by Ashlee Price
As comfortable as her place was, I had no desire to stay there. If I hadn’t wanted her to see this, my personal space, I could have stayed there with her. But the desire to be among my own things was imperative.
I hate going back to Brooklyn. I avoid it as much as I can, but I force myself to go back four times a year. Minimum. My grandmother’s birthday, the day she and my grandfather died, and finally, on my own birthday.
Each anniversary is a difficult one for me anyway, so going back doesn't make it that much harder. You can’t make a sucky day that much suckier, after all. Shit is shit, and those days are the shittiest for me to handle.
“You’ve gone quiet,” she tells me, jerking me from my thoughts as I take her to the sitting room off the kitchen.
“Just thinking,” I reply, a little dismissively. “Too many thoughts aren’t good for me,” I continue, trying to make up for the tone.
“Too many thoughts aren’t good for most people.”
“How very wise of you,” I tease. Then, as I lead her into the kitchen, I ask, “Want something to drink?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m alright, thanks.”
“You sure?” I cock an eyebrow at her.
“I’m thirsty for something else.”
Her words have my stomach wrenching as desire slaloms through me. God, what is it about this woman? What is it that drives me from despair and sorrow-ridden thoughts to lustful ones in less than a handful of moments?
Her eyes are heavy, the lids half-mast. “Where’s the bedroom?”
Surprised at the fact she’s instigating this, I hold out a hand. When she accepts it, I tangle my fingers with her own and lead her to the bedroom.
It’s an intense room. Red walls, red sheets on the bed. Golden lights, decorated with Moroccan patterns in gilt. A canopy over the bed that reminds me of a Bedouin tent billowing in the wind.
“Wow,” she breathes the instant she crosses the threshold. “This is… I never imagined you in something like this.”
That has my lips twitching. “No. It is rather fanciful, isn’t it?”
“Fanciful isn’t the word. I’d say fantastical fits far better.”
I laugh. “I wouldn't go that far.”
“It looks like a sheikh’s bedroom!” she immediately reprimands.
“It kind of is. I read something once…” I pull at the collar of my shirt. “It inspired all this.”
She smiles at me as she turns away from the room and faces me, focusing all her attention my way. “I like that you have an imagination. I never figured you’d go for something like this.”
“What do you mean?”
She waves a hand. “That office of yours?” She makes a gagging sound. “You can’t breathe in that place.”
That makes me blink. “I assure you, I’ve yet to choke in there.”
A chuckle escapes her. “That’s not what I meant… I meant, you know, creatively.”
“Not much creative work goes on in there.”
“I’m not surprised.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “Especially now I know you’re capable of this!” Coming closer to me, she rests her hands on my chest. “I’m impressed, Mr. Levitt.”
I cock an eyebrow at her in return. “Doesn’t take much to impress you, does it?”
She snickers. “Now you’re just being bashful.” She comes up on tiptoes and dots a single kiss on my cheek. She anoints the other cheek with another kiss. “Your facets are intriguing.”
Before I can tell her other parts of me are far more intriguing than my ‘facets’, she presses her lips to mine and robs me of all other thoughts.
I know she wants to take charge, but I reach down and grab a hold of her legs, hoisting her up so she’s in my arms. She immediately parts her thighs and clasps my hips. The move drags her sex against mine and both of us groan into the other’s mouth as the delicious pressure ricochets through us.
She arches her back, pressing her mound harder against my cock, and I cup her ass, loving the muscular softness of her butt against my palms.
Her tongue thrusts into my mouth, and with each thrust, I take a step forward, closer to the bed. In no time at all, I’ve lowered her to the mattress and the pair of us are panting with the desperate need to take this further, to be as one for however long we can.
I rear up, jerking my sweater overhead and pulling my shirt off at the same time. As my hands go to my buckle and fly, I watch as she removes her own blouse, revealing a pretty bra, and manages to wriggle out of her pants without leaving the bed, revealing long thighs and a damp spot at the crotch of her panties.
