Billionaire Games

by Maddox, Sylvia

  “I’m nervous, okay?” she said, her voice taking on a tone that was far too raw for her liking. She decided to be honest, confront what she was feeling head-on, but she didn’t want to be exposed to him, be vulnerable, or at least be the only one who was.

  “So nervous that you can’t take off your own underwear?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  She stared at him a moment and then shook her head. “Forget it,” she said.

  Then she dropped her gaze and reached her trembling hands up, knowing she would fumble with the fastenings, but knowing she had no choice, because she wouldn’t beg him or give him up any of her honesty or her dignity.

  She had lifted her hands to open the front clasp of the bra. However, before she could open it, her hands were knocked away, a jolt going through her when Simeon’s warm fingers touched hers.

  She looked up at him, saw that he still wore the same stormy expression, but that he had moved to stand closer in front of her and was now busy working at the front clasp of her bra.

  He flipped it open quickly and then, without pause, reached for the waistband of her panties and pulled them down.

  Then he stepped back quickly and watched her, that same distant, implacable expression back in an instant.

  As Claire stepped out of her panties and then slid the bra off her arms, she realized she’d made a mistake.

  His expression was implacable, but not exactly distant. She couldn’t say exactly what it was she saw, but there was something. He was not unaffected by her, wasn’t as casual about this as he would have her believe.

  She looked down the length of his tall body and settled at his crotch, could see the hardness pressing against the front of his expertly tailored pants.

  No, she was not alone in whatever this was. Not a surprise given that this whole scheme had been his idea, but whereas she had thought it was simply some sort of plan to get back at her for her imagined sin, the bulge protruding in front of her told her that wasn’t the truth, or at least not the complete truth.

  He wanted her.

  Probably wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

  Which was good, very, because she had feared being in this alone, but his reaction told her she was anything but.

  11

  Time seemed to slow as Simeon lifted his hands toward her and then brushed his fingertips across her collarbone.

  Though he barely touched her, every nerve ending in her body sprang to life, alert, on edge and anticipating the need for more of him. He slid one finger down across collarbone and then suddenly pressed his big hand flat at the center of her chest.

  Claire’s heart pounded, the thud of it going through her chest and pounding against his palm. She looked up at him and saw that his eyes had gone heavy, dark and weighted as he stared down at her.

  Then he again lifted his gaze to hers, and some of his control, which she was sure had slipped, came back into place. His eyes became a little sharper, a little less dreamy as he watched her.

  Simeon lifted his hands away from her and she could see a shift in the moment.

  Then, moving quickly and boldly, he reached for her breasts, squeezing softly for a split second and then relaxing his hands for just a moment before he brushed his thumbs across her sensitized nipples.

  Claire’s thoughts scattered and then recentered, all focused on the throbbing pulse between her thighs. She was already needy in a way she had never imagined she’d be, but his touches, bold yet almost matter-of-fact, were beyond anything she had ever experienced.

  At least until he slid his hands down her waist, stopping to circle his palms over her stomach before delving between her thighs.

  She huffed out a breath and then lifted her eyes to meet his, unable to stop herself from smiling at the amusement on his face. It was barely there, only the merest hint of a smile, but she’d seen it.

  He was pleased by what he had found between her thighs, pleased by evidence that he could still inspire such intense passion in her.

  “Your pussy is wet, Claire. Is that for me?” he asked.

  As he spoke he began to gently rock his hand between her thighs, his palm brushing her clit, his fingers rubbing the edge of her wet lips.

  “What makes you think that?” she asked, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a confirmation, at least not yet.

  He stilled and his expression went thunderous.

  “Don’t say anything like that again, Claire. Ever,” he said, his voice hard, rough, and not like it had been before. This time it was shot through with anger, and Simeon had even dispatched with the idea of pretending to be detached.

  “I don’t care about who was before, who comes after, but now, for this time, you are mine and mine alone. I won’t share. When you’re with me, no one exists but me.”

  He ground out the words as if each one had to be forced through the tight anger that seemed to clog his throat.

  “Do you understand?” he said a moment later.

  She nodded quickly, regretting the words she’d spoken. She hadn’t intended to hurt him, had never, ever intended to hurt him, and even now, she would have taken some of his pain, shared the burden of it with him. Not that he would ever allow her to.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  She looked up at him, hoping he could see her sincerity, and though his expression softened ever so slightly, the hint of playfulness that had been there only moments ago had faded, though the passion and desire remained.

  Quickly, before she even realized he was moving, he had shot out an arm and pressed it around her waist. He guided her to the windows and stood behind her, so close that she had no choice but to follow.

  “Simeon…” she whispered, shivering, from both the cold of the glass against her nipples and the heat and anticipation of his body behind hers.

  “What?” he asked.

  Though she couldn’t see him and wanted to see his face, for some reason she didn’t want to turn, so she stayed where she was, waiting for him as she had for so long. She heard the sound of his belt opening and then heard the low snick of his zipper lowering.

