The Firstborn Prince (The Billionaire Dynasties)

by Virginia Nelson

  He tugged her backward onto the bed. She collapsed on top of him with a surprised little giggle. “Good morning,” he said, before capturing her nipple through her white shirt dress.

  She gasped, not pulling away from him. “Well, you woke up in a good mood,” she mumbled.

  “I could be in a better mood,” he told her.

  “This might not be a good idea,” she whispered.

  He paused, glancing up at her face as if he could see her second thoughts in the graceful curve of her cheek or the too-blue of her eyes.

  “You don’t do seconds,” she reminded him.

  Rolling to his side, he buried his face in her neck, smothering himself a little in the glory of her hair. He hugged her close, curving her body into his like a spoon. “So? You already knew that.”

  She shoved her hair out of the way so she could twist her head to look at him. “I’m not sure if I can do this, not with that hanging over my head. I want you, but…” She trailed off, as if she wasn’t even sure what more she needed from him.

  “No rules. We play it as it goes,” he offered. He’d already decided that once wouldn’t be enough with this particular woman, not that he wanted to share that. He craved her in a way that wouldn’t be satisfied that easily. Promising her more than once was more for himself than her, but it still gave him an out.

  Just in case things got sticky.

  “Like, you’d go back for seconds?” She looked intrigued and rubbed that sweet little ass back against him. He captured her hips with one hand, keeping her still while they negotiated.

  “Maybe thirds,” he said.

  “Hmm,” she answered, looking like she was considering it.

  “But no commitment,” he warned her. “Don’t get attached or anything. Boyds normally don’t do seconds, but I’m not sure how much more than that I can promise you. I don’t want to lead you on.”

  “Oh, Foster,” she said, rolling to cup his face in her delicate little hands. “No one can promise forever, not if they’re being honest. I’d be happy with ‘until we’re done.’”

  Looking at her lovely face, he wondered how long until he could possibly be done with her? How long until the rush of acquisition wore off and he tired of the sound of her voice, her laugh.

  She had a point, though. No one could promise forever. “I’m satisfied with those terms,” he told her.

  She laughed, the motion making her breasts jiggle in a way that he couldn’t help but appreciate. “Damn, you do know how to talk sexy, don’t you?”

  “You have no idea,” he said. With that, he began to drag the bottom edge of that teasing shirt dress up her thigh.

  Chapter Eleven

  From Natalie’s rules for Foster Boyd, v1

  Rule #6: Both of you have done a ton of wonderful and meaningful work, using your wealth to try to make a difference in the world and change things that aren’t fair. And that’s great! But, sadly, a lot of your efforts to enact positive change are overshadowed by the more salacious details because they sell more papers and get more ratings than your good work. I need you to focus on acting and living in accordance to the values you so clearly have defined with your efforts to further mankind. After all, anything worth doing is worth doing well, right? (And before you tell me that is a cliché, I’m going to remind you that clichés become clichés because they’re often correct. Otherwise, they wouldn’t bear repeating, now would they?)

  Was she supposed to talk him out of seducing her? Because she couldn’t quite find the enthusiasm to do so when he had his hands on her body. He apparently slept naked, so there was literally no barrier between her eyes and acres and acres of exceptionally sexy and interested male.

  She’d barely dressed herself, come to think of it. The shirt dress was businesslike, but wearing only it and undergarments left her practically naked, really. But it wasn’t like he’d even noticed what she was wearing before today, so who cared?

  Oh, she cared. Right as he danced those skillful fingers up her thigh, she cared a lot. “I didn’t dress for seduction, I dressed for work,” she warned him.

  “Shh,” he answered. “Let me unwrap the package slowly. It’s fun for me.”

  Who was she to ruin a man’s pleasure? Especially when the man in question sat up and crawled to the foot of the bed to peek under her dress. Dragging kisses up her thigh, he brought her flesh to life one inch at a time, nibbling a bit right as she thought she knew what to expect next.

