In Bed With the Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  Then again, she wasn’t a woman who gave up easily.

  Gently she spread out her fingers on the front of his pants, pressing down with her palm, feeling the already hard length of him get even harder. And she made herself smile. “No questions then.” She lowered her voice, making it throaty, sultry. “I’ll give you one anyway.”

  His grip on her other hand didn’t relent and the look in his eyes turned glass-sharp. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, kitten. I’ve had a hundred women try and seduce me to get something they want, and not one of them managed to do it. What makes you think you’re so special?”

  “You really have to ask me that question?” She pressed harder, holding his gaze. “I’m special because you want me.”

  And then that savage, feral smile was back, and she felt it deep in her gut, in her bones, in her sex. Making her breath catch and excitement rise. She wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it.

  He shifted, gripping her other wrist and pulling her hand away from him. Then, in a slow, inexorable show of strength, he forced her hands down on the bed, propelling her onto her back along with them. Then he held her wrists down on either side of her head, bending over her, his mesmerizing gaze inches from hers.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “That’s right. I do. But I want answers from you more.” He moved again, pushing one knee between her thighs, the material of his pants brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and pussy. A couple of inches higher and he’d be pressing right against her. All she’d need to do would be to tilt her hips and her clit would come into contact and—

  What the fuck are you thinking? You’re supposed to be the one seducing him.

  She gritted her teeth, trying to bring her awareness back to the goal she was aiming for, the information about Thalia, because God, that was more important. More important than anything. And way, way more fucking important than this inexplicable, hateful attraction to the man who’d bought and sold her sister.

  Who’d maybe even murdered her.

  “You’re trained to kill, Temple.” His voice was soft, hypnotic. “In fact, you were only barely holding yourself back before. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed. So the only real question remaining is this: Why are you here to kill me, kitten?” His knee shifted as he spoke, closing those mere couple of inches, lifting to press gently against her sex, sending a shockwave of pure, electric sensation ripping through every nerve ending she had. Drawing from her a gasp she didn’t want to let out and yet was powerless to stop.

  No. No, she wasn’t going to do this again. She wasn’t going to be at his mercy again. This had to end and end now.

  “I’m not here to kill you,” she forced out. “I just want information. That’s why I’m here.”

  His knee pressed a little harder, that gaze of his searching her face, and she tried not to give him any reaction. Tried to stay still.

  “You’re lying,” he murmured. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  The pressure between her thighs intensified, his knee pressing harder still, making her want to rock against it, relieve the ache that was becoming more and more insistent by the second.

  Why was it so difficult to ignore? What the hell had he done to her?

  The broad, muscled length of his body stretched out over hers and the scent of him filled her senses, making it difficult to think. All she could see were those green-gold eyes and the fire in them that made her feel as if the blood was burning in her veins.

  No one had ever looked at her that way in all her life. No one had ever looked at her as if they wanted to eat her alive. And she didn’t know why some part of her responded to it.

  Christ, none of this made any sense at all.

  Think of Thalia. Think of what you have to do.

  Yes, that’s right. Think of her sister. Think of what this man had done to her. Get angry, get fucking furious because wasn’t that her fuel? Wasn’t that the thing that got her up in the mornings? The thing that made her pick up her gun and pull the trigger, because every death brought her closer to her actual goal. And now that goal was here within reach. Lying on top of her and holding her hands down.

  Making you wet. Making you want.

  Fuck. No. Not again.

  Temple relaxed beneath him, letting all the tension bleed out of her, letting him think she’d surrendered. His knee moved, the delicious friction of it against her pussy making her shudder, but she didn’t hold back this time or try to hide it. She even arched her back, lifting her hips, steeling herself against the intense rush of pleasure.

  “Tell me the truth, Temple.” His voice was a whisper, that velvet cord around her neck, pulling tight. “You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t wait. Time to end this.

  With a quick, hard movement, she twisted her hands from his grip and jerked them away, rising up to slide her arms around his waist. Then, pressing down with the heels of her feet, she jerked her hips up hard, pulling him down in the same motion, twisting underneath him and pushing him over to the side, using her body’s momentum and element of surprise to roll him so that he was the one lying on his back while she was on top of him.

  Then she rammed her forearm hard across his throat before he could move.

  “Okay, asshole,” she said savagely, staring down into the fire blazing in his eyes. “Give me the information I want and maybe I won’t crush your windpipe.”

  * * *

  Jericho lay there, barely able to breathe, the pressure across his throat like an iron bar.

  Fucking hell she was fast.

  She’d positioned her body over his, straddling him, her thighs squeezing him tight. Dislodging her was going to be tricky, especially with her forearm over his windpipe. He had a feeling she’d crush his trachea without a second’s hesitation.

  Her golden eyes were full of anger and heat, the desire she thought she could hide blazing there just as surely as her rage.

  Dmitri was right. She is here to kill you.

  Maybe that should have concerned him more than it did. Hell, the way she’d flipped him onto his back and was holding him pinned should at least have made him angry.

  Yet he didn’t feel angry.

  He felt … exhilarated. Excited. And so fucking hard. As if he hadn’t already had her not a few hours earlier.

