In Bed With the Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  He grunted in pain, unable to avoid the blow, tightening his hold on her. But she wasn’t done. Her hips moved, grinding the softness of her bare ass against his by now painfully hard cock. Then the little bitch lifted her head and brought the back of it down hard on the bridge of his nose.

  More stars, more pain exploding. And she’d managed to get free of him, rising to her feet, heading straight for the doors.

  Jesus Christ. She’d beaten him to a pulp, and now she was going to escape.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  Ignoring the pain, he surged to his feet, the hunger for his prey driving him forward, and he lunged for her, grabbing her around the waist. She cursed and struggled, but this time he didn’t make the mistake of holding onto her. Instead he turned and threw her bodily over the mess of glass on the white carpet and onto the couch. She landed on her hands and knees like a cat, muscles tightening in preparation for hurling herself away from him.

  But as he’d tossed her, he’d followed, throwing himself on top of her on the couch, pinning her with his own body weight as he landed.

  She was facedown, struggling beneath him, her lithe body all slippery and hot, every movement she made, every shift of her hips an agony as she pressed against his groin.

  Adrenaline had him panting, had him desperate, and he put a firm hand on the back of her neck, holding her down as he leaned over her, his mouth near her ear. “I caught you, kitten. Which means now it’s time to pay. So keep fucking still.”

  But she didn’t. Her elbow came up, narrowly missing his nose, her back arching as she tried to throw him off.

  Christ, she was lethal. He was going to have to do something about that.

  Straddling her and keeping her pinned, he tore off the remains of his shirt, buttons popping off and bouncing away. Once it was off, he reached for her arms and jerked them behind her, into the small of her back. She gave a small cry of anger and pulled hard, trying to loosen his hold, but he wrapped the white cotton around her wrists, tying them expertly so no matter how fucking lethal she was, she couldn’t get free.

  Still, she tried, swearing viciously, the muscles of her arms straining as she tried to escape. It was no use, though. He knew how to tie a person up so that no amount of struggling would help.

  “I told you you’d pay,” he murmured as she bucked beneath him, trying to shake him off. “I warned you.”

  “Fuck you.” Her voice was hoarse, muffled. “Prick.”

  “And you’re a sore loser.” He flexed his hips, pressing his aching dick against the softness of her ass, glorying in the feel of her heat, in the anticipation of what he was going to do.

  She shivered, and for a second he thought it was over, that she was going to be quiet and still. That he’d won. He was almost disappointed.

  And then she bucked hard, kicking with her legs, nearly shaking him off.

  He laughed, unable to help it, the thrill of the chase, of the hunt, electric inside him. Quelling her was going to take more than bound wrists clearly and thank fucking God, because he was ready for this to be over. He didn’t want quiescence. He wanted the fight.

  Reaching for one of the stupid little cushions whoever had decorated this mansion of his decided was a good idea, he ripped the white silk apart with his bare hands. Then, discarding the cushion filling, he tore the cushion cover into strips. Shifting his posture, he turned around, keeping his weight planted firmly on the small of her back to keep her still, running his hands down the length of her toned, muscled thighs, wrapping white silk around her knees, pulling it tight and knotting it. Then doing the same for her ankles.

  A shudder went through her, a gasping, panting breath. “What the hell are you doing? You don’t need to tie me.” There was a hoarse edge to her voice, one that sounded like desperation.

  He shifted again, straddling her once more so her butt was pressed hard to his groin, his knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of her thighs. Something warm slid over his top lip and there was more blood in his mouth.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You nearly broke my nose.” He reached for what was left of the white silk cushion cover and wiped his mouth with it. The fabric came away stained red.

  This woman … She’d nearly broken a rib, his jaw, and his nose. And catching her had almost destroyed this room. He was bleeding, he’d probably have a black eye later, it hurt to breathe, and he was sure his back was full of broken glass.

  And he was so hard he could barely think. The thrill inside him deep, primal, savage.

