If You Want Me: The Magister Series Book 1: A Billionaire Romance

by July Hall

  He’d dreamed about her. He’d thought about her. “I imagined you too,” she whispered. He gasped. “I dreamed about you every night. I wanted you so much, I didn’t know what to do—”

  He tried to silence her with rough, frantic kisses, while his body shook with the effort to remain still. She didn’t want him to. It was time for him to lose it, to let go, just like she had. “Are you close?” she managed.

  “Yes. Please,” he panted. “Hold still—help me—” He grabbed one of her hips again. “You’re so sweet, I can’t fucking bear it, hold still.” He covered her shoulder with more kisses. “I want to give you more. Please.”

  “I’ve had so much.” She slowly dragged her fingernails up and down his back. He gave a muffled moan. “It’s your turn.”

  “I can give you more. I can please you again, make you want it—” She squeezed him, gently. “Oh, oh—”

  “I want you to come,” she said. She slid her hands down his back and cupped his ass. He gasped. “That’s all I want. I want you to come, I want you to feel so good.” Feel so good he’d never want another woman, on that couch or anywhere else, she could keep him in her bed and just make love to him all the time…

  He snarled. Then he grabbed both of her hands and pinned them down to the bed. And he began to move like an animal, fucking her at last and driving the breath from her. His eyes were wild.

  “You’ll be mine,” he gasped as he thrust. “I’ll have you, I’ll have you, I swear.” She couldn’t speak. His words made her head spin. “Damn it, I’ll make you mine—!”

  Nobody had ever said that to her, nobody had ever looked at her like this, as if she was the only thing in the world. “Yours,” she sobbed, willing to say anything that would drive him as crazy as he drove her. “Yours, Charles, please!”

  She hadn’t meant to say his name, but at the sound of it, he froze, his mouth falling open. And then he thrust forward one more time as he began to come inside her, letting go with a desperate, ecstatic cry.

  Sandra urged him on with soft pleas, whispers of yes, yes, while he clasped her as closely to him as if he wanted them to become one person. When his shudders finally subsided, he released a groan that seemed to come from his very depths.

  She knew how he felt. She’d never been so overwhelmed, so saturated with sensation. Yet again, nothing around her felt real.

  Maybe it wasn’t. The world was getting pretty hazy right now. Maybe she was just dreaming again, even more vividly than before. She’d dreamed it all up…the fireplace, the storm, him…

  “Ah,” he breathed. He rested his damp forehead against hers. Their noses touched. “Are you all right?”

  She managed a noise that sounded vaguely affirmative, hoping it was enough.

  It seemed to be. He relaxed. Then he combed his fingers through her hair, kissed her tenderly, and whispered, “Little fox.”

  At the sound of it, Sandra found herself going limp. He was right. She was overcome, run to ground, and caught. He had done it. “Oh,” she gasped, her eyes falling shut.

  “Yes.” He nuzzled beneath her ear. “Oh yes.” He kissed her earlobe. “Rest now.”

  Rest. Yes. She hadn’t slept at all last night, and now, beneath him, she felt totally drained. A little voice was starting to whisper to her, saying that things were very different now, something important had changed, something she really ought to think about, but she couldn’t manage to think about anything at all.

  He didn’t appear to be thinking either. He slipped out of her with a faint groan. She felt a gush of fluid between her thighs, something else she’d never felt before, but even that couldn’t embarrass her out of her languor. He held her in his arms, kissing her hair. “Rest now,” he repeated softly. “I’ve got you.”

  And as she fell asleep, Sandra thought he sounded incredibly satisfied about that.

  * * *

  When she opened her eyes again, it was fully dark. He’d turned off the fireplace. The rain outside had stopped. What time was it, then? After midnight?

  Disoriented, Sandra blinked at the shadows. She could feel Mr. Ma…Charles lying next to her, his back pressed to hers, breathing evenly in slumber. He’d taken off his clothes; that was his bare skin against hers. The duvet was gone and he’d pulled the sheets over them both. The smell of sex still lingered in the air. She ached between her thighs.