I want to groan at the sight of her.
God, she’s beautiful. I tell her as much, smiling a little as she flushes. The extra pink adds to her beauty and the instant my cock is free, peeking through the fly, I lower myself to the bed so I can feel her against me.
She cries out when I settle my weight between her thighs, and she lifts her legs high, cupping my ass with them while digging her heels into my glutes.
“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” I complain as I nip at her throat, laving the spot with my tongue until the flesh is pink and flushed with blood. I continue moving down, smirking as her fingers fumble with the front clasp of her bra, revealing turgid nipples that beg me to taste them.
When I do as they so pleasingly ask, she lets out a low groan, and that sound robs me of all control. I don’t know why it does, it just does, and I reach between us to grab a hold of her panties. Pulling them to the side, I let my cock slide through her juices, reveling in the feel of skin against skin, but it’s a temptation I can ill afford. Digging in my pocket, I find a condom, quickly open it and hand it to her.
She moans at the loss of my heat against her when I move away, but eagerly sheaths me with protection. This time the sensation isn’t as powerful when my dick brushes her pussy, but it still feels damn good.
I rub her clit with the glans, loving the feel of the little nub against the sensitive tip of my shaft. More juices flow from her at the teasing touch, and she starts to lift her hips, raising her butt from the bed in response to my gentle thrusts. As I tease her nipples with my teeth, torture her clit with my cock, her hands come to grab a hold of my head, clawing through my hair with her short, neat nails. They still bite, though, and the sensation has me growling.
I can’t wait. Patience escapes me as I let my cock slip inside her, just the tip filling her gate, before I thrust. Deep, hard. Claiming every bit of her, filling her up, branding her with my heat.
Her back arches, her head taking the weight of her upper body as she rears up off the bed again.
She’s tight, gloriously so, and as I start to move, each inch is a battle that’s hard to win. But I do. I claim her, take every bit of her for myself as she clamps down even harder, her muscles making me fight, making me work to be inside her.
The rippling sensation around my shaft is like heaven, though, and soon, I’m hard pressed to stave off my orgasm. From the flush on her cheeks as well as the depth of her breathing, I can tell she’s close. Groaning at the sight of her breasts, which are quivering with each thrust, I shape one with my hand before I move it down to her belly. Covering her mound for a second, I tease her, let her know what’s coming without moving again.
Her pupils flare and she grits out, “Stop teasing me.”
Enjoying the demand in her tone, liking how she fights fire with fire rather than being quenched by my dominance, I let my fingers slip down. As I caress her clit, her eyelids droop, and as I pinch and rub the little nub, I can feel those pussy muscles of hers do a fandango that makes me want to holler.
Out of nowhere, she clamps down hard, a screech of agonized pleasure escaping her as she comes. It’s unexpected, but the deep drag of her orgasm takes me with her, pulls me under, drowns me in sensation and pleasure as my body is unexpectedly thrown into the deep end.
Sink or swim. I have no choice other than to ride the rip tide, to revel in the moment of sha
red bliss.
When my heartbeat settles a little, I slump against her. Her pulse still hammers away, and I’ll admit to feeling a little smug at how much I’ve affected her.
She’s such an independent little thing. I know it’s hard to take her unawares, and I also know I manage to accomplish that. Quite frequently.
I guess it’s only fair, because she does the same to me.
Before my weight gets to be too much for her, I roll us over so that I’m on the bottom and she’s on top of me. Her warmth settles over me like a heavy blanket and I relax, enjoying the moment as our bodies calm down, as remembered pleasure still shivers through us.
“I need to be getting back,” she murmurs after a while, groaning against my chest. It may be twenty minutes later, or two hours. Both of us are so relaxed, so comfortable with one another that the prospect of her leaving fills me with unease.
I wrap my arms around her. “Stay the night.”
