Dirty Beautiful Rich: Part Two (4 page)

But she didn’t want that. She wanted him. She wanted to feel him. And she wanted to not be so alone.

Slowly, she nodded.

“We’re not going to have sex,” he said gently.

“What?” And her heart skipped a beat with disappointment. . . But at the same time, she felt. . . Relief? It was all happening so fast. She wasn’t sure she was ready to have sex with him... She grinned. “I thought we’d never have something so plebeian as sex anyway.”

“Good point, clever woman,” he growled. He leaned his head back against the soft leather seat and pinned her with his intense gaze. “This is going to be all about you, love.”

She swallowed, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“All. About. You.”

“I—I—” She felt her body start to shake with nerves. If all this went wrong, if she was frigid, could she really not pretend to come? She’d promised him she wouldn’t. She drew in a shaky breath. “What if—”

He lifted a hand and placed his slightly calloused finger to her lips. “Trust, remember?”

She nodded silently, gulping back a sudden wave of panic. She supposed she’d always sort of performed her way through sex, knowing that the sooner she acted like she came the sooner her partner could actually come and then they could just be together. She’d given up on her own release some time ago.

Dropping her hands to her jeans, she started to work the buttons open that he’d started on.

“Julie?” he whispered.

“Hmm?” Did her voice really sound that high?

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

She stopped, her fingers feeling weirdly numb. Everything felt a little fuzzy. A little surreal. Okay. She could do that. He had beautiful shoulders. The kind of shoulders you’d see on a romance novel cover. So, she gently placed her hands on his broad shoulders. “Now what?

“Now, you think of nothing but me and what I’m doing.”

That was easier said than done. Her brain was an explosion of thoughts. What if he didn’t like what he saw in the end? What if. . .?

“Julie,” he murmured. “Here. With. Me. Say it.”

She winced. Was it that obvious? Apparently. So she forced herself to meet his gaze and mumble, “Here with you.”

He stroked his hands along her rib cage, up her back, then again over her ribcage through her t-shirt. Oh so casually, as if his touch wasn’t igniting a blaze of desire in her entire body. He touched and teased without even touching her breasts or lower. He just trailed his fingers over her torso, along her neck, her cheekbones. He cupped her chin, then angled her face for his kiss.

Soft, slow, patient, the kiss shook her to her core. Was this what it was supposed to be like? She could do this for hours. Every kiss, every stroke of his tongue against hers had her floating like she’d drunk a bottle of champagne but there was a slow, growing urgency too.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” he whispered against her mouth.

That stopped her. She’d not allowed herself to give it much thought. And what thought she had given it hadn’t been particularly flattering to herself. “No,” she confessed.

“I want to touch your breasts. I want to take your nipples into my mouth and taste their sweetness. I want to put my hand between your thighs and stroke your clitoris until you can’t stand it. Until you are begging me to fuck you, beautiful.”

Her cheeks burned at his shocking words and the clitoris he wanted to stroke so much? It was aching for his touch. How did he do that? Just with words?

Every word he spoke just seemed to drive away any sort of reasonable thought she had in her head and it took her a moment to realize that she’d started to rock against him. Her body was moving of its own volition, on pure instinct.

He wove his fingers into her hair, fisting it, holding her tight as his kiss deepened.

She could barely breathe.

With his other hand, he eased under her shirt and undid the fastenings of her bra.

In
one
try. 

In her limited experience, the bra was where things started to get awkward. But not with Damian.

He groaned as he lightly cupped her breast in his hand, massaging it gently then teasing the hard nipple with his thumb.

His groan and the soft touch of his hand had her losing it.  She gasped for breath, but he was unyielding. Kissing her again and again, stroking her mouth with his tongue, biting her lower lip. It was like he wanted her totally drunk on lust. And it was working.

She let out a moan. She couldn’t help it. Some strange, wildness was taking her over as she grabbed onto his shoulders.

“What is it, love?” he whispered against her mouth. He leaned back, letting her breathe.

“I need. . .”

“What?” he asked simply, still teasing her breast, his hand still wound in her hair. “What do you need?”