  In the darkness, without his arms around her, Sandra finally started to panic.

  She didn’t wonder, What have I done? like she had back in his office. She knew exactly what she’d done. She’d walked right up to Charles Magister himself and invited him to ruin her life. That’s what it amounted to, didn’t it? Leaving herself so vulnerable to him in a time and place like this. Admitting her desire. And now she was in his bed, or he was in hers, but it was in his house, so…whatever? She squeezed her eyes shut. Get it together, she ordered herself.

  Too little, too late. It wasn’t together. She might never get it together, if tonight was any indication. Breaking up with her boyfriend one night, then screwing his uncle the very next? Begging for it, even, doing and saying things she had never done or said before? It had felt so right at the time. No, better than right. It had felt perfect.

  But that didn’t mean it was perfect. It didn’t mean that this wasn’t a catastrophically bad idea. What was he going to say in the morning? When he wasn’t in the throes of passion, he might see matters differently. He’d probably think that this was nothing special for her, that she did this all the time. He’d said all that stuff about men following her around and everything.

  And he’d said stuff about making her “his,” but he couldn’t have meant that either. People said all kinds of things during sex that they didn’t really mean, or so she’d heard. Who really thought in terms of possessing someone else? That was just wrong. No, he’d feel differently about that too, when he woke up.

  She had to get out of here.

  He seemed like he was pretty soundly asleep. Her pajamas were on the floor right by the bed. Maybe she could get dressed, grab her purse, and…shit, Warrick had her car keys. Maybe she could call a cab? She pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle a semi-hysterical laugh. This was totally crazy. How had she let herself get into this?

  Then she remembered letting him get into her, and felt her face turn red. God. That had been incredible. The size of him. Was he really all that big, or had Bradley just been small? She didn’t have much of a standard for comparison. Still—if he really was well-endowed, she guessed that would explain a lot.

  And for just a moment, she didn’t regret what they’d done, not at all. She hadn’t known sex like that was possible. It was like he’d already known every inch of her body. She’d known how to drive him wild too, as if they had been lovers for years. How could she feel such a connection to him when they hardly knew each other, and when this whole thing was such a mess?

  Get out, get out. At least get out of the bed.

  That seemed like a good start. She could put her pajamas back on and decide what to do. Whatever happened next, she didn’t want to confront it stark naked. If she could get a little of her armor back…

  Sandra took a deep breath. She raised herself up on one elbow as quietly as possible and lifted the sheet, ready to scoot out of the bed.

  Then the mattress shifted as he rolled over. One strong arm wrapped around her, pulling her back down and holding her fast against him.

  “And where,” he rumbled in her ear, “do you think you’re going?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  With Sandra safely in his grasp, Charles allowed himself a luxurious stretch and a sigh. He’d forgotten what it was like to wake up after good sex. His body ached pleasantly, and his mind was still sunning itself on vacation.

  He was surprised he’d slept. Well, it had been more of a doze. Sandra, on the other hand, had been dead to the world. She’d murmured a little when he’d lifted her enough to pull the soaked duvet from beneath her and then toss it to the floor
. After that, she hadn’t made a peep while he undressed and then gave himself a brief wash, not recognizing the man in the bathroom mirror. Surely those gleaming, satisfied eyes could not belong to him?

  He’d returned to bed naked, and spent a moment looking at her in the firelight. She was even more unguarded in sleep than in passion. And now she was back in his arms, where she belonged. He’d been careless to let her go, even while he slept. Who knew what might have happened? Something could have snatched her away in the night…

  “Um,” she squeaked. “I was going to the bathroom?”

  That sounded reasonable. Charles loosened his grip, mumbled his permission, and dozed again after she left the bed, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. When she returned, he’d decide which shore to land on.

  He lost track of time, but eventually the mattress dipped as she crawled into bed. “I…I’m back,” she said, her tone hesitant.

