And Phoebe found she wasn’t resisting him anymore. It was as if she just . . . couldn’t. As if he’d hypnotized her, all her strength bleeding away as he guided her fingers relentlessly beneath the black cotton of his underwear.
“Nero,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. And what she’d been going to say she had no idea, because it all went out of her head as he curled her unresisting fingers around his hard, hot flesh. And held them there.
A shudder went through her and when he took his hand away, she kept hers right where it was, shivers chasing themselves over her skin, unable to stop staring as he pulled away the black fabric so she could see just what her hand was holding. And . . . God. All the remaining moisture in her mouth dried, and all her breath escaped. His cock was long and thick, big, like he was, and it felt smooth and hot and iron hard. Her fingers curled around it looked ridiculously small and delicate, and the hungry thing in her wanted to stroke it. Wanted to guide it to her mouth and taste him.
Phoebe swallowed. Someone was breathing very fast and she had a horrible feeling it was her.
“You want to touch me,” Nero murmured, dark and rough. “You want to suck me.”
Heat broke out all over her body. How he’d read her mind, she had no idea. But he was right, that’s exactly what she wanted to do. He’d given her what no one else ever had, and now she wanted to return the favor so badly she ached.
“I . . . d-don’t,” she said, the world’s most unconvincing denial.
Clearly he agreed, because he gave a rough laugh that shocked her, that made everything inside her shiver and stretch out in delight at the sensual sound. Because she’d never heard it before, and it was amazing.
Reaching into his back pocket, Nero got something out of it, a small silver packet. Then he held it out to her. “Put this on me.”
A condom. Of course. This was familiar territory, wasn’t it? She’d done this before many times. She reached out to take the packet, only to have Nero grip her chin and force her head back, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Don’t think of him,” he ordered. “He’s not here. Only I am.”
How did he know she’d been thinking of Charles? Again, he’d read her so easily. It made a weird sensation go through her, one she didn’t recognize. Everyone always looked at her, seeing what they wanted to see. No one looked at her and saw what she saw. What she was thinking. Why did it have to be Nero who could do this? Selfish, arrogant, domineering Nero.
Nero, who’d made her come. Who’d unlocked something inside her that wasn’t ever going to go back into the box she’d locked it in.
“Put the condom on me and then lie back,” he instructed.
And she found herself doing just that, sliding her fingers around the base of his cock and gripping him tight as she rolled the latex down, the hiss of his breath loud in her ear as she touched him. Then lying back on the pillows as he knelt between her knees, getting herself in place for him.
He gripped her thighs, tugging her down the bed before lifting her legs up and hooking them around his lean hips. The expression on his face had become more intense, feral, his gaze dropping between her thighs to her sex. And she didn’t know what to do, wanting to roll over, turn away, bring her legs up to hide herself. But he was gripping her thighs, making it impossible for her to do so.
“I d-don’t know if I can do it again.” The words escaped before she could stop them, sounding pathetic and shaky in the silence of the room. “I mean, I—”
Her voice cut off as his fingers touched her, stroking her damp curls, spreading her delicately open, like he would do a flower.
The touch sent ripples of electricity through her, and her face went hot, making her have to fling an arm over her face to protect herself, even though she had no idea what she was protecting herself from. Then the electricity became a sharp, hot jolt as his fingers found her clit, circling it slowly, lightly, teasing.
“Of course, you can do it again,” he said in that low, dark voice. “I’ll show you how.”
Phoebe shut her eyes tightly, pressing her forearm hard against her closed lids, a long-ingrained instinct making her fight the sensation. The fear that she couldn’t do it, that Nero would lose patience with her, that she just wasn’t good enough for any of this battering at her.
But it was getting harder and harder to hold out against the insistent pleasure Nero was weaving through her. His touch was slow, knowing, skillful, and when his other hand stroked one breast, pinching her nipple as he slicked a finger over her clit, she heard a choked sob escape her.
She’d tried so hard with Charles to let go, but she hadn’t managed to do it. And now she was trying so hard to hold on, yet she couldn’t do that either. Was there anything she could do right? Anything at all?
“Nero . . .” His name came out as a whisper, a prayer and a curse in one, choking off as he traced the slick folds of her sex, little circles, long straight lines, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her nipple. Making her body begin to shake and a moan caught in her throat.
“Spread your pussy for me,” he ordered, full of rough heat, caressing over each and every one of her sensitized nerve endings. “Do it, Phoebe.”
It’s too late to stop. Too late to hold out.
The realization made tears prick at her closed lids. Because of course it was too late. She was naked in bed with Nero, the first man to have ever made her come. And now he was going to do it again. And no matter how many times she told him that she didn’t want this, she did.
God, she did. Because she ached. Her body felt starved, as if Nero was its first taste of food after a famine.
A shuddering breath escaped her and without ever being conscious of making a decision, her hands were sliding down her body, her fingers shaking as she spread herself open for him.
He made a low, animal growling noise, and his hips shifted, something hot and hard pressing against the entrance to her body. Her breathing came faster, harder, but she kept her eyes shut tight, feeling too raw and too vulnerable to look at him.