  The pain and the desire was a bright blade of sensation, cutting away the nothingness that had surrounded him for so long, hacking it apart like an ax hacking at the dead wood of a tree. Leaving behind living growth. Leaving behind life.

  He looked down at the woman beneath him, the long, elegant curve of her spine, the graceful sweep of her shoulders, the bonfire of her hair cascading everywhere. Even now she was fighting, moving against him, trying to loosen the fabric he’d tied around her.

  “Serves you right, asshole,” she panted. “Untie me.”

  “Fuck, no.” He ran a hand over her ass, her skin slippery and hot beneath his palm, and she shuddered again, her hips shifting, pressing back against his dick. “I think I’m going to keep you all tied up and at my mercy.”

  Jesus, it was getting difficult to think. Difficult to even breathe. Because he could smell her musk and a soft, sweet scent that he couldn’t place. Could feel the heat of her beneath him like the promise of a fire on a cold winter’s day. And it had been so long, so fucking long.

  “Bastard.” Her voice sounded raw. “Is that what you like? Helpless women? I knew it. Of course you do.”

  He laughed and leaned forward, discarding the blood-stained silk, putting one hand near her head and bending over her, bracing himself. “No, Temple,” he murmured near her ear. “I don’t want a helpless woman. I want a woman who can fight me. Who can match me.” He pushed the hard ridge of his cock against her ass, making sure she felt it. “I’m not hard because you’re helpless. I’m hard because you fought. Because I had to work to bring you down.”

  Her head was turned to the side, the curve of her cheek deeply flushed with exertion and he could see the golden gleam of rage in her eyes.

  “I’ll untie you,” he went on softly. “But only if you stop fighting.” Another pause, watching her. “Are you going to stop?”

  You don’t want her to. You want her to keep struggling. You sick fuck.

  Something caught inside him, something skipped a beat.

  But then she drew a ragged, harsh breath, her body tensing beneath his, and the thought disappeared. “No,” she gasped out. “No, I’m not going to stop.”

  He grinned as her muscles gathered and tightened, as her back bowed and she bucked like a horse trying to get rid of its rider. She was tenacious, determined as he was, and fuck, this was better than alcohol. Better than drugs. This was better than anything that could be bought or sold or mixed together in a chemist’s lab.

  This was what he’d been craving and didn’t even know it.

  “In that case…” He drew back one hand and slapped her on one ass cheek, the hard crack of his hand on her flesh resounding in the room. “An eye for an eye, kitten.”

  She cursed, savagely, and tried even harder to dislodge him. So he hit her again, her skin flushing red under his palm. “Bastard,” she gasped. “Fucking bastard!”

  But he only laughed, sliding his hand down the curve of her ass, his fingers finding the heat between her thighs, finding the truth. Christ, she was so wet, so slippery and hot. “Protest all you want, little girl,” he growled, sliding a finger inside her pussy. “You want this as much as I do.”

  Temple groaned, her hips jerking, trying to pull away, but he only leaned harder on her, using his weight to hold her in place. Her bound wrists lifted, so he took those with his free hand and pinned them too, keeping her immobilized as he sunk another finger deep.

  He hadn’t t
ouched a woman like this in years, and he’d forgotten how erotic it was. How tight and slick a woman’s sex was when she was aroused, how it clenched around his fingers, and how she gasped as he drew his hand back, fingers sliding almost out of her before pushing back in. Again. And again.

  “Oh … F-F-Fuck…” Her voice was anguished, like she was in pain. But there was no mistaking the wetness of her against his skin, no mistaking the heat.

  He tortured her with his fingers, sliding them in and out, punishing her for the punches she’d dealt him, for the bloody nose, for the glass in his back. And her hips flexed, matching the movement of his hand, her breathing harsh.

  His mouth curled in a savage smile as he watched her. Hell yes. He wanted to keep going, making her scream with his hand alone, watch her come apart completely. But his body had waited too long. And so had he.