“I— Can’t. . .” She gulped, her world burning. “S—say it.”

“Oh, Julie. . .”

“Please, Damian,” she begged. She couldn’t believe it. But yes, she was begging. He’d done something to her with those kisses and touches. Something she’d never felt before.

His golden eyes were the color of amber in sunlight as he held her head still and slid his other hand lower, over the soft curve of her abdomen then to her unbuttoned jeans. He peeled back the denim, exposing her panties. He teased his fingers along the cotton until he found the softest part of her, then through the fabric, he circled his fingers.

She tensed against him, the feeling so incredible, so foreign. She’d felt a bit like this when she touched herself, but. . . It didn’t really compare. This was torture. The sweetest, most sinful torture she’d ever known in her life.

“Damian,” she panted.

He tugged her head back and gazed down at her, “God, you’re beautiful, Julie Doyle.”

And for that moment, she absolutely believed it.

He slid his fingers into her panties and stroked into her wet heat.

She gasped as he found the spot that had seemed a secret for so long. Unrelentingly, he teased it, stroking, caressing, circling his fingers.

Every touch sent her hurdling towards something. She grabbed onto his shoulders, terrified that she was going to shatter and never be able to be put together again.

“Look in my eyes, Julie,” he commanded.

And she did. The look she saw there was feral, possessive, and a man in total control but on the edge of losing it all as he suddenly drove a finger deep into her core as he circled his thumb over her clitoris.

A cry of pleasure so intense it verged on pain rippled through her whole being. Her body pulsed over and over around his finger and still he didn’t let up, circling his thumb without pause.

The pleasure hit her again and again, riding her over a tsunami of emotion and carnal desire. He didn’t stop until she was shaking, draped against him. Then slowly, he lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked on it. A sigh of such intense satisfaction came out of him, she shivered.

He didn’t say anything as he cuddled her close to his rock hard body.

She could feel his tenseness. The fact that he hadn’t had an orgasm. She could feel his hard cock still pressed against her thigh. Oh, how she wanted to reach for it.

As if he could sense her thoughts, he held onto her, keeping her immobile. Voice as rough as gravel, he repeated, “All. About. You.”

She laughed softly, then pressed her face to his chest, her heart rate slowing and yet, her heart. . . Her heart felt dangerously full. She wanted to thank him, but that would probably be too weird.

A smile suddenly pulled at her lips. “Damian!” she exclaimed without thinking or shame. “I’m not frigid.”

A low laugh, a dangerously sexy sound rumbled from his chest. “Beautiful, you’re as frigid as a tropical storm. Now, I think we need a nap. Don’t you?” 

She nodded, nestling against him. As he wrapped his arms about her and tucked the cashmere blanket about them, she felt tears of joy sting her eyes. She couldn’t recall feeling this safe or wanted in all her life. It was a feeling she was going to do everything she could to hold on to.

Chapter 5

Damian held her tight to his chest, close to his heart. Dawn was going to peer through the small jet windows any moment and break the strange spell of the night. Whether the stress of the last few days, the orgasm she’d just had, or the safety of his arms, she’d slept almost the entirety of the flight. It had allowed him seven unbroken hours of simply holding her.

He didn’t. Generally. Hold women, that is. He was kind to them, he comforted them, he even cuddled them because he wasn’t an arse. Women were such different creatures. They needed emotional attention, not just physical, and that’s where men always got it wrong. They went straight for a woman’s body, thinking that if they could just physically turn her on, they’d own her.

Damian went for their minds and souls. Which in itself was tricky. He couldn’t go too far. He didn’t want to encourage the women he went to bed with that they were
the one
. There never would be
the one
for him. There couldn’t be. He wouldn’t allow it.

He looked down at Julie, her cheek nestled against his chest, her hand resting over his heart and that strangely gruff voice growled again.
Mine
.

So, he had to be careful. Very, very careful. He wanted to unleash Julie upon the world, to show everyone what a beautiful, strong woman she was. But he also didn’t want her to think. . .

