Biker Billionaire Boxed Set

by Jasinda Wilder

  When we climaxed, it was a song sung in harmony.

  The End of Part 3

  Biker Billionaire: Sanctuary

  "Close your eyes," Shane instructed.

  I was sitting at the kitchen counter in Shane's and my Manhattan condo, sipping coffee and watching the drab gray clouds roll over the city. It was barely six in the morning, and I was awake because Shane was. We'd been living together for roughly six months at this point, and I'd come to find out, within a week of moving in with him, that Shane was a habitually early riser. The latest he'd ever woken up in all the time I've known him was seven.

  I turned to look at him over my shoulder, but he clapped his palm over my eyes.

  "Close your eyes, Leo," he said again. "I have a surprise for you."

  I sighed dramatically, more to irritate him than anything. Shane's surprises tended to be dramatic. The last time he'd surprised me, it had been to show me our condo, which was...impressive. It was an entire floor of a high-rise in the Tribeca area, near the top of the building with panoramic views of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. It was palatial, extravagant in an understated-beauty sort of way. Tasteful pastels with pops of brighter colors, dark furniture and light walls, custom-made recycled wood floors and marble counters and black-and-white photographs on unframed canvas on the walls. The photography was courtesy of his brother Jon, who, judging by the photographs, was quite talented.

  I felt Shane wrap something around my head. "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "Blindfolding you."

  "I got that part. But why?"

  Shane chuckled, a low rumble from his chest. He lifted me to my feet and turned me in circles until I was dizzy and disoriented.

  "Seriously, Shane. What's going on?"

  He didn't answer. He led me by the hands through our condo, and I heard our front door open. Once through, he stopped me, closed it, and then turned me down our hallway.

  "I haven't finished my coffee yet, you jerk. I'll be cranky if I don't. Just a fair warning." I knew better than to protest at this point, though, or to ask any more questions.

  "I've got coffee waiting for you. Don't worry, my love. I have it all covered." Shane's voice was both tender and amused.

  I never tired of hearing Shane use terms of endearment with me. My heart melted every time he called me his love, or sweetheart, or any number of sweet, silly things like that.

  I heard an elevator car ding, and we stepped onto it. I felt the walls close in, the sudden echo of our breathing in a smaller space, and then my stomach lifted as we went down. To the garage, then, I assumed. The elevator door whooshed open and I heard the echo of tires in the distance, and an engine idling nearby. From the smooth, low purr of the engine, I guessed it to be the Mercedes.

  When Shane and I had moved in, he'd finally bought a real car. Until then, he'd only owned motorcycles and an old, beat up Range Rover. I'd told him I loved motorcycles, but I wouldn't ride one in the winter. He'd gotten rid of the Rover and surprised me with the Mercedes Benz CL600. He was giddy when he showed it to me, blindfolding me, dragging me down into the garage in my bare feet and a robe, rambling about twelve cylinders this and turbo that. It was a beautiful car, and I loved riding in it, when Gerald drove, and I loved driving it myself even more. Shane had claimed he had wanted me to have something nice and safe to drive. I think he just liked having someone to spend his ridiculous fortune on.

  I would have been perfectly content with the Range Rover, but I did really like the Mercedes.

  I heard a car door open, and Gerald's voice said, "Mr. Sorrenson, Miss Larkin. Everything is arranged, sir."

  "Thanks, Gerald," Shane said.

  Shane's hand pushed my head down and I slid into the car. Shane buckled me, then got in next to me. I felt him put a hot paper cup in my hands, and I smelled coffee. I found the opening, sipped cautiously. It was blazing hot, and doctored exactly how I like it, light cream, heavy sugar.

  You know your man loves you when he knows how you like your coffee.

  I was burning with curiosity by this point. He was taking me somewhere, obviously, but I couldn't begin to guess what he could surprise me with that would require a trip. As we drove farther and farther, the car twisting and stopping, and finally getting onto a freeway, I began to understand that this was a big surprise. He was nervous. I could feel his feet tapping, and his fingers drummed a rhythm on my thigh until I made him stop.

  "We're not going to be anywhere public, are we?" I asked. "I'm not dressed. I don't even have a bra on." I was in a pair of ratty old cutoff sweat shorts and a tank top.

