfort of being held by someone, the intense pleasure of a gentle hand on her bare skin and a warm mouth on hers.
And if there was anything she wanted more of in her life, it was that. Clothes and pretty toiletries and fancy food she could leave, but Xavier’s touch? Hell no, she wanted as much as she could possibly get of that.
She stood up and took a step toward him, not caring about her nakedness. “Xavier?” It was nice he was concerned about her, but she didn’t wanting him thinking he’d hurt her or that what they’d done together had been bad, because it hadn’t been. “I’m okay. Really and truly.”
He turned his head and met her gaze, and for a second he just looked at her. Then he let out a breath. “Okay.”
She took another, hesitant step. “Perhaps we could . . . try it again?”
An expression she couldn’t interpret crossed his face. “I’m sorry, sweet thing. I’ve got some stuff to handle and it’s probably better for you if we wait.” He sounded distant, the warmth in his deep voice gone.
A cold feeling broke over her and suddenly she wished she wasn’t naked after all, that she had some clothes or something to wrap around her. Swallowing back the urge to go and sit on the bed, and pull the sheet around her, she stayed where she was. “Are you sure? I mean . . .” She stopped, not knowing how to flirt or be seductive.
But he was already turning away, heading straight for the doorway. “Not right now,” he said over his shoulder. “Maybe later. I suggest you take a nice, warm bath in the meantime.”
Then he was gone, disappearing out the doorway, leaving her standing there naked in the middle of the room.
Mia stood there a second, frowning. Then she sat down on the bed and reached for the comforter, drawing it around her.
What was wrong with him? Was it her? Had he gotten what he’d wanted out of her and now he didn’t want her anymore? Had this all been an elaborate trick to get her to sleep with him and now he’d done so, he was going to kick her back out on the street?
A small kernel of ice hardened in her gut.
You idiot. These things always come to an end, you know this.
Mia bit her lip hard, the pain drowning out the thought in her head. She had to think this through logically. Would a man like Xavier really take her home, give her a bath and a bed, ply her with food and buy her clothes, simply to get her to sleep with him? When he could have any woman he wanted anytime he wanted?
That didn’t make sense. Besides, he’d told her she didn’t have to go back to the streets, that he wouldn’t let her. She’d believed him then and she believed him now. But something had changed his mind. Something had caused him to pull away.
It had to do with the sex, with him hurting her.
She glanced toward the doorway.
Should she go after him? Demand to know what it was? It wasn’t something she’d done, she didn’t think, but what else could it be?
Do you really want to know?
Mia swallowed. Yes. Yes, she did want to know. And not just because she wanted more of him, but because she hadn’t liked that look in his eyes as he gazed at the marks he’d left on her. As if he’d done her some real damage. He hadn’t. She knew what real damage looked like and it wasn’t a few bruises and some soreness between her legs.
But . . . maybe now wasn’t the time to approach him. Maybe she should let him have his distance. It would give her a chance to think about how she was going to deal with this, because she wasn’t quite sure. Setting out to comfort someone or talk to them about what was wrong wasn’t exactly familiar to her. Caring about what they might say wasn’t familiar either, and yet she felt it all the same like an ache in her chest.
She didn’t know what was going on with him, but one thing was clear—she had to find out.
* * *
Five days later, Xavier swept into the vast, marbled foyer of the De Santis Corp tower in Lower Manhattan, a massive flashy spear of a building, all steel and glass with the kind of arrogance only billions could buy.
He’d always liked the building—it appealed to the showman in him—but as he made his way to the private elevator that went straight up to his father’s office, the De Santis tower was the last thing on his mind.
What he should have been thinking about was the meeting his father had sprung on him that morning about the ranch, but actually, he was too busy planning the special picnic he was going to organize for Mia that evening.
She’d told him she’d never been on a picnic, and so naturally he had to make sure she’d have one. They couldn’t go out of course—not when it was so cold—so he’d decided they would have one on the living room floor, with all of her favorite foods, plus a few new things to tempt her palate with.
Over the past few days, he’d become quite adept at sneaking in new foods for her to try and slowly she’d come around to things like olives and smoked salmon, though caviar and pâté made her screw up her nose in distaste.
But it wasn’t only new food he’d gotten her to try. He showed her how to operate the controls of the TV too, and stereo and all the other gadgets throughout the house. Then, when it became clear that her computer skills were lacking, he sat down and showed her how to operate his laptop. Then he gave her a cooking lesson—how to boil an egg, since that was the only cooking he knew. And, of course, he showed her how to make coffee.
She was a quick learner, taking in everything like a sponge, an
d it was only a day before she was uncovering new functions on the gadgets that even he hadn’t explored fully. And she certainly made better coffee than he ever could.
He talked to her, got rhapsodic about Wyoming and the ranch. She told him stories from the streets. Life for her sounded so dark, so grim. He couldn’t imagine where she’d gotten her strength from.
And then there were the nights, where he discovered what a sensual little thing she was and how hungry she made him. She was a quick learner there too, her growing confidence pushing his restraint to the very limit. But he’d been good, keeping hold of his control and making sure he didn’t lose it the way he had that afternoon on the couch.
He was proud of himself for that. Proud of himself that she was losing her wariness and her fear around him, that she was starting to trust.
It made him less of a careless, insensitive asshole who broke stuff, and more like a guy who could actually take care of another person without hurting them.
The elevator pinged then, and the doors opened onto the hundredth floor, where his father’s office was situated. His shoes made no sound as he stepped out onto the thick, luxurious black carpet of the waiting area, but the blonde at the massive black desk to the left of the elevator doors raised her head all the same.
“Go right in, Mr. De Santis,” she said cheerfully. “He’s expecting you.”
“Thanks, Gen,” he said as he strode toward the huge double doors.
Jesus, he shouldn’t be thinking of Mia now. Not when his father was at last going to be formally handing over of the ranch to him, the culmination of years of hard work.
Lifting his hand, he pushed through the doors with slightly more violence than was strictly necessary, entering the massive space that was his father’s corner office.
Cesare de Santis, patriarch of the de Santis family and head of De Santis Corp, was seated behind his monolithic desk, which stood in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered prime views of the New York skyline, making him look like the master of all he surveyed. Which wasn’t an accident, naturally.
The Billionaire's Virgin Page 13
