Page 62 of Saved By the Billionaire

She arched a brow, pushed higher, until her eyes landed on his—yep, definitely big—cock.

“I’m ready.”

His hands on her hips were insistent, as he moved his tip to her entrance and hovered there, teasing her, so she moaned and pushed forward, the coldness of the stone benchtop the perfect counter-balance to the heat he was generating.

“Fuck me, Roman. Fuck me like you promised you would.”

“When did I promise that?”

“A thousand times.”

“Yeah?”

“With your eyes and your smiles and your goddamn NDA. I’m so ready.”

He swore, the curse reverberating around the room and then he edged himself in a little, his eyes closing with the concentration of not going all the way. But Kate was impatient and she wriggled further forward, wrapping her legs around him, pulling him nearer and then exulting in the feeling of fullness and completeness as he stretched parts of her she didn’t know existed. As he hitched himself right into her and held there, his chest moving as though an ocean were inside of him with the force of his breathing.

“Okay?” The question was hissed from between his teeth.

She nodded urgently. “Better than.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” And then he was moving, in and out, his body taking hers, claiming it, changing her in a way she’d never known it was possible for one human to change another, his body somehow reshaping the entirety of her soul and being, and the very edges of the world. His hands mapped her every curve, as though committing them not only to memory but proclaiming that these parts of her would always be a part of him too. And when she came, he held her as though there was no feeling in the world he wouldn’t ride out with her, no experience he wouldn’t help her brace for.

She fell apart in his arms, once, and then again, and on the third time, he was right there with her, and she knew there’d never be another feeling quite like it.

“Jesus, Kate, what am I going to do with you?” he asked, lips against the curve of her throat, his voice reverberating into her body. She was too spent to speak. She simply concentrated on breathing, her fingertips trailing invisible lines over his shoulders, her feet hooked together at the base of his spine, his body a pressure on hers that was a whole new kind of sensual awareness.

“More of that?” she murmured, eventually, when she could trust herself to speak.

She felt his lips curl against her skin. “Hmm, I like the way you think,” he said, and roused himself enough to stand, then to lift her, legs still wrapped around his waist, and carry her through his apartment, towards her bedroom.

Roman hadn’t slept well in a long time, and that night was no different. For once though, he wasn’t being tormented by the ghosts of his life, his childhood, his parents, Grace. He was lost on a strange, turbulent sea, with visions of Kate being attacked, the men who’d wanted to rape her, the way they’d spoken about her and to her forming sharp fragments in his mind, slicing him like blades. He’d known anger in his life, and fear; he’d known determination, too. And as he lay at Kate’s side, listening to her sweet, rhythmic breathing, he swore that even though their relationship was temporary, his protection of her would be lifelong. He would never let anyone hurt her. He didn’t even really need to wonder why, or to worry that his concern might mean something. Because he was a decent human being, and he had the power to make her life better: so why shouldn’t he?

That was all. This was about ability—and there was no way he’d let Kate walk out of his life without setting her up for a better future. Yes, that meant money, the exact thing she’d said she didn’t want. But so what? Roman knew first hand what money could do for a person, how it could change their fate. With enough money? Kate could take over the whole goddamn world, and Roman was ready for that.

Kate woke alone and ravenous, and she shifted in the bed, everything inside of her felt different. Pleasure radiated through her, like shivers of memories, and muscles she hadn’t used before seemed to tremble and groan. She was naked beneath the sheet and with each movement, her over-sensitised breasts brushed the fibres and stirred something in the pit of her stomach, making her crave and need more than she’d ever known possible.

She pushed the sheet back, hunger for food forgotten, as her body propelled her to something else entirely. She paused only to grab a robe from the door. He might have dismissed his housekeeper, but there was every possibility of Garrett, or Tia, or someone else being in the apartment.

Only they weren’t. Roman was alone at the head of the enormous dining table, commanding twelve empty chairs from his birdseye view of them all. He looked up when Kate walked in, her ankle already improved from the day before. His eyes ran over her face, as though appraising. Worried?

She smiled to bat that away. From where Kate stood, there was nothing to be worried about, except how she’d work this man out of her system. A week was a good start, but she knew, deep down, it probably wouldn’t be enough—even when it absolutely, unequivocally had to be.

“Good morning. Are you hungry?” he asked, voice so civilised compared to how he’d been the night before. So civilised she ached to shake him free of that veneer.

“Yep.”

“I made a frittata,” he said. “I’ll get⁠—”

“You’ll stay right where you are,” she contradicted, coming to stand right in front of him, making an exaggerated show of studying him. “No, don’t stay where you are. Turn your chair this way, please.”

He arched a brow at her own very polite inquiry, but did as she said, and then, with her eyes on his, Kate dropped to her knees once more. Her reward was the loud, sharp breath he expelled at the sight of her like that.

She reached her hands to the zipper of his trousers and eased it down, then the button, and her fingers were free to work the fabric of his boxer shorts, pushing them lower to release him from the confines of clothing, glorious and hers. Yes. Hers. She allowed herself to think of him like that, just for a moment. She pushed the thought of a week from her mind, the thought of this thing ending, the idea of her life in New York without Roman in it. All of it was unimportant in this moment.

She leaned forward, flicking her tongue over his tip tentatively, her eyes on his.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, the growl back, the wild animal untamed once more, so much better than his civilised persona. She liked him raw and real, this version of him that was unpredictable.