Boxed Set: Books & Billionaires Page 8

I pushed him up against a wall. “The story’s not over. It’s just beginning.”

  I began tearing at his clothes madly, his own hands joining in until shortly we were both panting, standing as naked as Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden.

  His body was just as I’d remembered it. Just as I’d dreamed every night since. Hard and lithe. Powerful arms that were thick and strong. Hairless chest heavy with muscle; abs that flexed and rippled with each hot, heavy pant of his mouth.

  His hands went to my hips, pulling me close, hard against his erect member. I could feel it pressing against my stomach. I could sense its urgency.

  He turned me then, flipped me around, to bend me over. I felt pressure, briefly, as he positioned himself.

  Then he entered me.

  I gasped. I could feel his smooth length as it slipped inside my wet center. I could feel it as it slid all the way in, filling me, possessing me.

  I leaned back into him and he groaned. One of his hands went to my hip. The other stretched to my shoulder. And then he was driving me, hard and fast, our thighs meeting in rapid slaps.

  “I’m not going to last long Clara. I’ve been wanting this for too long. I want it too bad.”

  “Good.” I needed to feel him in me—all of him. I needed to know I could make him lose control. “Do it for me. Now.”

  Our motions got faster, more frantic. I could sense him building with every breath, with every tightening of his fingers.

  It was so hot, this power I had over his body. So hot the way he looked at me, the things I could make him do. I began to build too—faster than I’d thought possible, the pleasure pounding into my body with each thrust of his hard member. His hands moved to my hips. I braced myself against a table. And then he was slamming into me over and over with such force that my hair was flying with each slap and my body had that electricity back; that delicious storm that must break at any moment over us both.

  I began to cry out his name. He cried out mine. And then I felt him release inside me, and it tipped me over the edge, too. Our bodies stilled, while inside us, the entire universe writhed in ecstasy, convulsing over and over with each sharp pump of his long, hard member.

  We had barely paused before he turned me to him, picking me up to lay me over one of the tables.

  “Again?” I asked, panting.

  “Are you complaining?” He stood before me, then slipped himself inside, slowly this time, and I moaned a reply that spelled my answer with indistinct syllables.

  This was different to the last time. But just as good. I could feel every inch of him as he slid in and out; the motions slow enough now to be distinct. Slow enough to produce a different kind of electricity—a warm, fuzzy static as opposed to a fast, hard zing.

  “Let’s do this every day Clara. Over and over for the rest of our lives.”

  “You’ve got to get divorced first.” The words didn’t hurt like they used to—didn’t fill me with horror. Now they excited me; gave me something to look forward to. He was mine. And he was worth the wait.

  I sat up, propping myself against the table with one hand to kiss him, legs wrapped around his waist. I could see his muscles flexing as his hips moved back and forth into me. I could feel the result inside.

  He picked me up, and suddenly my entire weight was suspended on him, and I was being lifted up and down on the railroad of his shaft, traveling its length, his biceps flexing with each motion. I began to moan louder, thrilled by the strength of his arms; by what he could do to me.

  He kissed me, cutting off the moans, and then we were groaning into each other’s mouths until he lay me down once more on the table, but this time lifting my legs high, resting them on his shoulders. His motions began to quicken.

  Short little flares of pleasure were bursting through me. The angle was just right. I moaned for him to go faster, my hands reaching up to his chest, and he obliged.

  I could feel his heartbeat as he began to work me. I could smell our sweat. I began to move with him, grinding into him, moving him faster and faster as those flares of pleasure grew, becoming spinning balls of light within my hips and my throat and my heart.

  Soon we were at full speed once more, and I was close—those flares were threatening to take over my body, to explode inside of me. He was close too—I could tell it in his breathing, in the groans that were issuing from his body. I struggled to hold on, to wait for him, but he felt so good.

  My hands moved from his chest down his hard stomach to that part where the both of us met. I could feel his hair there, feel each wet and slippery slide into my being. I let my fingers linger over him; feeling him as he slid in and out, moistening them on the rhythmically exposed lengths of his hard member. Then I moved them to myself. Oh gosh. There.

  I couldn’t help it. I began to circle my pearl, faster and faster, the spinning balls of light now out of control inside me, growing exponentially larger until they were filling my being. His own thrusts became urgent. My fingers circled-

  The light exploded inside of me, filling my mind as my whole body contracted in ecstasy; my hips tensing, to grip him helplessly.

  I felt him swell against the sudden increase of pressure. “Clara!”

  He threw back his head, and then the balls of light were within him too, and I could feel his love inside me, taking me to even greater heights. I screamed in pleasure, unable to keep this feeling inside, as we writhed on the table together; each one setting off the other in a chain reaction that just kept going and going and going until we were both collapsed, spent, upon the table.

  “Call me Bambi indeed…” I panted, when I was finally able to talk.

  He leaned up on one elbow before me. “And we made love like two hummingbirds, fast and furious, and then again like wild beasts, and I never wanted it to end; this primal mating of mine.”

  “Casanova?” I asked, uncertain.

  He shook his head. “Booker. Which is much better.”