  "No, not before you've had a chance to change," Shane said.

  "And you won't tell me where we're going?"

  "Are you kidding? No way. I will say that we have a pretty long trip ahead of us."

  I frowned. "Do I have to be blindfolded for all of it?"

  Shane laughed. "No, not all of it. I'll take your blindfold off later."

  Eventually Shane had Gerald put on music, and we drove in companionable silence, listening to Muse's newest album in its entirety. Eventually we pulled to a stop and Gerald got out, opened my door and helped me out. Shane took my hands in his and pulled me into a walk.

  We were outside, and I heard the deafening whine of jet engines.

  "We're going on a plane?" I asked.

  "I told you, we have a long trip."

  "Why did I have to be blindfolded, then? You could have just told me to come with you and not told me where we were going."

  Shane laughed and helped me up the steps into the plane. "But this is more fun." He leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Besides, I have plans for the blindfold."

  I reached behind and groped for him, found his thigh and explored inward until I reached his crotch, and squeezed the thick bulge of his cock behind his jeans.

  "I'll bet you do," I said. "And you'd better, dragging me away at this time of the morning."

  He sat me down, strapped me in, and then I heard him sit down and buckle up before taking my hand again. The engine spooled up and after a few minutes I felt them ramp up again, and then I was pushed back into my seat and my stomach fell away as we lifted into the sky. A few more minutes of lift, and then we leveled off. Shane unbuckled me, tugged me to my feet, and led me toward the back of the plane. If this was his plane, there was a bedroom there. I'm normally too cranky in the morning to be horny, but something about being blindfolded for so long had me sensitive and aroused.

  A door opened and then closed behind me. The engines were a distant, muffled whine beyond the confines of the jet. Shane had stopped me and left me standing, and now I was left blindfolded and wondering what he was going to do next. I could smell him, clean and freshly-showered, faint coffee breath, cologne; I heard his breathing, a foot or so to my right, rustling sounds as of clothes moving.

  Lips touched my jaw just beneath my ear, a hot breath and moist lips. I gasped at the sudden kiss, felt myself go from damp between my thighs to wet and aching. I braced myself for another kiss, waited...waited...wondering where he'd kiss me next. I stood with my arms at my sides, head tipped back on my shoulders. I heard his breathing move behind me, heard the pad of his feet on the floor. A kiss on my shoulder, another an inch down, a third farther yet, then a pause and nip with his teeth on my neck.

  My breathing was growing ragged with anticipation, my thighs trembling. He kissed my chin, and then my forehead. I reached for him, wanting to pull him in for a kiss, but he laughed and moved out of my reach. He bit my chest above the scoop of my tank top, then kissed where he'd bitten.

  His scent came from my left and I lunged in that direction, arms wide. I crashed into him, wrapped my arms around him, pressed my lips to the first skin I could find. Stubble under my lips told me I'd found his face, and I lifted my hands to him, touched him, explored him by feel. Stubble of day-old beard smoothed into bare skin and then rose up into his nose, then down to his upper lip. I traced the curve of his upper lip, sandpaper un
der my fingertips, the small bump of his septum, then his opposite cheek, rough again, down to his jaw and his chin. I pressed my lips to his, finding them by feel, missing at first and kissing slantwise across his lips, off-center. He huffed a laugh and tangled his fist into my hair to pull me into a kiss, slow and scorching.

  The kiss ended all too soon, with him pulling away and out of reach. He grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around, dizzying me. I laughed and tried to stop myself from spinning, but he was too strong, too insistent. He let me go and I fought for balance, wobbled, stumbled a step sideways. I felt a burst of panic, not knowing where I was in the room or what I'd hit if I fell, but Shane's powerful hands caught me, righted me, held me still.

  I felt the breeze of his body moving past mine, followed by his scent. I turned in place, trying to follow him, but I lost him. I felt a finger brush up my arm, then down the other, spreading goose-bumps over my skin. Another brush of a finger, this time across the back of my neck, followed by lips at the nape, then across my shoulders.