  “A thong?” he said in surprise. “Nice choice.” He cupped her ass in his palms while she laughed.

  “Am I allowed to touch you this time?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he replied. “Nice bra.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but he pulled the cups down to reveal her breasts and didn’t seem altogether interested in the fabric he’d just complimented. He bit down on her nipple, causing her to cry out in surprise.

  While she was still sizzling in the tension his nip caused, he slid her shirt up her body and over her head. She thought he planned to take off the shirt entirely, but instead he pulled it off one arm, twisted the fabric between the rungs on his headboard, then twined the other end back around her wrist.

  “Hold onto this, okay?”

  “If your brother comes in again, I can’t be held accountable for my actions,” she warned him.

  His smile had a bit more of its power back when he answered, “He can watch. We’re not stopping.”

  She shivered, not entirely sure if it was because of his determination or of the idea of his brother watching as he took her. Good lord, she had a dirty mind.

  He spent a good amount of time on her breasts, each pull of his lips on her flesh seeming to have a direct line to the nerves between her legs. She shivered, the heat rising as the pressure built in her belly, and she tugged on the shirt turned restraint restlessly. Her legs rubbing together brought her no relief, and she found even less as he took his big hands and used them to spread her across the bed.

  He knelt between her legs, gazing up at her body through the barrier of that lock of blond hair that fell over his brow, and she thought she might come just from the erotic look in his eye. His dick twitched, proving he wasn’t unaffected by their play.

  “I’m going to taste you,” he whispered.

  “I had a feeling that might be where this is going,” she teased, trying for a casualness she didn’t feel.

  Because she had to pretend. It felt too real, to important, to something for her to let him know how much it meant to her.

  How much he was coming to mean to her.

  “Don’t interrupt,” he warned her. “Or I’ll keep you on the edge of orgasm until you’re begging again.”

  She closed her mouth with a snap.

  “Good girl,” he whispered, thumbs tracing circles on her thighs. “As I was saying, I’m going to taste you. Sit up,” he began. Those thumbs had traveled between her legs. He grazed against her clit with his left thumb, and her hips bucked to try to increase the pressure. “Sit up and face the wall.”

  She wanted to ask why he’d laid her out like this, if he wanted her to sit up, but it occurred to her that he hadn’t told her she could speak. And she wanted to come so damn badly.

  Instead of questioning him, she rolled over, twisting her arms but not freeing herself from the restraint. The fabric slid easily up the bar, and the flitting thought of him doing this to other women crossed her mind.

  She couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to care. If he’d slept with five women or five hundred, did it matter if he was using the skills he picked up to satisfy her? She sure as hell didn’t mind.

  Her wrists were twisted, caught between the bed and the wall, but she was more interested in what he was doing. First, he shoved the pillows off the bed with a trembling hand. That little tremor in his movement—it said so much. His touches had weight, as if they mattered more than a morning quickie. As if each touch was important.

  But then he was stroking his hands across
her skin, learning her curves and biting her right at the shoulder, and she was moaning. It felt so damn good. His fingers dug into her scalp, pulling on her hair as he tilted her head back to take her mouth. The kiss dragged out, firing her senses as he used her hair to guide her deeper into his embrace. One of his palms spread, practically covering her whole belly, as he held her so close to him that she could feel his heart thump in her spine. His cock bumped into her ass and she arched back, aching to be filled. Needing him inside her.

  He smacked her ass with his open palm, hard enough to sting. “No rushing it,” he warned.

  He moved away from her, and she whimpered.

  But he was just repositioning himself. In seconds, he’d pushed her legs farther apart and pulled his face between them, so that she knelt over his head.

  “You’re lovely, my Natalie. A delicacy, and I find that I crave your taste on my tongue.”

  If his words weren’t erotic enough, the feel of his lips just brushing her pussy would have done it for her. His breath tickled her flesh, teasing at the pleasure he could bring her, and she had to force herself not to drop lower, grinding her aching need against his face.