  BOOK 3:

  By the Sea

  The idea is simple. An extravagant holiday to spend as much money as Booker and Clara can before it all gets taken away.

  But Booker isn’t telling Clara the whole truth. There’s another reason they’re going to his private tropical island. A reason that could see Booker dead, and Clara in jail.

  What could be important enough for him to risk everything? And who is the mysterious woman Clara spies kissing Booker when they arrive?

  The story continues in By the Sea.

  PROLOGUE

  I walked into the kitchen to find Booker already up, a steaming mug of coffee held in both hands. He was staring out at the balcony, deep in thought.

  My arms went around his neck “Big day today, hey Mr. Lover?”

  It had been two weeks since the events in the library. Two weeks since Booker had rung his wife to tell her he was getting a divorce, and she was getting everything else. I still couldn’t believe it—the man was giving up everything: his entire, vast fortune for me.

  I’d been wearing a wire… and then he’d found out, and… well, I’d never given the recordings over, but he’d said he’d sign the documents anyway.

  It had taken all this time to work out the details; a team of lawyers working day and night—my first clue to exactly how wealthy Booker actually was. He’d never said, and I’d never asked—it seemed poor form when the man was about to give it all up; but it must be millions—and all for me. Snatches of conversation about boats, companies and cars hinted it could be even more.

  Booker turned to me, kissing my arm. “You’re up.”

  “I am.”

  I hesitated. “Booker, you don’t have to do this.” Today was the day he was meant to sign.

  He kissed me again. “You don’t know my wife. Now that she’s found that loophole, she’s hungry. Even if I did say no, her agents would just hound us until she got something—a kiss snapped on a telephoto lens, a conversation on a bugged phone. I don’t want our life to be like that.”

  “Isn
’t there something we could do?” I’d asked it a hundred times, but still, each time I hoped for a different answer.

  He shook his head. “The only solution would be to never see you again. And that’s not acceptable. Because she won’t give up, and I won’t give up you.”

  He pulled me into his lap. “But I do have an… idea.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why am I suspicious all of a sudden?”

  “Because you know me so well, that’s why.”

  I sighed. “Alright. Out with it. What’s this idea?”

  “So it’s like this. The minute I sign those documents, I lose everything.”

  “I never wanted your money, Booker.”

  “I know. It’s one of the reasons I’m here right now.” He took a deep breath. “Bu-ut…”

  “Yes?”

  He grinned at me. “Wouldn’t you like to spend it?”

  CHAPTER ONE

  “This… is not what I expected.”

  Booker had suggested a vacation, and half an hour later, we had walked out the door.

  Well Booker had walked. I’d been carried, his spontaneity so terrifying that when he got sick of my excuses he’d picked me up and forcibly transported me, squealing, to the limousine.

  It was terrifying. But also liberating; Sandra was going to cover my shifts at work, I’d paid my rent in advance, and there was literally nothing else keeping us here.

  And so we’d stepped into a private jet in freezing cold snow, and stepped out of it into tropical sunshine; our flight shortened considerably by Moet and some very athletic sex, to a country where I couldn’t understand a word the locals said, but the food was delicious. And I was hungry, let me tell you—most likely from all that exercise on the plane.

  Our first stop, once we got in the limousine, was to get food. Booker seemed to know what he was doing on this account, directing the driver along crowded side roads before stopping at a street cart on an otherwise innocuous corner. “I know it’s not a five star restaurant,” he said, motioning for a handful of chicken skewers out the rolled down window, then paying with a hundred dollar bill. He told the stall holder to keep the change. “But trust me, this is better.”

  I looked at him dubiously, but eventually shrugged my shoulders. Relationships were all about trust, right? I took a bite.

  “Color me flabbergasted—this is delicious!” I exclaimed. “How on earth did you know about this?”

  He grinned. “I’ve been here a lot—it’s the launching point for our holiday.”

  “You mean this isn’t the end spot?” Booker hadn’t told me where we were going; only that it involved a short cruise. “Because we could just put up a tent beside that chicken stall and I’d be happy!” The funny thing was, I was half serious—the chicken was amazing.

  We arrived a short while later at the town’s port, a bustling hive of small boats. One corner was dominated by a towering white cruiser larger than all the others combined; a superyacht 200 feet long if it was an inch.

  We began to head toward it.

  “No. Surely not… is that yours?” I asked incredulously.

  Booker broke into a grin. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

  “It’s the biggest boat I’ve ever seen! There are cruise ships that are smaller!”

  He chuckled. “It’s one of my bigger ones, for certain. But I think you’ll find it nice.”

  “You have more than one? Exactly how wealthy are you?” I asked, eyes narrowed. Each time I thought I’d figured Booker out, he threw another curve ball at me.

  He shook his head, face momentarily clouding. “It doesn’t matter. Stacey will own it all, soon.” Then the smile was back, and he clapped his hands. “Come on—this baby costs upward of 10 Grand a day when it’s in use. Let’s see how much of her money we can spend before we have to give it up.”

