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

by July Hall

  Not now. Sandra settled back against the pillows, never looking away from his eyes. He was reminded of the serious young woman who’d contended with him in the library, trying to figure him out.

  “You have gorgeous eyes,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

  “Thank you,” Charles said, waiting for the moment. He’d know it when it came. “So do you.”

  “And you were rough with me.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her lips twitched. “I seem to remember three orgasms. Am I off?”

  She blushed again and bit her lip to stop a smile. “You offered four,” she said.

  Oh. He had, hadn’t he? Charles hoped he wasn’t turning red as well. He’d offered a lot of things. He suspected he would have offered the moon if it earned him a few more moments inside her.

  “It’s still on the table,” he said.

  She grinned. It was the most uninhibited smile he’d ever seen on her face, a thing of pure delight. He lost his breath. “Wow, you’re a tough negotiator,” she said. “I’ll have to stay on my toes around you.”

  The moment arrived. Charles leaned forward and draped himself over her, coming to rest on his elbows as he brought their noses to a mere inch apart. “Only when I take you up against a wall,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. She glanced over at the nearest wall. Not a bad idea, but… “Later,” he repeated, and bent down for a kiss.

  It was supposed to be a prelude, the first of many waystations his mouth would find on its way down her body. It wound up being an end in itself. Her lips were so soft, her kisses so tantalizing. He couldn’t get enough of them. Did she feel the same?

  Soon they were kissing deeply, doing with their mouths what they had done with their bodies. He began to feel as if the top of his head was floating off. She ran her hands up and down his back, and it was even more distracting than before, when at least he’d had a shirt on. He’d spent so much time yearning to touch her that he hadn’t thought about what it would be like if she touched him, too.

  Even more maddening was the feel of her bare skin against his, her nipples brushing against the hair on his chest as she began to breathe more quickly. “You feel so good,” she whispered.

  “Oh?” he managed, placing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

  “Yeah. Your skin.” She stroked him again, and then…oh God, spread her legs wider. He felt the heat of her sex against him, and groaned. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

  Charles cobbled his two remaining brain cells together before he could lose control again. “I’m doing this,” he said, and began to kiss his way down her body once more. “You like this, don’t you?”

  It was a rhetorical question, but she blurted, “Do you?”

  He paused at her belly button. “What do you think?” Considering he’d gone for it twice already.

  “I thought guys didn’t…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked humiliated.

  Christ, was his nephew useless at everything? But they hadn’t said Bradley’s name yet, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. Instead, Charles rolled his eyes for an answer. She smiled hopefully, and he nipped her skin. “I do nothing that I don’t want to do, Miss Dane,” he said, and then soothed the bite with a kiss. “And I want to do this very, very much.”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “Have you never done this?” He nuzzled into the tuft of red hair and inhaled through his nose. She had cleaned herself off in the bathroom. A pity, but her scent was intoxicating enough on its own.

  “Not until tonight.” Her thighs quivered. His bottom lip brushed against the little nub, and her breath caught. “Oh! But I’m kind of sore.” Then she added, “Sorry,” as if it was her fault, and not his for going at her like some kind of caveman. Or a jackhammer.

  He’d make it up to her. He’d make it up to her until she was a melted, quivering mess. He murmured, “Shh,” and bent to her like a penitent. Yes—he could see now that her flesh was reddened and swollen, sensitive to his touch. He would be gentle. He would be so terribly gentle.

  And he was. Each and every fold got the tenderest attention. He kissed and licked her everywhere but her clitoris, until his chin was wet and she was dragging her nails through his hair. Her hips rocked to meet him. “Please,” she sobbed.

  He tongued his way around the little nub, brushing it just enough to earn a whole string of whimpers. How could any man not like doing this? He slid his palms up her body and found her breasts, cupping and squeezing them in the same slow rhythm as his mouth. “Is this good?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she gasped, arching up into his hands.

  “How good?” He flicked his tongue, and she trembled. “Tell me.”