“I can’t. I don’t have a change of clothes for tomorrow and I have an early appointment. If I stayed, I’d have to go directly there.”
“I’ll have my driver go and get a change of clothes for you.”
Apparently my matter-of-fact tone surprises her. She leans back and gawks down at me, then over at the clock. “It’s nearly eleven. Your driver is still working?”
I crinkle my nose. “He works when I need him.”
“That’s a bit jerk-ish, isn’t it?
“Is that even a word?”
“Probably not.”
“If you’re hesitant to give him your key, don’t worry about it. I had his background thoroughly checked by agencies you’d rather not know about, and he’s seen far worse than your version of tighty whities.” I reach for my cell phone and tell her, “Go on, tell me what you want. He’ll bring it back to you.”
She eyes me a second, mostly in disbelief I think, then groans. “I really don’t want to move.”
My lips twitch. “Then don’t.” I can’t believe I’m urging her to stay here. At my sanctum sanctorum.
It’s been a month for firsts.
“Dammit,” she grumbles, then rumbles off a list of clothes she’ll need, as well as requesting he get her briefcase from the kitchen worktop.
“Key?” I ask.
“Under the mat.”
I gawk at her a second. “Please tell me you’re not being serious. You keep a key under the mat? Are you asking to be robbed in the middle of the night?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “If I’m in the apartment, I have another two deadbolts I use to lock myself in. Don’t worry.”
“Too late,” I tell her with a grunt as I type everything into the message and wait for Walt, my driver, to reply. When he does, I smile. “He’s on his way.”
She sighs and settles back against me as I switch off the light. It’s crazy how right she feels there, and it’s disturbing too. I’m not one of those sons-of-bitches who refuses to sleep with his latest lover, but I do prefer to sleep alone. Mostly because I wake up several times in the night and prefer not to have anyone witness me wandering around in an effort to get back to sleep.
But tonight, I really need Grazia to be here.
It’s crazy, and I know it, but I’m past caring.
We relax under the covers. Her body warms mine and I warm hers. We’re close as can be, curled into one another like this isn’t the first time we’ve been here but the hundredth. As I nod off back to sleep, my phone buzzes. It’s on silent mode but I hear the vibration. Reaching for it blindly in the dark, I eye the ID and grimace.
“What’s wrong, Walt?” Grazia stirs at my side, and I can sense her wakefulness at my words. Sighing, I prod my driver when he fails to respond, “Walt? Any reason for the call?”
“Sir, I…” His voice drops off. “It’s on fire.”
His reply has me stiffening. “What is?”
“The building. It’s all—” He clears his throat. “There’s been a…”
It’s not often Walt is lost for words. “How bad?”
“They’ve just managed to put it out. It’s bad, sir. The place is a shell.”
Holy Mother of God, if I hadn’t gone there tonight, if I hadn’t felt like staying at my place instead of hers… she could have been there.
She might have died. I might have, too, if we’d stayed there.
I curl an arm about her, pulling her tightly to my side. “Thanks for letting me know, Walt.”
“Of course, sir. Please tell Miss Fabiola I’m very sorry for her loss.”
“I will.” Swallowing thickly, I press a rough kiss to the top of her head. “Grazia,” I whisper, my voice thick with regret and fear for what might have been. “I’m so sorry, but I have bad news…”
To be continued…
DESIGNER FOR THE BILLIONAIRE
A Billionaire Romance Novel
(Contemporary Romance Novels)
Book 4
THE HEART’S PATTERN
By:Ashlee Price
Description
When Grazia’s world is tipped upside down, rescue comes in the form of handsome billionaire, Marshall Levitt.
Their relationship had an odd beginning, but somewhere along the way, their powerful attraction has changed, surprising both of them in the process.
Marshall has proved she can depend on him, that she can rely on him in a crisis, but when it comes to her heart, can she trust him enough to let him take hold of it and keep it forever?
