One Night With the Billionaire (Men of the Zodiac) (9 page)

Chapter Ten

R
yder ignored the flash of surprise in Zoe’s eyes and dove in, his mouth claiming hers with a voracity that left no room for misunderstanding. His lips melded against hers. The risk be damned, they fit together so perfectly in this vertical, fully clothed condition that his heart beat double at the promise of her bare skin against his. They half walked, half stumbled back to the cabana, and stopped short against the door.

The searing heat between them must have obliterated any hesitation she harbored, because as he pressed deeper, she met him. Sucked him in. Her fingers wound through his hair, clutching at the overgrown strands as she pulled him closer. She smelled of salt and sea air, and his every breath was full of her, probably always would be. In that one incoherent moment, a slice of clarity prevailed: she was what he’d been missing. That piece of himself for which he’d searched failingly had her name scrawled on it, but she’d eased back those layers and left him raw and aching and knowing, dammit, that this thing they had was what he’d longed for.

What he thought he’d never have.

What he never
could
have.

He faltered, then, wracked with his own hesitance.

She withdrew, swollen lip caught between her teeth and worry in her eyes. “You don’t have to—”

“Damn right I don’t.” The words exited on a growl that terminated with his mouth on her. In the same breath, he hoisted her, dragging her pelvis tight against his as her legs wound around him. He felt her heat as surely as she felt his erection, which—intentionally or otherwise—she managed to squirm against through his pants. The pleasure was punishing, and he ate it up. He deserved what he got and then some, especially if Zoe hadn’t fling-zoned him. Especially if she wanted more.

Either way, he’d pay later.

Knees almost giving out with the promise of her, he managed to maneuver through the door and aim for the impeccably made bed in the next room. He landed haphazardly on top of her, catching himself with his forearms before he flattened her into the luxurious mattress. The position into which he quickly found himself offered no respite. The distance between them was short, leaving him treacherously close to breasts that threatened to spill from the top of that little dress that, no matter what she said, had been made for seduction. The skirt was all out of sorts, leaving her thighs bare. Exposed. Smooth as sin, her legs hooked over his hips, trapping him in the best kind of hell.

They had both stilled. It was as if the universe was giving him one last chance to come to his senses, maybe do the right thing. But nothing right had ever felt as good as her arms wound around his neck or her tongue in his mouth. Once he sank into her, there’d be no undoing this thing. The threat flashed in neon, but the devil on one shoulder took a pitchfork to the angel on the other and that was the end of that.

But not so quickly. He wanted this to last and last and last, because once his conscience caught up with him, there would be hell to pay. As it was, control marched away from him, step by reckless step. Hoping to regain an inch, he shifted back a notch, not quite disentangling from her but adding some much needed distance between her body and his. He deepened the kiss, then broke free long enough to close his mouth on the distended nipple that had slipped free of her dress. She gasped, and with her hands on the back of his head buried him against her breast. He took the cue and sucked harder, rougher, rasping his tongue against her sensitive flesh. She muttered something unintelligible, then managed to hoist herself against him, singularly redefining
bump and grind
as she moved.

Fuck
. He drew back, catching the impish grin a split second before she reined it in. She was
trying
to drive him crazy.
Bring it on, sweetheart.
He eased his hand along her thigh, taking his time drawing feather-light, lazy circles until her legs loosened their grip and she relaxed into the bed. Then, with the first little breath of contentment that suggested she was off her guard, he gave a firm smack to her ass.

Her eyes flew from half-mast, and she squirmed so deliciously against him that he almost lost it on the spot.

“You like that, princess?”

The question was as useless as his ability to resist her, but his conscience dictated that he give her an out. A chance to say no, to untwine those mile-long legs from where they wrapped around him and show him some mercy. But she didn’t make a play for the exit. Instead, she fisted his shirt into a ball and dragged him down, telling him with her mouth and her tongue just what she thought of having his handprint on her skin.

He’d found a sweet spot between her thighs, where grinding against her threatened his sanity but felt so damn good nothing short of her denial could make him stop. Over and over she dragged him to the edge and back, and he rode the high, keeping the rhythm with his fingertips light against her ass. He supported himself on the other elbow, the fingers of the same hand caught in her hair. He tugged, baring the tender hollow of her neck, nipping gently as she ground her pelvis harder against him. They were moving like lovers, like there wasn’t a stitch of clothing between them. Like there wasn’t a reason in the world he couldn’t claim her. Make her his own.

He turned his attention to her breast, certain when he closed his mouth on her nipple that his pleasure must match her own. She clutched at the bed and arched her back, lifting him. The pressure was unbearable, and just as quickly it was gone and she was fumbling with his zipper. Seconds later, she had her hand wrapped around him. She quickly adopted the rhythm he’d kept between her thighs, tugging softly at his hot flesh until he saw stars. Pretty, sparkly motherfuckers.

So much for making it last.

“I hope you have some condoms around here,” she said, the request a seduction in itself.

