Page 33 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

Her head falls back against the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut, and my mind goes fuzzy, lost in the allure of making her feel good, touching her in a way that makes her arch her back, part her lips, whisper my name again and again as she reaches a dizzying height, body tensing and relaxing, one of her hands gripping the sheets.

“I love that,” I murmur, not realizing I’ve said the words out loud until Sophie lifts her head languidly, staring up at me. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, but she’s lost somewhere in the aftermath of her pleasure.

“What?” she asks, and when her eyes fix on mine, I see how blown out her pupils are. “What do you love?”

I swallow, repositioning myself over her, running my hands along the insides of her thighs. Sophie is just miles and miles of smooth, warm skin, and I can’t keep my hands from working over it, finding new areas to touch and grab.

I’ve been with enough women to know that this is already different — that I’ve never felt sotransfixedby a woman in my bed. That before, with others, it’s all been about mutual satisfaction. I get you off, you get me off, and we enjoy a meal before getting on with our lives.

But this? It feels all-consuming. Like worship, the steady beat of rain against your skin, a body giving way to the riptide, drifting without struggle. A welcome crash of waves over your head.

“Elliot?”

I pause, finding her eyes. If I’m a smart man — which I believe myself to be — I’ll keep my mouth shut. I won’t say it, won’t take this to a place more intimate than it already is.

But I have Sophie Kendall here in this bed, naked in front of me, her golden skin glowing in the low light of the city outside our window.

And I can’t stop myself from admitting, voice low, “I love when you say my name like that.”

Sophie smiles, hooking her ankles around my back and drawing me in close, so I press against her, all my longing and wanting apparent in the stiff pressure between our bodies.

“Elliot,” she says, voice breathy with need. There’s an expression on her face caught between vulnerability and amusement. “Do you have a condom?”

The tender moment slips away easily, like a cobweb in the wind, and I grin at her, cocking my head. Becoming the man I’m used to being in this situation.

“Of course I do, Sophie.”

CHAPTER 16

SOPHIE

Elliot draws back from me, reaches into the pocket of his pants on the floor, and pulls out a small, square, silvery package. For some reason, it’s endlessly attractive to me that he has one on him, just like that.

Was he thinking about me when he put it in his pocket? Like I was thinking about him when I slid these black lace panties up my body earlier?

“Well prepared,” I joke as he rises up. When he tears the wrapper with his teeth, it sends a jolt through me. I didn’t know people actually did that.

The sight of him is almost obscenely beautiful, his ass back on his heels, his torso on full display for me. He has the look of a man who exercises frequently but isn’t focused on looks, a light spattering of hair running up his stomach and spanning over his chest.

Over his left peck is a little tattoo — and this is my first time seeing it. When I push up onto my elbows and look at it, I realize it’s a sprawling signature that readsCharlie Altman.

“My Gramps,” Elliot says, following my gaze to his chest. “I got it after he passed. It’s his signature.”

It cuts straight to my heart. This is dangerous territory for me — sleeping with a man like this. Who gets a tattoo dedicated to his grandfather, who touches me and looks at me like I’m something impossible and delicate at once.

“Oh,” I breathe, letting my eyes wander down, looking away from the tattoo so it doesn’t make me tear up, doesn’t mute the desire barreling through my body.

Instead, I watch the muscles in his abdomen ripples, his biceps flexing as he pulls the condom from the package.

I know from experience that the only way to get abs like a superhero is to cut — to diet specifically to show them off. Elliot doesn’t look like Wolverine, but rather a strong, capable man kneeling between my legs, his dark eyes meeting mine, hunger clear in them as he reaches down.

My eyes are locked on him as he rolls the condom on, my entire body pulsing with need, my head fuzzy with the pleasure of the orgasm I’ve just had, and yet giddy for the one that Iknow is coming.

Elliot sets the wrapper on the end table, lowers himself back down, and braces over me, his eyes holding mine. The expression on his face is hungry, slightly pained, like it’s taking a lot for him to hold himself back, and it takes the breath out of me.

Gently, he runs a hand over my hip, up my side, watching the progress of his touch as it draws goosebumps out on my skin. It’s like I can feel the weight of his eyes right beside his finger, a physical, real, tangible thing.

“Are you ready?” he asks, voice rough. His hand finishes its trek up my body, finding my chest, my neck, my jaw, which he cups so gently it sends another shiver through me.