  It was enough to settle the matter for him. Charles woke fully, and reached for her again. He could have purred when she settled back into his embrace.

  He’d always loved the purely animal pleasure of victory. Few people knew this side of him existed; he excelled at keeping it controlled. But how else could he have clawed his way to the top and stayed there for twenty years?

  Not that he’d really had to fight for her. She’d offered herself naked and willing, and within mere moments, Charles’s prefrontal cortex had given up the ghost.

  The time out of bed, however long it had been, had chilled her bare flesh a little. “You’re warm,” she said. Her body felt surprisingly tense against him.

  That wouldn’t do. Charles ran a hand slowly up and down her back, reveling in the smoothness of her skin. Eventually, she relaxed and nestled in closer. “Are you surprised?” he asked.

  “A little,” she admitted. “You act so cold. Well, most of the time.”

  He kissed her forehead, still salty with sweat. “I might say something similar of you. You’re very self-contained.”

  “Usually,” she said, sounding sheepish. Then she yawned.

  In the darkness, Charles smiled. “Go back to sleep.”

  “What about you?”

  He toyed with the ends of her hair. “I can amuse myself.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her jaw. “This will do.” He stroked the nape of her neck. “And this.”

  Her breath caught. “I don’t think I could sleep through that.”

  “No?”

  She took hold of his hand, and he felt her soft lips against his thumb. Then she opened her mouth and sucked it gently inside. “No.”

  He hissed, coming entirely awake. How long had it been, anyway? Would he be up for Round Two? The pulse between his legs suggested he could be persuaded. It looked as if she wouldn’t have to work hard to win him, either.

  He wasn’t fooling anyone. If she’d just crooked her finger at him in his guest bedroom last week, they’d never have made it to the party.

  “More already?” he asked hoarsely.

  She let go of his thumb as if it had bitten her, and not the other way around. “Sorry.”

  “That was not an objection.” He slid his hand down between them, finding and cupping one of her breasts. Sweet as peaches, he recalled. He should taste them again. Right now.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me—” Her voice cut off. Charles spared them both the crude retort, and settled for rolling her on her back. Much better. He brushed his mouth across her skin until he found the slope of her breast.

  “Oh!” She shivered. “I don’t…I don’t know what…”

  “Keep talking,” Charles said. “I’ll just be over here.” He found the tip of her nipple, firm and tight, and flicked it with his tongue. She gasped, so he did it again.

  She’d liked it rough earlier. He’d given it to her, mainly because he couldn’t manage to do anything else. She’d controlled him, driven him mad with her kisses and soft words. Not now. He was prepared this time.

  Charles carefully took her nipple between his teeth, teasing it until she began to whimper and comb her fingers through his hair. He opened his mouth wider and started suckling her, gently at first. He meant to take his time. But she moaned, and he found himself going harder as sweat broke out at his temples.

  Oh, yes. He would definitely be ready for Round Two. It seemed this was what three years of celibacy bought you. Not yet, though. There was something else he wanted first, and he was going to be greedy about it. Had she washed off in the bathroom, or would he still be able to taste himself between her legs?

  The thought gave him pause. She’d mentioned condoms earlier, but only those. He raised his head from her breast. “Are you on birth control?”

  “H-huh? Oh.” He heard her gulp. “Yeah. I have an implant.”

  He blinked. “An implant?” It sounded like something out of science fiction.

  “They inject it in your arm. It uses hormones like the pill, but you don’t have to remember to take anything.” Perhaps she could sense his dubious expression even in the dark, because she said, “It’s good for three years, and I got it four months ago. You can feel it in my arm if you try.”

  An implant. He shook his head in bemusement. Science marched on. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Briefly, he considered what would happen if she did get pregnant. It seemed unlikely; he couldn’t believe Sandra Dane would leave something like this to chance. But nothing was foolproof.

  Oddly, this failed to trouble him. More troubling was the sudden tendril of satisfaction that unfurled deep inside him at the idea.