Then he was pushing inside her and pushing hard, stretching her wide open. And she cried out, because he was big and she hadn’t had sex for years, and it felt like too much. Yet he didn’t stop. He took her hands, laced his fingers through hers, his body moving, his hips pressing forward, his cock sliding deeper into her. She groaned at the pressure, the feeling of fullness intensifying, and she found she had her eyes open, that his dark, brutally handsome face was inches from hers.
He brought her hands down onto the pillow on either side of her head and held them there, his black gaze pinning her as surely as his cock was impaling her. He shifted his hips again, easing all the way inside, and she was shaking.
Then he began to pull back out, almost all the way, before pushing back in. And he did it again and again. A long, slick, glide, that made her sex tighten around him and her hips move against his, and she couldn’t stop herself, because the pleasure was uncurling inside her, that sweet, irresistible pleasure, and she was powerless to stop it. She knew that now. She felt it deep in her bones.
“Let go, Phoebe.” The words were a rough order, his breath hot against her ear, his cock sliding long and slow and deep into her. “Stop fighting. Take what you need.”
Yes. She did need this. She did.
Phoebe shuddered, curled her fingers tight around his, and then she gave herself up to the insistent push of that incredible pleasure. To the slide of his cock inside her, pulling out then pressing back in, a leisurely rhythm that had her panting and shifting her hips restlessly beneath his.
And he seemed to know exactly the moment she released her hold on herself, because he made another low growling noise, and then his mouth was on hers, devouring her in one of those hot, savage kisses that demanded a response whether she wanted to give it or not.
But she did want to, the desperate, hungry thing inside her clawing its way out of a cage she hadn’t even realized she’d put it in. Her mouth opened beneath his,
letting him explore and taste, letting him bite her lower lip. Letting him suck it gently. Letting him kiss her harder, hungrier, and then giving it back to him in turn.
It was intoxicating, this kiss, the taste of him raw and alcoholic, a kick to the gut. But she drank it down because she was so thirsty and his taste was exactly what she wanted, what she needed.
He began to push harder into her, deeper, pressing her into the mattress with each brutal thrust of his hips. Changing his angle so that the base of his cock rubbed against her clit, making her gasp and lift her hips, trying to take him deeper, to increase the exquisite friction.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he licked her neck, bit her. “Fuck, yes,” he growled, shoving even harder, even deeper. “Take me. Fucking take me.”
The words were shockingly erotic, making her shiver and shake, making her angle her hips back so she could do what he ordered and take him. Take him as hard as he was taking her.
It got hotter then, wilder.
Phoebe pulled her hands from his and buried her fingers in the thick, black silk of his shaggy hair, forcing his head back. Then she kissed him, biting his lower lip, suddenly hungry to force herself on him, the way he’d forced himself on her.
He gave another one of those rough laughs, the sound full of exhilaration and heat, and abruptly he was pulling out of her. She opened her mouth, to say what she had no idea, then she was flipped over onto her stomach, his heavy weight pressing her face first into the pillow. One powerful arm hooked around her waist, lifting her hips, and then his cock was sliding inside her, hard and deep and relentless. At the same time, rough fingers found her clit, giving it a firm pinch, sending a burst of intense pleasure through her, so strong she screamed into the pillow. Then he did it again, thrusting deep into her at the same time, and her hold on that edge of the cliff wavered. It didn’t take much to push her off this time, one more thrust and she was sobbing into the white cotton, pleasure exploding around her, so unexpected and so acute, she had no idea how to handle it.
And Nero didn’t stop.
His thrusts got harder. The heat of him against her back was incredible, and when his fingers found her clit a third time, she trembled and tried to shake him off. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t, that it was impossible for her to do it again, but somehow his fingers were coaxing more pleasure from her, the push of his cock insistent.
“Nero . . . God . . .” she whispered thickly. “I . . .”
His teeth were against the back of her neck, a nip of warning. “Yes, you fucking can.” And sure enough his fingers were somehow coaxing yet more pleasure from her, and she was gasping hoarsely and moving against him, with him yet again.
That rough laugh of his rolled over again as she went over the edge a third time, her screams cracked, leaving her limp and wrung out as his own thrusts grew out of control. His arm around her waist held her tight, driving himself inside her, over and over again, until he stiffened, his body shaking just as hard as hers had. And then a harsh roar in her ear as he flung himself over the edge after her.
Chapter 8
Nero leaned forward and stared at the middle screen in the wall of screens in front of him. It displayed the hallway on the second floor, where Phoebe was standing talking to James, taking her own sweet time in getting to his office. He was impatient, because he wanted to go over the information he’d sent her that morning in preparation for yet another meeting at DS Corp
His half-brother, Lorenzo, who dealt with DS Corp finances, was getting in his face about some suspicious looking activity in a couple of their father’s accounts and he wanted Nero’s tech help to see if there was anything up.
Nero had no problems with that. In fact, he’d love to prove that his prick of a father had been fiddling the books. He’d found out, in a random hack on Cesare de Santis’s private files, that his real father had known he’d had another son, and yet,had ignored Nero existence completely. Sure, the guy hadn’t known Nero had been kept in a tiny room for ten years, but still. He’d made no effort to contact Nero or even tried to find him. No, Cesare had left his son to rot in that room all alone.