  * * *

  “So what do you think?” Booker asked once we’d done the tour. We’d already left the harbor, cruising out into the blue open ocean, leaving the rest of the world behind.

  What did I think? My jaw had been open for so long that my mouth was dry. The Leaf was three levels of decadence the likes of which I’d never seen before. It had a lap pool, sundeck, cocktail bar and a master bedroom bigger than my apartment, with a wardrobe full of designer clothes, all in my size (I had Booker’s assistant to thank for that one). It had a speedboat mounted in the hull, and twin Jet Skis too, both capable of being launched through doors at water level at the back of the boat. It had French crystal wine glasses and an entire cellar full of liquid to put in them; both looked older than I was.

  The top deck was a completely private paradise, off limits to the crew, with a huge 20 person Jacuzzi and the most amazing view over the ocean. In case you got sick of the view, a retractable cinema screen could rise at the press of a button. I assumed it was so you could sip champagne as the sun set and watch yourself on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

  But none of these were the best part. Oh no. The best part was where we were standing right now. “I thought you didn’t like books?”

  “I’m… starting to come around to them. Romances at least.”

  “Booker, your boat has a library!”

  We were standing in a two story high, cedar paneled room that occupied a huge space in the center of the boat, between the master bedroom and the multiple guest rooms. It had plush red carpet, several chesterfield wing chairs—the brown leather, smoking-room kind—an antique telescope at the porthole, and wall to wall shelves that were absolutely crammed with books.

  He grinned. “Do you like it?”

  I gawped around me. “I do. I love it! But… but how?”

  “When money is no object, things get done quickly.” He looked oddly pleased with himself. “Yesterday, this was a ballroom. I think this is better.”

  Then his hand went to the back of his neck. “Just be warned, I have no idea what you’ll find on the shelves. My agent tells me he purchased every English book in the city to fill this space.”

  I walked to a shelf. A dusty tome of International Law sat beside a Delta Force novel on one side, and the collected works of Dr. Seuss on the other. “Does it have the Kamasutra?”

  He burst out laughing. “I’ve already asked. Unfortunately not.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  We were on the top deck, a gentle breeze in our hair as we powered through the calm blue ocean. It was hot—a very pleasant change to the frigid conditions we’d just come from—and the water seemed very far below. “You know, this is more like a small city than a boat.”

  Booker laughed. “It was my second big purchase after I made my money, and the first real item I bought just for me. I’m glad you like it.”

  I pushed off the railing to dip my toe in the water of the Jacuzzi behind us. “Like it? I love it!” The water was cool in the tropical sun. “This water feels amazing by the way.”

  Booker’s arms slipped around my waist from behind. “We could have a glass of champagne… watch the world sail by,” he murmured. He kissed my neck. “Just you and me, without a care in the world.”

  I swiveled in his arms to face him. “Let’s do it. Let’s come back here after dinner.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Why wait? Why not now?”

  I laughed. “Because I don’t have any swimmers, that’s why.”

  His shoes slipped off. “So?”

  “But our clothes will get wet!”

  He stepped into the spa, a dark line climbing his jeans as his foot lowered. He held an arm out to me. “So?” he said again.

  “Booker! You’ll ruin perfectly good clothes!”

  His hand flashed out like a viper to catch my arm. “So?”

  He began to pull me toward him.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “Oh, I dare, alright.”

  He was leaning back now, pulling me out over the edge of the water. I was beginning to overbalance. “Booker!” I squealed.

  He laughed. “That’s my name.” Then h
e pulled me into the water.

  I shrieked as we fell back together, collapsing with a splash. Booker came up laughing, and it was only a split second before I joined in too. I couldn’t be angry. Booker was just too cheerful; too determined to see me happy.

  I slapped him across the chest with a wet thunk. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

  He swept his hair back with a hand, clearing water from his face. “Come here and give me a kiss.”

  We met in the middle of the spa, kissing with a tang of chlorine on the lips and my hair plastered to my face, and it was the most wonderful moment of my life. I was with the man I loved, and we were on a boat in the middle of the ocean heading who knew where, and I didn’t care. How far had I travelled to get to this spot? How much had changed?

  I wanted to tell him what he meant to me. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated what he was doing.

  But with men, they said actions spoke louder than words. I would show him, instead. I straddled his lap in the water, kissing him again. Then I reached for his shirt, lifting it up with a coy smile. “What do you say we take this off?”

  I could see his abs under the water, rippled and hard. Drawing the shirt off, his shoulder muscles flared for one glorious moment. It was like I was sharing the tub with my own private underwear model.

  Speaking of which…

  “Let’s get these off too.” I reached under the water to grasp at his belt and bit my lip. I could feel him already, down there.

  I pulled the jeans from him, admiring his Calvin Kleins. The white material was just barely see-through under the water. I looked at the hard straining bulk beneath. “Happy to see me?”

  He followed my gaze. “Would it be any other way sitting in a hot tub with you?”

  I licked my lips and peeled his underwear off. His member sprang free, hard and incongruent in the formless waters of the tub.

  My hands traced up its soft skin. I wanted to kiss it, to worship it; but under the water, I’d have to play a different game.