He looked away and cursed under his breath. This had all seemed so straightforward twenty four hours ago. Take her to Ireland. Get her into his bed. Teach her to stop doubting herself. Move on.

He always moved on.

Was it because he saw so much of the pain and fear he’d known years ago in her? That had to be it. He understood her. He identified with her. That’s why she was different. That’s why
he
felt differently with her in his arms.

The jet’s engine hummed a different note and he felt the first hint of descent. He glanced at his Cartier watch, his father’s watch. His reminder to never let himself go.

They were going to land in less than an hour.

Good. They’d leave the jet and this strange feeling would leave him as they returned to the regular activities of his world. This bizarre sensation that he had come home, here, now, holding her in his arms as opposed to the feeling he got driving up to his estate would dissipate.

He felt an intense wave of sadness. A black dog wave of darkness. Once, his parents had been in love. He could still remember them laughing together, gazing into each other’s eyes, holding hands. 

Then it had all changed.

Everything had changed.

And everyday more and more cracks had formed in his parents’ love until it had shattered, leaving nothing behind but bitter dust.

And his father. . . His father. . . Damian lifted a hand to his eyes and squeezed just enough that he saw white light. He refused to think about that. He wasn’t going to remember that day he’d come home from University, walked down the hall, and. . .

“Damian?”  Julie stretched then tensed, her whole body jolting awake.

“Yes, beautiful?” he asked, relief flooding him. With her awake, he’d focus on teasing her. On pulling her out of herself. Not on his dark memories. Or the will that kept him on the straight and narrow path that had made him the powerful man he was today.

She buried her face in his chest. “This isn’t a dream.”

“No,” he agreed. “Unless, I’m dreaming too and I promise I don’t dream about flying in my jet just a few thousand feet above the Atlantic.”

She jerked up, eyes wide and she glanced to the window.

He laughed. “Go on.”

She blushed. Oh, how he loved the flaming of her cheeks.

“I’ve never been to Europe,” she explained as if she needed to explain her rampant enthusiasm.

“Then you best be watching for your first sight of it.”

Beaming, she shimmied toward the window and stared.

He watched her face, full of wonder, completely unguarded, and he felt a tremor of regret. Had he ever been like that? Of course he had. Once, before that long ago day, he’d still found wonder in the world. Before he’d shut the door on his heart. He prayed Julie never lost it. And he’d do everything in his damned power to make sure she never did.

***

J
ulie spotted the patchwork quilt of Ireland’s green fields and fought a cry of happiness. She pressed her face up to the window and fought tears. She never really cried anymore, but here she was. An emotional heap ever since she’d met Damian Fitzgerald. Maybe it was because he kept opening doors for her that had been slammed into her face before.

She and her mom had always talked about going to Ireland and visiting the places her grandparents had lived. Her mom hadn’t been Irish, but she’d clearly wanted to be and loved that part of Julie’s dad. Grace Doyle had filled the house with Belleek and Donegal China. She and her husband had covered the walls in paintings of wild scenery and thatched cottages. After her dad had passed she and her mom had even planned a trip, studying booking sites together and Irish tourism spots. It had never happened.

Julie swallowed back her tears as a deep sort of joy tugged at her heart. “I’m here mom,” she whispered.

“Are you all right, beautiful?” Damian’s gentle voice penetrated her reverie.

She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek even as she smiled. “Yes. More than alright.”

He stroked her back. “I’m glad to hear it.”

And as she stared out the window, the jet dropping lower and lower, she was amazed to see that mist was curling around the aircraft dashing the windows, pelting it with droplets of water.

“Welcome to Ireland,” Damian teased. “Did you bring your Wellingtons?”

She couldn’t tear her gaze away as she spotted a large river and then the runway. “What are Wellingtons?”

He laughed softly. “Rain boots.”

“I live in Colorado,” she stated, pressing her nose to the window. “I own snow boots and I didn’t bring them.”

“I doubt we’ll see snow. But there is a reason Ireland’s green.”

The rain, she assumed. But who wouldn’t put up with a little rain for such a beautiful landscape?