  She could kill him right here, right now, and for some fucked-up reason that excited him intensely.

  Christ, she was incredible. Naked but for his shirt, and this was the second time in twelve hours that she’d managed to be a serious threat to him. And there was no doubting she was serious. He could see her intent burning in her eyes along with her anger and her desire.

  The information she wanted … It was personal to her, he’d bet his life on it.

  Curiosity was electric inside him, an intense current moving through his bloodstream. He wanted to know more, but of course, if he didn’t get out of this, he wasn’t going to find out anything.

  He moved experimentally and was rewarded by the pressure on his throat suddenly becoming excruciating.

  “Try it, prick,” she whispered, leaning down near his ear. “I’ll kill you before you can take another breath.”

  He couldn’t speak, not with her pressing down like that, so he stilled, forcing himself to relax under her.

  Her gaze searched his face for a long moment, then she eased off, if only slightly.

  “I’m not going to be able to tell you anything if you keep your arm there,” he managed to get out, his voice sounding so hoarse it was like he’d swallowed a handful of gravel.

  In contrast to the press of her arm, the rest of her body was a slight, hot weight against him. Her pussy was against his cock, he could feel the heat of it like a fire seen through a window on a cold winter’s day, almost there and yet just out of reach. It was maddening.

  A fleeting look of frustration rippled over her features, then it was gone. She eased back a little more, not enough, unfortunately, to let
him flip her, at least not before she crushed the breath out of him.

  “Talk,” she said flatly. “And fast.”

  He smiled. “Why? You’re going to kill me anyway, aren’t you?”

  “Why?” she echoed. “Because I know how to cause pain. You’ll be begging to tell me before I’m through with you.” There was no doubt in her eyes. She’d do it, that was clear.

  Yeah, this was personal to her. Deeply personal. And it looked like he was the object of her anger. And so much anger. She hated him, though she was trying her best to hide it.

  “What did I do to you?” he murmured, watching the ebb and flow of the emotions she thought she kept secret in her eyes. “What did I do to make you hate me so very much?”

  Her full red lips drew back in a fair resemblance of a snarl. “That’s not the right answer.” The pressure was back, crushing. “I want information, asshole. I want to know what happened to a girl called Thalia Cross.”

  Pain burst through his head, and he nearly laughed because when had anyone been able to dish out this kind of hurt to him? Never. And it was such a fucking thrill. That feeling of being so vividly alive had never been stronger. He could hear the blood pumping in his veins, feel the hard ache of his dick. Pain was a beautiful flower, slowly opening its petals, revealing itself in all its glory, reminding him that he was mortal.

  That you’re going to hell when all of this is over.

  Yeah, he would. But he’d come to terms with that long ago. It would be worth it in the end. The lives he’d hurt in pursuit of his goal would be worth all the lives he’d actually save. All the people currently caught in the web would be free, and all the people who were in danger of being caught would have that threat removed. The perpetrators would be brought to justice. His father’s handiwork and that of all the men like him would be destroyed.

  That was worth the price of his soul. Fuck, he had to believe that. It was the only thing he had to hold onto that got him through.

  He stared up at Temple, part of him wanting to just let go. Because it would be a fucking amazing way to die. Looking up into the golden eyes of a woman like this one, who was fire all the way through. A Valkyrie come to take his soul to Valhalla.

  Like you’re going to Valhalla. Hell, remember?

  Right. And he couldn’t let go yet, no matter how tired he was. The job was unfinished.

  Temple eased back, allowing him a fraction of breathing room again. “Speak.”

  He swallowed, his throat aching, watching as her gaze dipped to the movement, making him want to smile. Instead he shifted his hips fractionally, rubbing the hard length of his cock against the slick heat between her thighs. The look in her eyes flared in response, the catch in her breath infinitesimal, but he heard it all the same.

  “Thalia Cross,” he murmured thickly, letting the sound of it roll into the air like honey. “Pretty name.”

  The look on her face tightened for an instant, before it smoothed again. “Just tell me what you know about her.”

  The name had vague familiarity to him, like a half heard song lyric, but he couldn’t immediately place it. “I’m not sure I know anything about her.” He shifted his hips again, a small movement and once more, that flare of heat in her eyes. “Tell me more.”

  Her mouth had firmed, becoming hard and tight. “Stop.”

  “Stop what?” Another gentle rock against her.

  “That.” There was a breathless edge to her voice now, her gaze dropping to his mouth then back up again, her cheeks flushing. “Do it again and I’ll kill you.”

  “Why? Because you like it?” He shifted again, subtle yet insistent, the heat of her soaking through the fabric of his pants. “I don’t think you want to kill me, Temple. I think you want to do something else with me first.”

  The pink flush to her cheeks deepened, and the color should have clashed with her hair yet it didn’t. She was a woman composed of different tones of flame, red and gold and pink. He was going to burn himself holding onto her, and he didn’t give a shit. He just didn’t care. It would be worth it.

  “No.” The breathless edge in her voice had gotten more pronounced. “I don’t. So stop it, asshole. Unless you want to die.”

