by Diana Seere
When she was done squealing in surprise, she reached down and slapped his ass. He patted hers in return as he hauled her, laughing harder, down a dark hallway into a room she hoped, beyond hope, had a very large, sturdy bed.
She was not disappointed. Lit faintly by wall sconces, the sleeping chamber was obviously that of a passionate, artistic, and wealthy man. There were rich fabrics draping the windows and mattress, and diverse paintings and drawings of all eras and styles covering the walls. A bronze female figure—elegant, not tacky—perched on a pedestal near the window, arms outstretched like a goddess greeting the sun.
But she didn’t notice any of those details until the morning, hours and hours later. Right now she was feeling her passions build inside her again, unbound from their years of youthful loneliness and, more recently, the past months of heartbreak. Feeling equal and permanently bound to this man, her One, gave her a joy in the moment she’d never known.
This curve of muscled hip was hers. This thick, strong neck was hers. This skin, these lips, those eyes. The sound of his low, urgent voice in her ear as he tore off the last of her clothing. The fingertips that stroked up her thigh and buried themselves into her slippery, wet need, demanding she unlock the last of her secrets and give him all her treasure, every scrap of her soul.
“Derry, Derry,” she moaned, the words coming in time to a third pulse that took over. Was this the Beat that Lilah mentioned? Jess wanted to believe it, and then suddenly it didn’t matter.
He mattered. Derry mattered.
The rest wasn’t worth another thought.
The duvet beneath her shoulders was as thick and billowy as a cloud in heaven. She could barely feel the mattress beneath it. The enormous man looming above with his hairy chest and thickly muscled shoulders didn’t seem to belong in such an elegantly comfortable bed, but then she realized, as she stroked the hard lines of his abdomen, the broad and flexing chest, that of course her Derry, her One, belonged in decadent, baroque luxury, not plain, cold, Scandinavian austerity.
“So much to learn about you,” he said softly, his lips tickling the hollow of her throat.
Because of the deft motions of his hands, she could only choke out one gasp after another. She arched up, powerless to stop the reaction of her body.
“So much to learn,” he murmured again, sounding amused.
She smiled in a daze, having no interest whatsoever in stopping the reactions of her body. And more than that, she had no interest in stopping anything that happened with Derry. This was their fate. They belonged together. No brother, no book, no past could ever stand between them. Sealed together from this moment on, Derry and Jess were One.
Well, not quite yet. He was still chuckling at the way her body was bucking off the bed under his skilled hands.
She was too aroused to laugh with him. But if he thought he’d won some game by teasing her this way, he was very wrong. By surrendering to this passion he was insisting she accept, her heart expanded and overflowed with love, acceptance, hope. By surrendering, she had won everything.
She’d won him.
With the skills he’d learned over his many years of practice—she would think of them that way, merely as skill-building exercises for being with her—he pulled her back from the edge of orgasm again and again until she was finally pounding his shoulders with frustration.
“Now,” she gasped.
But he withdrew, sitting back on his knees, regarding her with mock-confusion. “Now what?”
“You know what, you—” She stopped when she saw how much he was enjoying her torment. Closing her eyes, she sucked in deep breaths, her heart pounding so hard it had almost become a steady, unbroken roar in her ears. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” And with that, she reached between her legs.
His laughter died. The dark pools of his eyes told her how aroused he, too, had become. He’d been teasing her, but he’d been torturing himself even more. With his gaze locked on every move of her hand, he shuddered, swallowing hard, and began to reach for her.
She slapped his hand. “You had your turn.”
A growl rumbled deep in his throat. “You’re killing me.”
“Just you wait,” she said, her voice thick from the tightening pleasure.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, bending down and kissing her feet in supplication. “Please, allow me to pleasure you. My darling. My love.”
The feel of his wet mouth around her toes only sent her higher on the wave of passion she was riding. She was seconds from coming. But did she really want to come with her foot in his mouth instead of—
“You may continue,” she gasped.
He was on top of her before the words were out of her mouth. “Thank you, thank you—”
Out of her mind, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders. “Now!”
At last he entered her, and the unbearable tightness snapped, breaking her into shards and fragments and nothingness. And as he joined her, wave after wave of sweet, hot pleasure washed over her, tearing her apart from the inside out, blacking out her vision.
Minutes later, when they were both spent and limp, just crying. No—he wasn’t crying this time, it was her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she was too tired to care, too happy to stop.
As she drifted into a mindless sleep, she felt a gentle mouth kissing each one of them away.
And then, from deep inside her own soul, she heard his voice.
I love you.
And she felt it.
The Beat. As if it had always been there, just waiting for her to finally hear it.
Startled awake by a dream that was marked by scent more than image, Derry sat up, propping his sore body on one large palm, his nose working overtime to recapture the unconscious mind’s scent story. There had been a moon, a clearing, a placid lake and mists filled with Jess, naked and half-submerged, her shoulders back and hair skimming the water, breasts calling out for him, the strange birthmark on her neck glowing like a beacon, emanating a scent that only he could smell.
As that dream scent faded, he picked up the odor of coffee. Ah, the blessings of the twenty-first century. For as cheap and gaudy as this age could be, programmable coffeemakers were some tool of the gods that Derry found worthy of gratitude.