If she can’t believe in him, then what options does she have? Can she let him go, or will the idea of being without the man who fires her blood like no other change her thinking and help her come to the most important decision of her life…?
Chapter One – Grazia
It’s been four months since I lost everything.
Since my apartment burned to the ground, since I lost months’ worth of work for my business and a decade’s worth of designs for my passion: fashion design.
Worse than the financial setback, I lost memories. The doll my Nonna gave me when I was four, the photo album loaded with pictures of some of the best years of my childhood—high school. I lost my prom dress and the books my stepfather gave me when I was little.
Worse than that, I lost the roof over my head.
The place I’d made my home since college.
I lost dreams, hopes, goals.
Devastated is too miserly a word to describe how the entire situation affected me, and the truth is, without Marshall, I’m not entirely sure I’d have been able to cope with the loss.
It wasn’t just my home, it was my business. Everything, all my party stock, all the dresses that were ready to sell, went up in flames with the rest of my stuff. I’ve never leaned on a man before, but I leaned on Marshall, and he didn’t let me down.
In the biggest leap of faith in my life, I didn’t fall. I can’t quantify how relieved I am about that. I trusted, and Marshall was there.
A shudder works through me, as it often does when I think back to those early days after the fire. Almost like she knows what I’m going through, Jessie presses a hand to my shoulder and asks, “Hey, where did you go?”
I blink up at her. “Nowhere,” I lie.
“Yeah, right.” She eyes me askance, disbelief written on her features. “Pull that with someone who doesn’t know you as well.”
I shrug. “Seriously.”
“Lies, all lies,” she teases gently. “I hate it when you disappear on me.”
“Not as much as I hate it when I disappear.” I purse my lips. “I was just thinking about things, that’s all.”
“I gathered as much, and by things, you mean your life.”
“You’re annoyingly accurate, aren’t you?” I glower at her. “Can’t a woman have a little privacy when she’s thinking?”
Jessie grins. “Of course, but you’re the one who’s so transparent. I can’t help knowing what’s going on behind that pretty face of yours.”
Rolling my eyes at her, I grumble, �
��I can’t believe I pay you to be a pain in my ass.”
Her grin turns into a cheeky laugh. “I’m lucky, aren’t I?”
“You’re damn well more than lucky.” My lips twitch, and I reach over and squeeze her hand. “But then, I’m lucky too. Who else would put up with my shit?”
“Apparently Marshall,” Jessie retorts, a twinkle sparking in her eyes as she turns left.
“Stop digging.”
“A girl can try.”
I ignore her attempt at worming more information out of me. “You need to take the next right here.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” she chides.
“No, it’s your second.”
She chuckles. “Look, it isn’t my fault you’re a control freak when it comes to these vans.”
“Wouldn’t you be? The insurance premiums on these rentals are a nightmare.” I sniff.
“You’re only letting me drive because you’re too worn out from your after-hours jiggery pokery sessions.”
That has me blinking, as well as thanking Christ that my other employees are at the venue already and not listening to Jessie dissect my private life. “Jiggery pokery? What the hell is that?” Hey, it’s not a crime to buy some time.
It’s her turn to sniff at me. “Sex. Lots of it. In lots of different positions and orifices with Marshall, the sex god.”
My cheeks heat. “Jessie, for Christ’s sake.” When she takes the next right and starts to pull in to a space allocated for us, relief floods me—escaping this conversation is my idea of wonderful. I’ve been managing to avoid it for the past four months, and I’ll keep on doing it for as long as I can. “Let’s get started.”
“Yeah, we’ll get started, but this isn’t over.” For the first time, there’s something other than humor in her tone. There’s concern. I can avoid the humor, swerve past it with ease, but the concern? Shit, if she’s really worried about me, then my days of avoidance are over.
I reach for her hand and squeeze her fingers. “I’m okay, Jessie.”
“I think okay is a relative concept. You’re doing fine considering what’s happened this year.”