  He paused, then, not touching, not kissing, not even breathing. I couldn't smell him either, and I was tingling all over with anticipation of the next place he'd kiss me.

  Two fingers snagged the elastic of my shorts and panties and dragged them both down. It was a split-second thing. One moment I was clothed, the next I was naked from the waist down. I stepped out of them and waited.

  A touch around one thigh, from the outside in. My knees trembled and I hoped he'd drag the finger upward...but then the touch was gone, leaving my skin aching for him. His palm grazed my ass, a slow circle around one cheek, up the curve of my back and down again, cupping the globe and holding it. His hand kept up its attention to my ass and he added his lips to the hollow at my throat. Another palm, now, on the front of my thigh and moving inexorably upward, upward...I held my breath and parted my legs, hoping he would finally finish the game and touch me, delve into me.

  A single finger slid up the crease of my labia, and now his lips moved down, between my breasts. His palm curled over my sex, holding it, his mouth slipped sideways toward my nipple. I was still holding my breath, unable to breathe, waiting. My belly fluttered, my skin burning as his hands roved me, sliding up from my ass to curve around my ribcage, lifting the weight of the breast he wasn't kissing.

  He nibbled one nipple, pinched the other, and dipped his finger into my cleft to circle my clit, all at the same time. Three points of sinful, sexual contact, long awaited, all at the same instant? I came, hard. I curled into myself, my knees giving out. Shane caught me, lifted me, set me on the bed.

  He settled between my thighs, and now I felt his hard length probing my entrance, his muscular bulk above me. I clutched his cock in a greedy hand, stroked him, caressed the tip of him before guiding him into me with a sigh of sweet relief and delicious pleasure. He drove in to the hilt and I wrapped my legs around his back, hooked my toes around each other to hold on, thrust my hips against his to get him deeper, clung to his neck, bit his shoulder.

  He kissed my cheek and drove in, kissed my chin and pulled away, tugged my face up to kiss my lips and plunged deep again. I was still shuddering from my first orgasm, and now with every gliding slip of his shaft into me I drew nearer to the edge of a second climax. He was moving slowly, deliberately, drawing it out. I growled against his skin, a feral sound of frustration, and pushed him over onto his back.

  It was a clumsy maneuver and he slipped out of me. I mewled in irritation, lifted up astride him, groped for his manhood and pushed him back where he belonged, hilt-deep, hips flush.

  He laughed. "Impatient much?"

  I rode him, sitting straight and rocking my hips in a fast, desperate rhythm. "You're taking too long. I want it now." I braced myself on his stomach and moved, rocked, rode. I couldn't see him, could only feel him, and now I focused all my attention on feeling him fill me, move within me.

  "Come with me, Shane," I panted.

  His scent filled my nostrils, male sweat, shampoo, cologne, all layered over something else indefinable and elusive and totally Shane.

  I lost myself in sensation then: his hard, angular body beneath me, his muscles moving, pectorals flexing beneath my palms as he reached for me, his hips rotating as he matched my rhythm, his breath sighing louder and faster, sweat beading on his skin, turning him slippery and hot to the touch; his cock inside me, silk-on-steel stretching my inner muscles, hardness gliding through me, a brief aching absence as he pulled out, and then a delectable fullness as he moved into me, my depths crying out in ecstasy as he impaled me, our hips and bellies meeting in a brief union of skin.

  I collapsed on top of him and wrapped my arms beneath his head. I pressed my lips to his, mouth quivering as I rose to climax. His hands tangled in my hair, brushed my neck, slipped down the knobs of my spine. His fingers caressed the curve of my rolling buttocks and held there, moving me and encouraging me faster, harder.

  I freed a hand and lifted the blindfold, sight returning in blinding rush, and then his eyes pierced into mine, soft, tender, hypnotic gray-green and so full of love.

  We came together, a burst of climax burgeoning in intensity until all time, all emotion, all sensation was gone, lost in the swirling storm of united ecstasy. Our eyes were locked together, our bodies moving in unison, sweat commingling, breath merging in a stuttering kiss. Self was gone, identity was gone. I was no longer I, Shane was no longer Shane. There was only an endless us.