  Keeping her wrists pressed into the small of her back, he slid his fingers out of her and leaned over to the remains of the coffee table. There was a drawer beneath it, with a small stash of condoms inside that he kept mainly for his clients’ use in case they got caught short. The drawer was now full of glass from the shattered tabletop, but luckily the condom packets were still intact.

  Grabbing one, he tore apart the packet with his teeth and took out the condom. Then he jerked the zipper of his pants down, pulling his boxers down too, getting out his cock and rolling the latex down.

  Temple was still moving, down but clearly not out. She was trying to draw her knees under her, maybe so she could shove herself up and perhaps shake him off. God, he couldn’t help but admire the way she refused to give up.

  An incredibly dangerous woman and yet here she was, bound for his pleasure.

  Desire was like a vice, squeezing him, nearly choking him. Wrapping around the pain of his jaw and his nose and his back, twining with it to create something so inescapable, so erotic, he was helpless to resist it.

  Looping an arm around her waist, he hauled her ass back against his groin, then he positioned himself, the tip of his cock pressing lightly against the entrance of her body. She stiffened then tried to get her knees under her again, exactly as he’d expected her to do. So he leaned over her, putting one hand on the back of her neck, pressing down, holding her still.

  Then he thrust hard. Deep. Slamming himself into her.

  She jerked, a hoarse cry escaping her.

  And fucking finally the wet heat of her pussy was around him, clamping down hard on his cock. Almost too much.

  He stopped, dizzy with sensation, his lungs working hard just to get some goddamn air, the beat of his own heart raging in his head. Had it been like this the last time? Had it ever been like this?

  No, he knew the answer to that. It hadn’t.

  She bucked against him, still fighting, prompting another erotic surge, and he almost groaned. Jesus, this woman was going to kill him.

  She could kill you with her bare hands, you realize.

  Yeah, well, that was obvious now. But he’d deal with that later. Right at the moment, he just wanted to fuck her senseless.

  He withdrew then pushed back in, another hard, deep thrust. What he could see of her face was deeply flushed, coppery gold lashes lying on her cheeks. Her mouth was open, her lips full and soft, and as he thrust again, her expression twisted in agonized pleasure, another cry coming from her.

  Beautiful. Goddamn beautiful.

  Pleasure was a live electric current winding through his body, shocking his deadened senses awake, bringing them back to life. The air in his lungs felt brand new, the musky scent of aroused woman, of sex, of his own blood the sweetest thing he’d ever smelled.

  He moved again, harder, deeper, driving himself into her, feeling her muscles tense as she tried to push back against him. But he didn’t let her. He kept her immobile with the weight of his body and the hand on the back of her neck, holding her down, making her take everything.

  “N-no…” She sounded ragged, raw. “Oh God … no … I … please…”

  “You want me to stop, kitten?” He bent his head so his lips were near her ear, taunting her as he thrust, not pausing, not letting up. “Is that what you’re trying to say? Have you had enough already?”

  She shook her head violently. “N-no…” Another harsh, panting breath. “I didn’t say it. D-don’t stop … Oh God … don’t fucking stop.”

  He laughed, a twisted, savage sound. That was a surrender, and they both knew it.

  Running a hand over her hip, he slid it around and under her, so his palm was against her stomach, feeling toned and powerful abdominal muscles tense as he did so. Then he eased down farther, his fingers finding the soft heat and wetness of her pussy, the hard bud of her clit.

  She gave a hoarse little sob, her body shaking as he began to circle and tease it, stroking her ruthlessly, pushing his cock into her as he did so, deep, savage thrusts that pressed her down into the cushions. And she fought him, right to the end she fought him.

  But he only gripped the back of her neck, kept up the pressure on her clit, stroking her roughly as he continued to drive himself inside her.

  “Tell me to stop,” he murmured hoarsely in her ear. “That’s all you need to do. Just one word and I’ll let you go.”