It must have been galling when Nero had been discovered, to have his parentage revealed, the subsequent media storm forcing Cesare to acknowledge him as his son. Cesare had then showered Nero with the very best health care, a house, education, money, everything Nero had been denied for years.
Nero had accepted all of it, because, shit, he was owed. Luckily his father didn’t seem to expect more—not that Nero would have given it to him anyway—though once Nero’s aptitude with computers and technology had become apparent, his father had suddenly become a lot more interested.
Cesare had offered him employment in the family firm, and Nero had taken the job, because again, he was owed. But Cesare never acknowledged Nero’s tragic upbringing, not that Nero was upset about that. He didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with the man who could have helped both him and his mother, yet for reasons best known to himself, hadn’t.
So yeah, he was quite happy with helping Lorenzo investigate anything that might put a dent in that asshole if need be. If Nero’s stepfather was first on his shit list then his real father ran a close second.
On the monitor, Phoebe smiled at James and Nero promptly forgot about Lorenzo and his father as the whole hallway seemed to light up in response.
His hand clenched into a fist. Shit, she was taking far too long to get to him. He wanted to talk to her now.
He’d had to leave her the night before, because after she’d fallen asleep, and there was nothing to distract him, the awareness of where he was had crept up on him again. The walls had felt too high, the room too vast, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from slipping out of the bed and forcing himself, shaking and sweaty, back to the safety of his control room.
Yet he hadn’t been able to sleep there, either. He’d lain awake the rest of the night, his body aching. Hard for her. Wanting her next to him.
Jesus. He hadn’t wanted a woman like that in years. Perhaps he’d never wanted a woman like that.
On the screen, Phoebe laughed, and he suddenly couldn’t stand it anymore. He was tired of waiting for her and shit, he’d managed to get to her room the night before. He could make it to that fucking hallway, couldn’t he?
He got to his feet and headed through the doorway into his office, then out into the hallway beyond. The space got to him, the corridor doing that damn telescoping thing again, but he made himself walk forward. The walls reared away from him, his chest constricting, yet he kept going.
Coming out into the entranceway, he purposefully didn’t look up at the ceiling looming vastly over him, keeping his gaze on the stairs. His breath was coming faster, harder, but he could hear her now, her husky voice drawing him onward and up the stairs.
There wasn’t far to go, a turn to the left and there she was, standing in the hallway still talking to James. She was all dressed up in her pencil skirt and her prim white blouse, her hair in that little bun, and he wanted to shove her up against the wall, tear her clothes, push himself into her, make her scream.
Then she and James turned at the sound of his footsteps, the smile on her face like the sun and he realized that he possibly wanted to make her smile for him first. Before he did all that to her.
His butler’s eyes widened in shock, but Nero didn’t want to face that particular look, so he merely gave James a hard stare, which the man correctly interpreted and quickly made himself scarce.
Phoebe watched him approach, her gold-flecked gaze steady, a delicate flush staining her cheeks. And he couldn’t stop himself. He went straight over to her and caged her against the wall, putting his palms flat to the wallpaper on either side of her head.
She was so warm and the scent of her was intoxicating, making him forget the thudding of his pulse and the constriction in his chest. Making him even forget that he wasn’t in one of his familiar spaces.
She looked up at him, completely ca
lm. “I’m sorry. Was I late?”
“Yes,” he growled. “I was tired of waiting for you. I expect you to come instantly when I call for you, not to have discussions with my butler along the way.”
She frowned all of a sudden and lifted her hand and gently touched his brow. “Your forehead is damp,” she said quietly.
Shock pulsed down his spine. Somehow, she’d noticed how uneasy he was, and he didn’t like that. Didn’t like that at all. Because if he wasn’t careful, she’d start to ask questions, and he didn’t want her to ask questions. Just like he didn’t want her looking at him as if there was something wrong with him.
He bent his head and took her mouth in a hungry kiss instead, glorying in the way she opened for him almost immediately, kissing him back as if she’d been as hungry for him as he was for her.
He’d been meaning to discuss the upcoming meeting with her, but that was all gone now. There was only one thing clear in his head. “I want you, Phoebe,” he murmured against her lips. “Right now. Right here.”
She pulled away from him at that, and he let her, but he didn’t move away, keeping her pinned against the wall with his body. Her hand came out, but not to push at him the way she had last night. It simply rested on his chest, a small vital warmth. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Her voice was so very calm, and yet he could hear the faint husk to it. She wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed. “We are actually working together if you hadn’t noticed. You’re my boss after all.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” He nuzzled against her neck, brushing his mouth over the quickening pulse at the base of her throat. “It’s too late for that anyway, especially after last night.”
She shivered, the soft sound of her breath in his ear. “I have a meeting, don’t forget.”
Ah, Christ. The goddamn meeting. He’d love her to skip it, but he couldn’t. Not this one. He needed her to be there.
The Billionaire Beast Page 11