  “I dreamed about you doing this,” she choked. “Every night. I couldn’t help it. Please.”

  Every night? Had she dreamed about it during the day as well? A sudden thought raced through Charles like fire. Perhaps she’d dreamed about it when she’d been with Bradley, saying that she didn’t want a gentleman. When she’d said that, had she been thinking about him?

  Charles laid an iron arm across her hips, holding her even more still than he had last time. And he began to punish her for every tormented, fevered second he’d endured this week. Why should she get any mercy? He hadn’t.

  Not even a few hours ago, when she’d kept him on the very edge of orgasm even as he’d begged her to have pity on him—and she had refused.

  Begged. Magisters didn’t beg anyone for anything. He wouldn’t forget that again.

  She gasped and tightened her grip on his hair, trying to guide him. “Oh! Oh God!”

  “Hands at your side,” he hissed. “Or I’ll tie you to the bed.” Tie me up, she’d whispered in his fantasies, keep me all for yourself.

  Her hands hesitated instead of letting go. He glanced up at her, feeling his rational self slowly peeling away. “Do you want that?” he breathed.

  Sandra panted, her eyes glassy. “I don’t know. I’ve never done it.” She swallowed and grabbed at the sheets. “I think I’d do anything with you.”

  Charles grew dizzy as he imagined binding her slender wrists and ankles. He hadn’t played those games in years. But with this girl…would it truly be a game?

  “Please—” Sandra began.

  She never finished. He bent back down and licked her over and over, bringing her ruthlessly to climax, while she let go of the sheets and dug her hands into her own hair. “Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck…Charles!”

  He knew exactly the moment when it became too much for her to bear: her cries became softer, higher-pitched, and she began to wriggle away from his mouth instead of pressing into it. Only then did he relent. He licked his lips. So much for gentle. His blood buzzed in his ears.

  Her trembling eased, and she gave a soft moan. He already craved the sight of her like this, shattered from his attentions. Magisters didn’t beg, but somehow Sandra only become more irresistible when she pleaded. How could any man refuse her?

  She looked at him through glazed eyes, and he couldn’t stop a smirk as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

  She gasped in embarrassment and covered her eyes with one hand, as if she wanted to hide from him.

  Nobody did that. Charles pushed her hand away and looked down at her face, savoring every blush. “Oh God. You’re going to kill me,” she said with a wobbly laugh.

  Was he? That didn’t seem right. After all, she was bringing him back to life, coaxing all of his hungers out of a decade-long coma. And there was something in her eyes that worried him a little, something that suggested she wasn’t totally joking.

  “No,” he said with an urgency that shocked him. Could she hear it too? He tried to sound lighter as he added, “Don’t think you’ll get away that easily.”

  Before she could reply, he kissed her. She parted her lips beneath his and invited him inside for kisses that melted him too, even as they made him shiver with desire. Then, as
before, she began to suck on his bottom lip, tasting herself.

  Some women didn’t like doing that. One of his partners had refused to kiss him after he’d gone down on her. Sandra wrapped her arms around him and went for it with enthusiasm, already bouncing back from her orgasm with the energy of youth.

  “You’ve been selfish,” she said, her voice so soft and husky that it sent a thrill through him.

  Then he caught up with her words. “I’ve been what?”

  “You heard me.” She nipped his bottom lip.

  Three orgasms from oral sex, one from his hand, and he was selfish? She had to be joking. True, it had been just as much for his own pleasure, but she couldn’t say he wasn’t generous. Charles opened his mouth to set her straight.

  But then she pushed at his chest and said, “Roll over. It’s my turn. I want you.”

  The words went straight to his cock, which was nearly at full attention even without being touched. He found himself rolling over, as obedient as…well, a dog. His vixen looked down on him with glittering, greedy eyes. His heart began to race.

  She wanted him. He knew how wet she was. She could fuck him like this, ride him, and what a view that would be. But— “You said you were sore,” he managed.