  Foolish. He had work to do. But before he could get back to it, Sandra said, “Uh, I do want to tell you something. I want you to know. No, I need you to know.”

  Nothing good could follow that. Charles hardened his voice when he said, “What is it?”

  She flinched beneath him. “It’s nothing bad. Just embarrassing.” Indeed, her voice was soft and hesitant. “You asked me about other men. Uh, several times.”

  Charles barely restrained himself from putting a hand over her mouth. He couldn’t stand to think about that anymore. It was in the past; she was with him now. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does, because you seem to think there are a lot, and there aren’t.” She took a deep breath. “You’re…um, you’re just the second, actually.”

  It took him a moment to process what she was saying. Then he rolled off her, causing her to make a dismayed sound, and fumbled toward the lamp on the nightstand. He pulled the delicate chain and winced in the sudden light.

  Her blue eyes looked up at him, big and apprehensive. Her copper hair tumbled over the pillow, and her nipples were still taut. She was a nymph who could have glided into the bed straight from a Waterhouse painting.

  “Impossible,” he said flatly.

  Her eyes widened even more. Then they narrowed, and she sat up, glaring at him. “It’s the truth.”

  Charles remembered these tricks from his own youth. “You don’t have to flatter my ego.”

  She fisted her hands in the sheets. “No kidding. It seems pretty bulletproof. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Because you’re every man’s wet dream,” Charles said, impressed with his own patience. “I told you—”

  “Yeah, and that’s really nice of you, but I had my own dreams,” she snapped. “I wanted to wait, and I did. The first time I ever had sex was about four months ago, and you’re my second lo—uh—partner. It’s the truth,” she repeated. “What, you believe me about my birth control, but not about this?”

  He stared at her. She looked back fearlessly. And with mounting hostility.

  “Why didn’t you just say so before?” he asked, numb with astonishment.

  “It wasn’t any of your business before! It is now.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “And it’s my business too, so what about you? You said you didn’t do this a lot—”

  “I—”

  “But what does that mean?” She sc
owled. “How much is ‘not a lot’?”

  He gritted his teeth, because suddenly his ego did need saving. “If you’re worried about safety, it’s not an issue. I’m clean, and I haven’t slept with anyone in…quite some time.” If she asked for a number… “It’s not one of my priorities.”

  Now it was her turn to look disbelieving. “It’s just not your thing?”

  “No.” Endless days at the office, endless nights alone in bed. “It isn’t.”

  “It’s got to be your thing! You just fucked me like a jackhammer!”

  Then she clapped both hands over her mouth and went red as a beet.

  Charles managed to pick up his jaw. Eventually. “Like a what?”

  Sandra pressed her hands to her cheeks, looking utterly mortified. “Sorry. Oh God. Look, I have to know…”

  Damn it, she did want a number. Well, it didn’t have to be that bad. Charles had been celibate by choice, and it seemed that was a choice she would respect. He opened his mouth.

  “Are you average?” She looked at the sheet covering his lap. “Because, Jesus.”

  His brain applied the brakes with a screech. If the fate of the universe hinged on what he said next, he still could not have thought of a single word.

  “I’m not trying to flatter you,” she added. “Seriously. I really don’t know. It’s not like I ever Googled the statistics, and I just…don’t know. So?”

  There wasn’t a man alive who didn’t know the statistics. Charles cleared his throat and tried not to sound pleased, because that would just be pathetic. “I’m above average, yes.”

  She narrowed her eyes again. “How above?”

  “Google it.” She actually glanced toward her phone, plugged in on the other nightstand. “Later.”

  She hummed and then looked at him from the corner of her eye. She appeared to consider something, and then said softly, “Later than what?”

  Was the storm back? Something had certainly electrified him. He remembered earlier, when she’d stripped for him, the way he’d thrown her to the bed and wasted not an instant. She’d seemed as abandoned and desperate as he.