In lieu of a verbal response—he couldn’t form words if he had to—he delivered another firm smack to her ass. She sucked in a breath.

Good. Maybe he’d regained some traction.

“Do it again.”

So much for traction, but damned if he was taking orders. He grinned and eased out of her arms, leaving her bare and himself unsteady. His dick, as big as he’d ever seen it, jutted from his open fly. He left her long enough to grab his supply of condoms, tossing the unopened box near her head. Then he walked past her, yanking on the duvet until she slid upward on the bed.

“What are you doing?”

He ignored her long enough to pull a silk tie from the nightstand, then easily captured her wrists and attached them to the headboard with the material. She didn’t question him, and she didn’t object. Just watched him through heavily-lidded eyes, trusting him.

Trust.

It weighed heavily on him. Honored him. But maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe after what she went through, waiting for a man who gave it to everyone else when he should have been hers alone, Ryder could have been anyone, and her stance in the argument they’d just had didn’t help. The thought pissed him off.

He shed the rest of his clothes and grabbed the box, ripping the thing in two, sending the contents flying. He snagged a condom and tore the packet, then rolled it on. She watched him without a word, the only movement that of her breasts as her chest rose and fell. When he had the condom in place, he crawled onto the bed, spreading her legs with his knees as he went. He barely glanced at what awaited him, instead favoring eye contact.

“You can say no. Any time.” He meant it, but that didn’t stop him from praying she’d green-light him. If he had to quit now, his dick would probably never bend again.

“How about you come here a minute,” she said, coy as fuck, “and we’ll talk about it?”

The sultry edge to her tone was his saving grace. He crawled over her, his erection swaying and nudging her flesh as he approached. “What do you want to talk about, princess?”

“Come closer.”

He did, until her mouth touched his and he felt her lips stretch into a smile. Then she whispered, “Fuck. Me. Hard.”

Jesus. At this rate he wouldn’t get a chance. She punctuated the breathy little demand by hooking her legs around his back and tugging him down, and between her and his dick, he didn’t get a vote. She was tight, but so wet she offered little resistance. All he felt was heat and sin as he plowed into her, landing hard, balls deep and breathless.

She tugged at her restraints and gasped with such force, he wondered if he’d hurt her.

“Do it again.”

Oh, shit
. Apparently she wasn’t feeling any pain, but he could use a hammer to the back of his skull. Anything to distract him from the dirty-mouthed little vixen writhing in his bed. Good little princess, his ass.

He eased out of her body, feeling the loss. Hating it. When he was almost free of her, he leaned down to kiss the valley between her breasts. She squirmed beneath him, moaning when his lips closed on first one nipple, then the other. When he had her distracted, he drove back into her, knocking the headboard into the freshly painted wall without an ounce of regret.

She yanked at the restraints, the effort punctuated by soft moans. He rewarded the effort with a smack to her other ass cheek. Their eyes met, and whatever he saw liquefied his resolve. Playtime was over…it was time to make due on his promise, so he slammed into her, buried to the hilt, then forced himself to retreat only to do it all over again. The bed shook with his effort, and before long she followed suit, her body shuddering around him.

He forced himself not to follow. Had to be sheer willpower. Or disbelief that anything could feel so good. He eased, shaking, from her body, and took her in. Soft moonlight spilled through the windows and glistened over her sweat-slicked skin. Her breasts swayed with the force of her breaths, her nipples still tight. His marks still on her.

Not. Just. Sex.

He leaned forward and untied her, then kissed and massaged her wrists. He worked his way down her arm until she wound them around his neck, dragging him close. He obliged, every move slow. Gentle.

Erotic as hell.

His dick raged.

The kiss that followed defied that. Lazy. Probing. Deep. He felt it to his toes, this possession. Wasn’t even sure who was possessing whom. Just that he needed more of it.

He worked his hands down her body until he cupped her ass. She moaned into his kiss and arched against him with the pressure, so he took advantage of her position to pull her to sitting, where he worked the remains of her dress over her head and tossed the garment. On his knees, he pulled her into his lap, burying himself in her. Her eyes closed.

Nuh-uh.

“Look at me, Zoe.”

She obliged. He grabbed her hips and eased her into motion, an easy give and take, watching her face until her eyes fluttered closed.
Bingo
. He marked the territory, rocking against her clit at a slow, building pace until she started riding him hard, his careful rhythm shot to hell. When he had her good and frantic, he closed his mouth on her breast and sucked. Hard.

She came harder.

But not as hard as he. Orgasm tore through him, a thousand pinpoints of pleasure and light that left him numb and shaking. It was all he could do to lower her to the bed, then not to crush her with his inevitable collapse. He hit the mattress and drew her in.

Held her.

Couldn’t let her go.

Wouldn’t. For anything.

Chapter Eleven

Z
oe cracked open an eyelid to the blinding dance of morning sunlight on the Caribbean. The white sand, mottled with shade from sporadic palms dotting the beach, rippled as the fronds lazed in the slight breeze that danced through the open window. Memories of the night they shared assaulted her. One night. Whatever. No way she’d stop wanting what they had.