  It didn't end, only faded so gradually we were unaware of rolling to our sides to hold each other in a tangle of joined flesh. Eventually thoughts returned, but we didn't need words.

  * * *

  The jet landed with a thump and squeal of tires. The blindfold had been left off for the rest of the flight, but now that we were landing, Shane stood behind me and tied the strip of cloth around my eyes once more. I was wearing a skimpy bikini, with a gauzy sarong around my waist, barefoot. Shane had slathered sun block all over me and insisted I wear a ridiculous, wide-brimmed hat. We were somewhere hot and sunny, probably tropical. The Caribbean, judging by the length of the flight.

  When the jet rolled to a stop and the door opened, Shane led me carefully down the steps, calling out each step as I descended until we reached level ground. The cool, processed air of the private jet was replaced by a heavy wash of tropical heat, sun beating down on me.

  Another plane was waiting nearby, a prop plane. I heard the propellers buzzing a few feet to my left, and then I was suddenly lifted into the air by Shane's hands, set into the echoing interior. Shane was behind me, moving me, sitting me down into a seat and buckling me in and setting a pair of earphones on my head.

  "Are we almost there? I'm tired of being blindfolded," I said, hearing my voice in my own ears.

  Shane laughed. "Complaints, complaints," he said, patting my leg. "Yes, one more quick ride and then we're there."

  There wasn't much need for conversation, then, as we flew. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes passed, and then I felt the plane bank, tilt down, my stomach rising into my throat, and then we leveled off. There was a splash and a roar, and I realized we were landing on the water, making this a seaplane.

  We coasted to a rolling stop, and Shane pulled my blindfold off. I blinked and squinted at the sudden assault of sunlight. When I could see, I realized we were stopped just off the shore of a tropical island. The water to every side was clear cerulean, rippling and glinting. The sky matched the color of the sea, spotted with occasional tufts of cotton clouds.

  The seaplane's engine shut off and the silence was deafening for a moment, soon replaced by the soft susurrus of the ocean's rollicking waves, the chuck and lap of water against the floats, sea birds cawing in the distance. I smelled engine oil, brine, clear, hot air, and Shane.

  I turned my attention to the island. It was small, the sides curving away visibly, even from where we sat, twenty or thirty feet away. It was green with tropical foliage, white sand rimming the outside, a dock jutting out into the pale bl
ue of shallow water. I caught glimpses of wood and glass on the crest of the hill at the center.

  I looked at Shane, the question in my eyes.

  He grinned at me, a huge, joyful, boyish smile. "Welcome home."

  I looked back at the island. "Home?"

  Shane pushed the door of the seaplane open, hopped down into the water, which came to his knees. He was wearing bright red and white board shorts and nothing else. He held his hand out, and I took it, let him lift me down next to him. The water was cold at first, then grew warmer as my body adjusted.

  Shane gestured to the island. "This is Leona's Isle. It belongs to you."

  My breath hitched. "What? What do you mean? How can an island belong to me?"

  "I set up a bank account in your name a few months ago, put some money into it. And then, when I found this little island, I bought it in your name. You signed the deed when we were doing all that insurance paperwork a few weeks ago. I slipped it in and you signed it, none the wiser." Shane grinned again and pulled me into a slow walk through the water toward the island.

  "So...this island is really yours, then." I said.

  Shane shook his head. "After the initial purchase of the title to the island, all control over the funds in that account was turned over to you. I can't touch it. It's yours. This island is in your name, Leona Larkin, with the proviso that if we ever get married, we could change it to your married name, if you chose to take mine."

  My head was spinning. "Shane...are you kidding me?" I stopped in the water and turned to face him. "How much are we talking about?"

  Shane frowned thoughtfully. "How much was the island? Or how much is in the account?"

  "Yes."

  Shane chuckled. "The island is a gift to you, so I'm not telling how much I paid. The account has...six million? Something like that. Just a little nest egg for you." He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "If anything ever happened between us, and we weren't together, you would have your own money. You wouldn't have to go back to Detroit, or wherever. You could do what you wanted. And before you ask, no, it's not up for discussion. I can't touch the account anymore. I can't access it, find out the balance, withdraw or transfer, nothing. My name appears nowhere on the account at all."