  He pressed his chest even closer to her back, his heavy thighs molding against hers, her ass curved against his lower body so that the naked flesh of his shaft touched her bare skin.

  She buried her teeth into her bottom lip, trying and failing to choke back the moan that escaped anyway. The cold glass against her chest was like ice, but his hard, muscled chest, the soft linen of his shirt, the slightly rougher brush of his suit jacket and pants, and the scorching inferno of his cock against her ass was creating a whirlwind of feelings and sensations that she couldn’t process.

  She pressed her hands to the glass, not able to gain traction against the cool, slick surface, but still grasping at it anyway.

  As she did, he thrust, pushing his shaft between her thighs so that it was cradled between her soaking-wet labia, him pressing against her most intimate skin, making her fingers curl against the glass wall as she arched her back, the intensity of the pleasure that crashed through her nearly more than she could handle.

  Using the arm he had anchored around her waist, he pulled her back, reclaiming the millimeters of space she had put between them. He went still for a moment after that and she squired in his hold, the heat and hardness of his body against hers driving her to the edge of distraction.

  When he moved again, it was to shift his hips until the head of his cock was settled at the edge of her opening, so close to inside her that she could feel her walls clenching, ineffectively grasping at him, trying to pull him in. She jerked forward, forcing her nipples against the cold glass, and she opened her eyes to take in the harbor below.

  “What…what if someone sees?” she asked, suddenly feeling exposed, like a thousand eyes were on her.

  He thrust again, edging his steel-hard cock against her wet sex.

  “Then they’ll see,” he said, and from the sound of it, he was straining, his voice tight.

 
Then he thrust hard and he filled her completely, the way he always had. Her body opened to accept him.

  After so long, the burning stretch of his length and girth filled her almost to the point of discomfort, but discomfort was not what she felt. Instead the beginning edge of pain only intensified the sensation of his possession of her body. It also intensified the feel of the cool glass against her nipples and forehead, which she had now rested against the window.

  The coolness was made that much cooler and more intense by his heavy palm against her stomach and the other that held one of her breasts.

  But all the sensation was nearly nothing in the face of him moving inside her.

  He thrust hard at first, sending her onto her tiptoes with the force of his motion, but then he pulled back, thrust more shallowly, more slowly, moving at a leisurely pace that she could tell was forced.

  But he stroked inside her smoothly, he gripped her stomach tight, and she could feel the tension in his body as he cradled her, hear the increasing harshness of his breath, his warm exhales against her ear making her shiver.

  He lowered his head and trailed his lips against her shoulder, and on instinct she turned her head to meet his lips.

  Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth, but Simeon moved and began thrusting faster as he pressed his lips against her shoulder.

  He kept his head there and moved faster still, his lips against her skin, his hands holding her tight, his breath feathering across her back. Simeon moved his hand down, between her thighs, to touch the place where they were joined and then stroked his thumb across her clit.

  It sent her over the edge, sent her hurtling over the precipice that she had been teetering on since the moment he’d stormed back into her life.

  Her body pulled tight and then collapsed onto itself, the power of her climax ripping through her like a tornado that sapped all the strength she had left.

  She went limp against him, half of her weight on the window, the other half held by the steel band of his arm around her waist.

  Yet he continued to push himself inside her, his hardness spreading her walls, and the low slap of their bodies, the slight sucking sound of her wet flesh yielding to him, and their combined breathing the only sounds in the room. All the sounds of the fucking Simeon had promised.

  He hardened inside her, and then she felt him shudder as he released his hot seed inside her.

  That feeling, Simeon’s strong release inside her body, triggered another of her own, and though she thought she was depleted, the climax ravaged through her. It was her undoing.

  She went completely limp, held up only by his arm around her, his still-hard cock inside her.

  She didn’t know how long they stayed that way, but after a few moments, he pulled out of her. Claire again heard the snick of his zipper, this time rising. After, he turned her, lifted her in his arms, and carried her deeper into the penthouse. A bedroom, she idly realized when he laid her on the soft bed.

  Though she barely had the strength to do so, she lifted her eyes and looked at him, stunned by how put together he was, still dressed in his dark suit, stray curl on his forehead. Had she not looked closely, she would have thought she was alone in what had just happened, that he was completely unaffected.

  But when she caught his gaze, saw the darkness in his eyes, the fire in them, she knew she was wrong. He’d been as affected as her, and in that moment, he couldn’t hide it. Simeon looked away quickly and then turned.

  “The bathroom’s that way, and the refrigerator is stocked,” he called over his shoulder. “Be ready when I come back.”

  She lay silent, trying to catch her breath as she listened to the sound of his receding footsteps and then the door closing.

  12

  Simeon waited for the elevator doors to close, and when they did, he finally felt like he could breathe. The ride down to the garage passed in a haze, one that was pleasure-filled and agonizing in equal measure.

  That was Claire, what she did to him, and as much as he hated to admit it, as much as he wanted to deny it, it was still the same, even now.