  But she turned her head away, burying her face in the cushions of the couch, and he felt it as her pussy clenched hard around his cock, as she shook like a tree in a hurricane. Her scream of release audible even through she was trying to muffle it. And even though it wasn’t the word he was hoping to hear, savage satisfaction turned over inside him nevertheless.

  He leaned his weight into her, thrusting faster, pinning her body, making her take him.

  It was so good, so fucking good. He felt like a god, he felt like himself. He felt free after too many years buried alive.

  You’re a fucking monster.

  Yeah, well, that was what he was. And maybe he’d been a fool to deny it all these years, to pretend there was something left of the man he’d once been.

  Maybe it was time to embrace the darkness.

  She bucked against him, her sex squeezing him tight, but he didn’t let her go. He fucked her hard and without mercy, and when the climax hit him he thrust his fist into her hair, jerked her head back, and bit her throat like the animal he was.

  She screamed again and it wasn’t with pain, not when he could feel her body convulsing around his a second time, another orgasm shaking her.

  And he was aware of only one thing.

  One night wouldn’t be enough.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Temple pressed her face into the couch cushions, not caring that she couldn’t breathe or that doing so made the grip Jericho had on her hair even more painful. It was either that or she burst into tears, and there was no fucking way she was going to do that.

  She didn’t even know why she felt that way, not when it was only sex. Only an orgasm.

  Two orgasms. You came when he bit you, when he held you so you couldn’t move. You wanted him to do it, you wanted him to take control …

  She screwed her eyes shut tight, focusing on the hot darkness behind her closed lids because that was better than feeling the hard length of his cock still deep inside her, or the furnace heat of his body against the bare backs of her thighs. Or the weird release of emotion that flooded through her chest.

  She hadn’t cried for years, not since the day her father had told her what he’d done with Thalia, the day she finally understood what her older sister had been protecting her from. So she wasn’t going to cry now, not after a stupid orgasm.

  The main thing was that she hadn’t broken. She hadn’t told him to stop. It was a victory, wasn’t it?

  Behind her, she felt him shift at last, the pressure easing as he released her hair, withdrawing from her. Now would be the time to roll over and make some snarky, sarcastic comment, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to move. The darkness was easier.

  The couch dipped, the heat behind her disappearing, cool air against
her skin, and she was trembling with some kind of belated reaction.

  Get yourself the fuck together.

  She slowed her breathing, trying to get a handle on her out-of-control emotions and failing. Anger surged inside her, the frustrated rage of a warrior who’d been bested. Because no one had managed to beat her, not since she’d managed to take down Jackson, her old mentor and the man who’d taught her to fight, himself. No one had been good enough.

  Apparently Jericho is. And now you’ve given yourself away completely. Well done.

  Something else twined through the rage, that unfamiliar sense of panic she’d felt back at the strip club. She had given herself away. She should never have fought him like that and yet … she just hadn’t been able to stop herself.

  It had been a long time since she’d been tested, since she’d met someone who was a match for her. And it had been exciting, thrilling.

  A turn on.

  She scrunched her eyes up tighter, trying to ignore the tingling electric shocks left over from those orgasms and the deep clench inside of her at the memory of his powerful hand on the back of her neck. At the hard thrust of him inside her. At the way she was held immobile, leaving her with no choice but take what he gave her. The pleasure so bright and blinding it felt like it was going to rip her apart. Making her want to beg him to stop—

  No. No. She wouldn’t think of that. She wouldn’t think of how close she’d come to breaking. She’d only meant to taunt him into taking her selfishly, for himself. So he wouldn’t turn that relentless focus on her. And she’d thought when he’d finally brought her down on the couch, that’s exactly what she’d done. Except …

  You didn’t expect to enjoy the way he matched you. You didn’t expect to be angry that he beat you. And you certainly didn’t expect to love the way he fucked you.