  He didn’t want to die, not yet. But he didn’t want to stop either. So he ignored the threat, moving his hips in a circle, pressing against her sensitive clit, watching as she shivered in response. “But you don’t want me to stop,” he murmured. “You want me to keep going.”

  Temple shifted her weight, clearly trying to pull away from him, and the pressure on his throat eased as her angle changed. She muttered a curse, shifting yet again, but he didn’t let her find a more comfortable position, moving with her, making sure the hard line of his cock ground against her sex.

  “Tell me what you know about Thalia, asshole,” she panted, the movement of her hips restless and searching. As if she wasn’t trying to pull away but seeking more friction. “And tell me now because I will kill you.”

  God, she was passionate. And sensual. More than she herself realized, which was probably the only reason he was still breathing.

  He gave her a feral smile. “Do it then, kitten.” Taunting her. Tempting her. Not stopping the grinding movement of his hips. “Kill me if you can. Because I’m not going to give you another chance.”

  She gave another snarl and the forearm across his throat pressed down hard. The flame in her eyes glowed bright and hot, full anger and heat and frustration. She wanted to kill him, that much was obvious and yet … there was no real weight behind her arm. As if something was holding her back.

  He rocked against her, gentle and slow, watching the golden glow in her eyes glaze over. “Fuck,” she whispered, barely audible. “Fuck … stop…”

  But he wasn’t going to, not now. Because he had her, he fucking well had her. If she hadn’t killed him now, she wouldn’t.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, for some reason unable to stop pushing her. “You want to kill me, I can tell. Here, I’ll even make it easier for you.” He put his head back, arching his neck, exposing his throat. And at the same time, he reached lower, finding the warm, smooth length of the back of her thigh, running his hand up the back of it and cupping the rounded curve of her ass.

  She shuddered, her gaze on his throat, the snarl still twisting her pretty, pouty mouth. It would have been easy for her to lean forward and crush his trachea. So very easy for a woman like her. Yet she didn’t. Instead she kept staring at his throat as if in a daze.

  He squeezed her gently, allowing his fingers to slide between her thighs and brush against the soft, slick folds between them.

  A sharp exhalation of breath sighed out of her, copper lashes fluttering. She didn’t move.

  Satisfaction surged inside him. Yeah, she didn’t want his death, she wanted his touch. Wanted him to give her pleasure. Why else hadn’t she dealt her killing blow?

  Turning her over and putting her beneath him would have been the logical thing, the way to neutralize the threat. And yet, he found he didn’t want to just yet.

  There was something dizzyingly erotic about lying this close to his own death. About feeling the strength slowly bleed out from her as he touched her. And part of him wanted to prove to her how helpless she was against the desire that flared between them, and how utterly she was at its mercy. That she would let him live, put her own safety at risk, purely because she couldn’t bring herself to make him stop touching her.

  He liked that, yeah he did. Because Christ, he wasn’t going to be the only one caught in the grip of this lust. He wanted to make sure she was caught too.

  Keeping his gaze steadily on her flushed face, he found the entrance to her body and began to circle her slippery, wet flesh with one finger. Her jaw went tight and hard, but he didn’t hesitate, sliding his finger deep inside her.

  She inhaled sharply, her eyes meeting his.

  “Do it,” he whispered, pressing his finger deeper, feeling the astonishing heat of her body clos
e around it. “Kill me.”

  She panted, and he felt the arm across his throat tremble, her gaze burning into his. She wanted to, she really wanted to.

  He slid his finger out then pushed it back in again, her pussy slick and hot, ready for him whether she liked it or not. “Last chance, kitten.”

  “Bastard.” The curse ended on a low moan, her lashes sweeping down, her mouth relaxing, becoming all full and soft and pouty. Her back flexed, arching as if to invite a deeper touch, her hips moving against his hand.

  The pressure against his throat vanished.

  Looked like he wasn’t going to die tonight.

  Halle-fucking-lujah.

  But it wasn’t relief that coursed through his veins. It was triumph. The raw, primitive pleasure of defeating a worthy opponent. Because she had been worthy. She’d nearly done what no other asshole had managed over the course of sixteen years. She’d nearly killed him.

  He shifted, removing his finger from her, flipping her over onto her back and reversing their positions so she was the one beneath him. She didn’t even protest, lying there with her hands flung above her head, watching him with big golden eyes.

  And he felt savage with the satisfaction of it. Because if there was one thing that really got him off it was a victory, and he did like to win. He always had.

  “Remember this,” he murmured, staring down at her. “Remember that I gave you a chance, and you didn’t take it.” He eased apart her thighs with his knees, leaning forward and putting one hand beside her head, trailing the other down her body before sliding over the slick flesh between her thighs. “Remember that you should have killed me, and you didn’t.” His finger found the stiff jut of her clit, teasing, circling. “Remember that you wanted my touch, my cock, more than you wanted my death.”

  Something intense crossed her face. Whether it was rage or desire or despair, he couldn’t tell. Then she turned her head to the side, and closed her eyes, her lashes lying still on her cheek. Tuning him out.

  Oh, hell no. She wasn’t checking out like that, just because he’d defeated her. He wanted her participation. Her active, enthusiastic participation.