  He walked to his car slowly, halfway hoping that his unhurried, casual steps would allow him to undo some of the excitement and anxiousness that wormed through him, the desire that had him wanting to turn back around.

  Simeon wouldn’t run from her, wouldn’t let her chase him out of his own house, for fuck’s sake, but he kept marching toward the car, knowing that he couldn’t go back.

  It wasn’t the sex that had him this on edge.

  That had been phenomenal, beyond phenomenal. Sex with Claire had made the countless interludes between the time that he had had her last and today meaningless, even more so than they had been before. The things that drove him crazy about her, her curves, her sweetness, that streak of innocent kindness that never seemed to go away even as she took his cock like she had been made for him, those weren’t it either.

  He’d expected that, planned for it, and had been pleased when he had discovered it. She had been beautiful before, but was even more so now, had blossomed into a sweet, sinful woman that he could, and would, spend countless hours learning.

  But that didn’t account for his reaction, nor did it make up for his utter blindness when it came to her.

  He’d kept his clothes on intentionally, had liked the idea of her feeling vulnerable, had liked the idea of keeping some distance. But Claire, fucking Claire, had turned the tables on him.

  She always had, and that was something that didn’t seem to have changed. Just when he thought he had the upper hand, when he thought he was getting somewhere, she’d asked that question, asked for his help, her expression defiant, prideful, honest, so much so that his desire for her had spiked.

  He’d taken her from behind, thinking that maybe if he didn’t see her face he could keep himself detached, another lie and impossibility, for even though he hadn’t seen her, he’d heard her moans, so expressive, heard the hitch in her breath as he had stroked himself inside her, saw the way she had clenched at the glass, her small fingers working at it as if she needed to do something to stay inside herself.

  But even that wasn’t the full story.

  He suspected, hoped, he could’ve withstood all of that, but when she had curled against him as he’d carried her, the smallest smile on her face, the need to hold her against him, take her again and again—the need to keep her forever—had sent him scurrying away.

  The entire purpose behind all of this was to get Claire out of his system, not to bury her in deeper, and the way he felt in that moment, like he was home, like what they had had been real, and could be real again, had sent him away.

  He speed out of the garage, headed for his house.

  The penthouse had been a special purchase. Simeon had bought the place specifically for her, instinct telling him a hotel would be wrong for their time together, but that inviting her into his home would be deadly. And as he approached his second penthouse, he knew he’d been right.

  As he walked into his building, one of the nicest and most expensive in the city, he realized how he could never allow her here. His pride at ascending to this height, the satisfaction, however hollow, of looking down on all of those who had tossed him away, would seem like nothing in the face of Claire’s presence there.

  So he couldn’t have her here, couldn’t withstand memories of her in yet another place.

  Yet hours later, he restlessly prowled, not able to relax. His cock was relentlessly hard and only getting harder, the small taste of her that he’d had nowhere near enough to satiate him.

  He should stay where he was, try to keep his equilibrium. That would be the smart thing to do.

  Simeon was back in his car and headed to Claire in before he had the chance to again make himself see reason.

  It was quiet when he arrived, and he heard the shower in the distance.

  He walked toward the sound, his need increasing with each step that brought him closer. He pushed open the partially clos
ed bathroom door, heading to Claire without pause.

  When she noticed him, she inhaled with surprise but then relaxed when she recognized him.

  As he got closer, he stripped out of his clothing, and when he stepped inside the shower he looked down at her, her hair darkened by the pouring water.

  “I’m back, Claire. Are you ready for me?”

  13

  The next morning, Simeon stood in the same spot he had the night before, emotions still swirling, more intense if that was even possible. He’d been standing there for what seemed like hours and was no closer to unraveling the conundrum that was Claire or the way she was making him feel.

  Last night, he’d fucked her twice more, taking her with a desperation and need that only intensified each time. She’d finally fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep, and as he’d lain next to her, he’d fought with himself, told himself to leave.

  But doing so had been impossible, so he’d stayed. And with each moment he had lain next to her, the urge to pull her closer, curl his body around hers, and fall into what he knew would be his first restful sleep since he’d had her in his bed last had beat at him, demanded that he hold her, bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair, and drift away.

  Somehow, he couldn’t say exactly how, though, he’d resisted that urge and had instead gone to the living room and folded his body onto the love seat that was far too small for him and slept. He had homes all over the world, beds that he had never actually slept in, but the discomfort was nothing, not when Claire was in the next room.

  He’d slept well enough, but only briefly, and just a few hours later, he was awake and dressed as Claire still slept away.

  Another difference between them.

  Claire had always slept solidly, peacefully, given herself to the vulnerability that sleep brought as only a person who was untroubled could. She was one of the people who didn’t worry about what might face them in their dreams.

  Simeon did, though, and he knew that the past he always fought to forget was just a dream away, so his sleep had always been fitful, fleeting. Except when he had been with her.