  He couldn’t hurt her, no matter how badly he wanted her. It was his duty to treasure her, to keep her safe—even from himself. Some promises ought to be kept even if they were made in dreams.

  “I am,” she replied, raising an eyebrow as if to say, so what?

  “Then we can’t,” he said, clenching his jaw.

  Sandra shook her head with a small, incredulous smile. “You’re kidding. Is that seriously the only thing you want?”

  Looking at her auburn hair and flushed skin, Charles couldn’t imagine wanting anything else under the sun. He reached out to touch her face. “I’m a patient man. I can be,” he amended, because he’d shown precious little patience this last week. “I wouldn’t do anything that—”

  She rolled her eyes, kissed his palm, and then bent over him, closing her lips around the head of his cock.

  Charles’s head fell back into the pillows as he went from mostly interested to right fucking now. Every coherent thought he’d ever had fled, and the universe narrowed down to Sandra Dane’s soft, wet mouth. Her tongue stroked gently against him, and he arched his hips without meaning to, chasing the sensation.

  She lifted her mouth from him with a wet, popping sound. “Hold still,” she said reprovingly, and rubbed her thumb against the base of his shaft. Pleasure rippled through him, and it became impossible to think. “Or don’t you like this?”

  Charles grabbed the sheets, as opposed to grabbing her head. He hunted for words. Of course women had done this for him, but none of them had ever seemed especially eager, even his wife. “Do…do you?” he managed.

  For a reply, she licked her lips and bit the bottom one, and he moaned, feeling like a boy on the wrong side of the candy store window. “I could do all kinds of things to you,” she whispered. “I could use my hands.”

  “I…” Words. He needed to say something. “You…ah…”

  She leaned forward until his cock rested between her breasts, which she cupped and pushed tightly around him. He groaned deep in his chest as he saw the fluid dripping from his tip down over her. “You could do it here if you wanted.” His hips jerked without his permission, thrusting against her. “If that would make you feel good.” She bit her lip again and looked almost lost. “I need to make you feel good.”

  “You do,” he panted, digging his heels into the sheets. He tried to think of calming things, but he couldn’t think at all. “Oh my God. You do.”

  “I do?” she asked softly, squeezing her breasts around him again.

  “Ah!” Charles let his head fall back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. “You do. I get harder from looking at you than I ever…” His hips thrust again, and he felt his tip brush against her chin.

  Then he felt her lips, soft as butterflies, press a kiss to him. “You’d tie me up,” she whispered, “but you wouldn’t just ask me to do this?” She licked his crown. Stars began to appear behind his eyelids. He could feel the silken sweep of her long hair against his thighs. “Why?”

  Did she expect to have a fucking rational conversation? He opened his eyes and struggled not to go off, then and there, at the sight of her flushed cheeks and soft lips poised over his cock. “Do it, then!” he gasped.

  Her eyes never left his as she lowered her mouth back onto him and began to suck. Charles made a noise he’d never made in his life, a cross between a groan and a cry that could not possibly express how he felt. He’d never seen anything more erotic. And just like before, he was but a hair’s breadth from release.

  How was she doing this to him? How could he make sure she never stopped?

  Then Sandra’s eyes fell shut, and she moaned. She pulled her mouth from him just enough to start licking at his tip, and she whimpered, “I dreamed about this too.”

  “Wh…” He managed to let go of the sheets with one hand and slid his fingers into her hair. He had to touch her. “What?”

  She placed soft kisses up the length of his shaft, making anxious little noises in the back of her throat. “I dreamed I sucked you. I dreamed it was during the party.” She flicked her tongue against the head of his cock, into the sensitive little groove; when he groaned, she did it again and again. Soon her lips and chin were slick.