Pale, lush skin greeted his gaze as he looked down to find her warming his bed. His free hand touched her bare hip, palm greedy to caress every inch of her.
Mine.
She was his, and he was hers, and they were each other’s One.
He sat up, watching Jess’s face in slumber, tension gone from a face that last night he’d found rapturous. Her brow smooth, her lips lush, her slow breath even and sweet, he greedily watched this woman, naked and in his bed, covered in their blended juices.
The red birthmark on her neck was gone.
Brushing aside a stray lock of hair with a hand so big it could cover her entire face, he paused, blinking at the contrast. While Jess was not a small-boned woman, compared to him she was tiny. Vulnerable. Trusting.
His.
The sense of peace inside him had not left with the morning. As they’d drifted off last night after making love with a frenzy that turned him inside out, he’d felt a centered calm. A Oneness. The call of his name, of a silent language between the two of them that he knew was private. Unique.
Exclusive.
And the thought had floated through him as consciousness dissolved.
Here it was again.
Peeling himself from her prone body, he covered her with the thick duvet and stood, stretching, holding back the contented growl that threatened to emanate from him as blood flooded his aching muscles. Waking her would defeat the purpose of the next few minutes.
A smile tickled his lips as he padded naked into the kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee, filling hers with so much milk that the coffee turned the color of pale beige.
He set the coffee on a small tray, then walked to his studio, finding the tiny box easily. A flick of one thumb and there
it was.
The dazzling diamond engagement ring he’d ordered at the ranch.
Before.
Before the confusion and fear, before the misunderstanding and the escape. Before the pain of abandonment and the terror of humiliation.
Before they’d understood that being each other’s One had nothing to do with any external rules.
Sunlight peeked through the heavy velvet curtains that covered the soaring, old warehouse windows of his loft. The diamond sent dancing sunbeams into the ceiling, bounding off support beams and painted ductwork, a visual feast that promised a lifetime of play and boundless joy.
Peering through the open door to his bed, he smiled.
No ring could guarantee that.
But love could.
Come here, she said without words.
On impulse, he started to hide the ring, finding a long expanse of bare ass where his back pocket should be.
Oh, dear.
Instead, Derry set the ring on the tray and decided to face this head on. The sooner she was his in every way possible—body, soul, mind, heart, and in marriage—the better.
“Is that coffee I smell?” she called out. Her nude backside appeared as he walked into the room, carrying the tray, her hair pushed back over one shoulder, the vision so close to his painting he groaned. Too much beauty.
Too, too much beauty.
A man needed more than one lifetime to appreciate a woman like Jess.
Even a lifetime as long as his.
“Mmmmmm,” she purred as he set the tray on the bed. “Coffee in bed. You’re a dream man, Derry. Where did you come fr—” Her eyes froze on the small black velvet box. She said nothing, but held her breath.
He did too. Plucking it off the tray, he looked at her and opened it slowly.
This time, it was not sunlight that danced.
It was his heart.
She sat on the bed, legs forward and flat on the wide pine floor, and he dipped to one knee, making her gasp and throw her hands to her mouth, the gesture so universally enacted by women in proposals that he let out a burst of deep laughter. Nervousness never entered the picture, replaced instead by a rooted sense of eternity. He was not just proposing.
He was righting a wrong.
At some point throughout the ages, he and Jessica Murphy had been One, then lost each other.
Now they were One again.
“Will you, Jessica, marry—”
She tackled him before he could finish the sentence. Jess was far stronger than he’d imagined, pushing his body to the floor, covering him with kisses and squeals of joy, his hand fumbling for hers, sliding the ring on her left finger.
There was nothing more to say, but he needed her to say it.
Say yes, he told her, but his mouth was currently occupied by hers, tongues dancing with their hearts.
Yes, oh yes, she answered, the drag of her ring kissing his skin as she buried her hand in his long hair, his own hands cupping her jaw.
You’re mine.
He wasn’t sure who said it, the words echoing a thousand times, like the peal of church bells so loud they linger in the mind long after the actual sound is gone.
And then there were no more words.
;)
Thank you so much for reading The Billionaire Shifter’s Virgin Mate! Please leave a review and tell your friends about this new series.
Stay tuned for the next book in the series, The Billionaire Shifter’s Second Chance, coming in November. Want to grab this new book as soon as it’s published? Join my New Releases email list now.
The Billionaire Shifters Club Series
Loved Derry and Jess’s story? Go back and read about Lilah and Gavin and enter a whole new love story…and watch for new books in the series!
THE BILLIONAIRE SHIFTER’S CURVY MATCH - 9/13/16
THE BILLIONAIRE SHIFTER’S VIRGIN MATE: - 10/11/16
THE BILLIONAIRE SHIFTER’S SECOND CHANCE - 11/15/16
About the Author
Diana Seere was raised by wolves in the forests outside San Francisco and Boston. The only time she spends in packs these days is at romance writing conventions. In truth, Diana is two New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors who decided to write shifter romance and have more fun. You can find “her” on Facebook at Diana Seere’s Facebook Page
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