  His hand slid between them, a rough pressure as he pressed his palm against her body. She rocked on it a few seconds, and he didn’t stop her.

  But then he had his mouth on her body. His fingers pressed inside until he reached the bundle of nerves that sent her flying. The things he could do with his tongue…oh. She couldn’t control her body anymore, giving over to impulse and grinding down to get more of his touch, more of him, just more.

  And then the pressure erupted, firing her body into twitches as the orgasm shattered everything that made her logical and sane. Moans filled the room, and it took her a moment to realize it was her, as she jerked above him like a wild animal.

  He moved away from her, but she could do nothing more than quake, little aftershocks of pleasure igniting in her like fireworks dotting an inky black sky.

  But he wasn’t done, his hands sliding over her body again from behind. Molding her breasts before tugging roughly on her nipples. Not enough to hurt, exactly. But enough to have her clawing at the restraints, shoving her ass back toward him in desperation.

  “Lower,” he commanded, but his voice had gone rough. She obeyed the hand pressing on her spine, lowering herself until her ass was in the air and her bound hands above her head. She could see him from this position, an upside-down god from mythology, intent on domination.

  Then his fingers were on her again, sliding inside, fingering her until she was panting for him. Once he’d slid on a rubber, he eased inside her body slowly, inch by inch.

  “Are you ready?” he asked in that rough voice. That unknown voice, the one that sounded so much more primal and guttural compared to his normally cultured way of speaking.

  He was fully seated, so it only took reaching forward for him to tweak one nipple. “I asked if you were ready,” he repeated.

  “Foster,” she whispered, her voice gone. “Please,” she managed.

  He pulled out of her and his moan matched hers in volume and desperation. When he slammed home, she shoved back on her restraints to meet him. They danced like that for moments or centuries, she wasn’t sure, but the burning built up again, this time to molten levels. She was going to fall into pieces, ones she might not be able to reassemble when he was done, but dammit, the ride would be worth the fall.

  When she came, she lifted her head, arching her neck as she almost screamed out her release. It was too big, too much, and her body couldn’t hold it all in, so it escaped as a sound. His fingers dug into her hip as he drove home one last time, then he cried out, catching her hair in his fist as he jerked, spilling inside her as if she’d dragged the orgasm from the very depths of his soul.

  Once it was over, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything besides shiver in reaction. He freed her hands from her shirt, and she was surprised to see even her fingers were fluttering, as if her nerves had gone into overdrive and couldn’t remember how they were supposed to function.

  He pulled her close, those big hands of his rubbing her skin until she could breathe steady again. With one of her shaking hands, she touched her face, surprised to realize that she’d cried.

  He rained kisses across her shoulder, tucking her into his body as if he’d hold her until she could put herself back together again. “Yeah,” he finally whispered. “I’m going to have to go back for seconds. This wasn’t enough.”

  Her laugh was shaky as she rolled to face him. “Next time, I get to touch you,” she said.

  He shrugged, smiling at her. The little dimple winked out at her, making an appearance like the sun breaking through the clouds. “We’ll see.”

  Chapter Twelve

  From Natalie’s rules for Foster Boyd, v1

  Rule #7: Do not be afraid to work outside the box. There’s a reason innovators change the world—they aren’t afraid to do things differently. From everything I’ve found in my research, you’ve fallen into a rut. First, you’ll accomplish this great thing (clean water to people who were sharing a community ditch before your efforts, shoes for third world children, socks for the homeless, new hospital wing, etc.) and then some scandal will break. The secret is…there will always be another scandal. If you consider this inevitable, perhaps it won’t send such chaos through your life when it happens. After said scandal breaks, your go-to response is to dispute it. Publicly. You have a thing for stairs—courthouse stairs, skyscraper stairs—there are more clips of you on stairs saying “It’s all lies” than there are sexy pictures of that superhero actor guy. Then, amid public uproar, you vanish off the map for sometimes weeks on end. Rinse, repeat. My advice to you, Mr. Boyd, is to break the cycle. Get outside the box, jump out of the rut. A little change, in this case, can go a long way to a new way of life.