  She’d been wrong. She was the one who was killing him. His fingers tightened in her hair. “I wanted you,” he choked, so far past caution that he couldn’t recognize it anymore. “In the library—I’d have had you—”

  She opened her mouth and sucked him again, taking him in as deeply as she could, as if she wanted nothing more than this. She bobbed her head up and down, and her lips and her tongue and her—

  “Stop!” Charles cried. He grabbed her shoulder, and she pulled free just in time as he started to come, shooting all over himself, pleasure overwhelming his senses. He couldn’t believe it. To feel such ecstatic relief, not just once, but twice in a single night, with her…

  When he managed to open his eyes, Sandra was perched over him, her mouth swollen and wet. “Oh, wow,” she whispered. “I didn’t really get to watch you last time. You’re incredible.”

  He couldn’t manage to feel self-conscious. Instead, he sighed and reached up to touch her face again, rubbing his thumb once more over those heavenly lips. They were sticky.

  She kissed his thumb and asked, “Why didn’t you want to…you know. Come in my mouth?” She looked abashed. “I would have let you.”

  “Bad manners,” he murmured, tweaking her earlobe. She sputtered with laughter. “Well, I didn’t ask first, did I?”

  “No,” she said, grinning again. “I guess you didn’t.” She glanced towards the other nightstand, the one with a tissue box. “You want to clean up?”

  He said, “I do.” She reached toward the tissues. “In the shower.” She paused. “With you.”

  Sandra blinked, and then glanced down at his slick, spent cock.

  “Platonically,” he added.

  By the time they stood beneath the hot, hissing spray, she’d stopped giggling. Instead she wore a silly smile while he rubbed shower gel over her, pausing for occasional wet kisses. She seemed to like returning the favor, running her fingers through the hair on his chest as she washed him off. He still had no idea what time it was, but it remained dark beyond the window blinds.

  Time didn’t seem to matter here, anyway. In these rooms, he had no legacy, no family, no corporation. He had only her, and the rest would keep. Tomorrow, he would have to think about what came next. For tonight, he would let nothing intrude on the closest thing he’d known to joy in ten years.

  They toweled off and returned to the bedroom together. The sight of their clothes all over the floor made Sandra turn pink again. She glanced at the door. “Are you staying?” she asked, and then took his hand before he could misinte
rpret her. “I mean, I’d like you to. I just understand if…but I’d like you to. But if you think you should…”

  “I think I’ve closed the door on what I should do,” Charles said. “For tonight, anyway.”

  She gave him a small smile, raising her face to his. “I guess we both have.”

  And it had never felt better. Charles kissed her softly and whispered, “Come to bed.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  This time, when Sandra woke up, she could see light through the blinds and she was alone. Charles’s side of the bed was cold, and his clothes were no longer scattered on the floor. How long ago had he left?

  Sandra pushed away a pang of anxiety. This was probably just discretion, not rejection. Charles hadn’t seemed to have second thoughts last night. At all. In fact, when they’d climbed back into the bed after their shower, he’d pulled her into his arms, tucked her head under his chin, and gone to sleep immediately.

  She wouldn’t have called it cuddling or snuggling. More like making sure she wasn’t going anywhere. Had he somehow guessed that she’d tried to sneak away before?

  Well, she hadn’t managed to, thank God. Sandra gave in to the full-body stretch she was yearning for. She felt warm and relaxed; last night’s soreness had dulled, and now she even enjoyed the lingering ache.

  Squinting, she reached for her phone on the nightstand to check the time, and gasped. It was five after ten. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in to the double digits.

  Her phone also showed three unread text messages. They were all from Bradley. Sandra sucked air in through her teeth. Thank God he hadn’t actually tried to call.

  She could stop feeling guilty now, she reminded herself. They weren’t together anymore. Bradley had broken their relationship, and because of that, she’d had the most incredible night of her life.

  Maybe she could send him a handwritten thank-you note.

  Bradley’s first text was time-stamped at 11:35 last night. She and Charles must have been asleep then, between rounds. It read: Babe I’m sorry. Please call me. The next one was at 8:12 this morning. It was a stupid mistake. Don’t be angry, it was before I even met you. He’d sent the third text only fifteen minutes ago: Damn it like you’ve never fucked up, just fucking call me.