He’s usually the one running.

Aggie’s words haunted Zoe. Why not this time? Why had he risked…whatever it was to be with her?

Why had she
let
him?

Behind her, Ryder’s soft breaths hitched, and after a brief rustle, he snagged her with his arm, dragging her the short distance across the cool sheets to full-on body contact. He rolled to his side to encase her with his limbs. “Morning, beautiful.”

The words, exquisitely spoken, were a mere murmur against her neck. Chills skated across her skin, and her nipples, despite a lingering soreness, immediately hardened. Desire coiled through her, a primal response to a man who was just as tender as he was commanding. A man whose power existed not just in one of those suits she’d once favored, but in the seductively rough skin of his hands.

A man who thought her beautiful.

She turned to face him, then traced the five o’clock shadow that tended to show up by mid-afternoon until she touched his lips. Soft, sensual, they curved into a smile before finding her neck, where he nipped at her with his teeth. The gesture made her ache inside. Ryder had made love to her in a way no man ever had, and he wasn’t even hers.

He couldn’t be.

She’d come there to escape scandal, not create it. Ryder hadn’t drawn much media attention over the years—she’d learned as much when she’d tried Googling him—but the opening of the resort, with its dignitaries and A-listers in attendance, would change that. Her ex’s antics had thrown her onto public radar, and while the media would quickly move onto the next scandal, her sudden disappearance from the cocktail of lawyers and politicians that made the DC social scene had likely raised a brow or two. For her to reappear as the special guest of a billionaire resort owner just a couple of weeks after her ex’s scandal would make her no better than the women who thought they could raise their worth by sleeping with a US Senator. It would look like she was playing a game of one-upmanship, and however untrue, the claims would be hard to dispute.

Ryder’s strong, rough palm eased along the length of her body, and his clear blue eyes found hers. He ducked his head to close his warm mouth on her breast, then teased her with his tongue, so gently the soreness eased in favor of crippling need. “You’re thinking too much, princess,” he said, his lips grazing her skin. “Just feel.”

With any part of his mouth touching her, she couldn’t do anything
but
feel. She felt the thundering boom of fireworks reverberate through her when his wandering touch slid between her legs, stroking her so gently it was as if he conjured from thin air the pleasure he emanated.

After the night they shared, her body responded with a will of its own, already teetering on the edge of a fall. His feather light touches were the best kind of torture, binding in a way the restraints couldn’t. He’d been relentless, left her thrashing and needing and begging for him to fill her, harder, faster. She’d never known anything like it…until right then. Until a single finger coiled through her, expertly stroking the G-spot no man before him had ever found. Taunting her with the pleasure, owning a bigger piece of her with every thrust.

The night before had been Ryder losing control; the morning after, clearly an exercise in him regaining it. This was him toying with her, collecting the nuances of her body over the course of a breathless night, only to use the knowledge against her. It was his erection nudging her thigh, teasing her. It was the gentleness that sparked an inferno, that made every deviant ache that had settled into her muscles from the night before flee, leaving her begging for more. And as she squirmed against him, soaking his finger with her need, it was him, kissing her stomach, her breasts, and finally her mouth, the rhythm of his tongue setting the pace for the utter devastation that exploded between her thighs when he deepened the strokes until they pounded, the punishing pace a welcomed relief.

But the pleasure that washed over her was heavy ended. Never had something so beautiful had such a dark side. Such dark, ominous clouds. A storm closing in.

He could crave her. Own her. Fuck her. But he couldn’t make love to her. Not like this.

She’d never get over this.

F
uck
.

Ryder rested his head against the shower wall, his thoughts pounding mercilessly under a blistering hot spray. Cold showers were useless…he needed the burn. He didn’t regret what happened between him and Zoe, but now he had to figure out what to do next. The reckless side of him said screw it, chase this thing they had. Then common sense popped in with a reminder that they’d pretty much just met, that knowing where she lived as a kid didn’t count for knowing
her
. What did he know, really? She was an attorney born to one asshole with derailed plans to marry another. He wasn’t sure how she felt about that or anything else in her so-called real world. He only knew her in
his
world, in this brief window where their paths crossed and the sheets burned and he needed her. Christ, how he needed her. But to give up everything for which he’d worked? Her father and that stupid contract…it couldn’t be enforceable. No judge in his right mind would allow a grown-ass man—an attorney, no less—to turn the screws on a kid like that. But Ryder wasn’t a kid anymore, and whether he liked it or not, Zoe’s father had done him a favor. To deny that would be to deny how far Ryder had come. He hadn’t fought for nothing, nor had he once in his life fought for love.

He’d never known it.

That she fit so perfectly into his life and his bed meant nothing. That she could so thoroughly wreck his world should have meant everything.
Everything
. But it didn’t. Because under the pounding deluge of a scalding shower, he made a decision.

He needed to get the hell off the island.

And he knew just where to go. If they only had a short amount of time, he’d at least make it worthwhile.