  He needed to get back to work—per her rules, even, since he was at risk of breaking rule number seven if he didn’t. But the temptation of her made it harder to focus. There were so many delightful ways to take her, and he’d only gotten started.

  Up against a wall? Not yet. Bent over his table? No. Hell, he hadn’t managed to have her outside the bedroom yet. Instead of cooperating, she was obsessed with feeding him. He didn’t mention that after sex, he didn’t have much appetite.

  But he was starved for her. So, he would eat, even if he’d rather spend his time touching her. Because if he cooperated, she probably would, and he could try out the wall. And table. And maybe the shower.

  Connor breezed through the front door, taking in the domestic-looking scene of her burning eggs in his kitchen while Foster sat beside his dog at the table, scrolling through the news on his tablet. His smile turned to a frown pretty quickly.

  Him unhappy pleased Foster on some weird, twisted level.

  “Good morning, brother.”

  “Why the hell isn’t she wearing more clothes?” Connor asked, his voice ice-cold.

  “Sorry,” Natalie yelped, making a beeline for the bedroom.

  Although he wasn’t sure why, Foster surged to his feet, catching her wrist and using it to twirl her back into his arms until she rested against him, her face in his shoulder. Into her hair, he whispered, “This is my house, not his. Do not jump to get dressed because he ordered it.”

  “I can’t believe you had sex with him.” Connor didn’t look at them, instead moving to the stove to stir the eggs. “I knew there was something going on with you two.”

  “It isn’t any of your business either way,” Foster pointed out.

  His brother quirked a brow and looked at him from his own eyes, a mirror of the dark side he kept within.

  “Let me go,” Natalie said into Foster’s neck, her breath warm and sweet against his skin.

  “Do not run,” he asked her. “I need you.”

  Connor knew him too well—all the ugly bits, the pieces he didn’t want to think about, not while whatever he had with Natalie lasted.

  Bec
ause it wouldn’t last long. He hoped he’d made it clear to her. “Nothing gold can stay,” that’s what the poet Frost said. He wasn’t wrong. Nothing lasted, not in Foster’s experience, but especially not things that were gold. Some people were made for relationships, for being with another human all the time. He was built to focus on one thing, and that thing had to be his work. If he lost focus, he’d make mistakes. Wasn’t that what Connor had done, hence the whole reason he hired Natalie? He’d gotten involved with a woman—breaking the no seconds rule—and made a mistake. Boyd Cosmetics mattered too much to Foster for him to make the same mistake.

  Their father had made mistakes, nearly driving the company into the ground because he was distracted with his wife, his family. It’d ended with him dead on a highway—driving when he was too tired to be behind the wheel because he’d spread himself too thin—and Foster learned the important lesson.

  Emotional ties and business didn’t mix. Not in his world.

  Connor reaffirmed that belief when he’d let that Young ad slip through the cracks and go public. If he didn’t pay attention to the work, to his sense of control, he’d make the same mistakes as his father and brother. No thanks.

  Twisting one of her mermaid locks in his fingertips, he realized that she even looked gold, all glittering and tempting, but the tarnish…it would happen.

  Her fingertips twitched against his bare chest, and his body came to life. For now, they were still gold. He hadn’t taken her against the countertop yet, either.

  She backed away from him slowly, meeting his eyes as their breath mingled and strands of her fiery hair tangled in his beard, connecting them even as she opened the space between them.

  “I’m not running,” she answered. “But I am going back to the eggs before he ruins them.”

  Just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing alone on one side of the island while she joined Connor on the other side. He spent a lot of time alone, though, so he wasn’t sure why the distance bothered him. Buffy nudged at his hand, and he stroked her head gently.

  “Good girl,” he whispered, not sure which female in the room he was really talking to.