The Firstborn Prince (The Billionaire Dynasties)

by Virginia Nelson

  “Move it,” Natalie advised Connor, bumping him with her hip. He obligingly stepped aside, crossing his arms while leaning on the counter and looking at Foster before shaking his head slowly. “And it isn’t any of your business if we’ve slept together,” she continued.

  She froze, slowly looking over her shoulder at Foster. Apparently, it just dawned on her that she’d failed at her objective. She slept with him instead of distracting Connor. He shrugged slightly, to imply it didn’t matter. Regardless of her methods, his brother was distracted. Otherwise, he’d be at the office right then, proving he was better at running the company than Foster. Instead, Connor was in his kitchen and neither of them were at work.

  Win-win, so far as Foster was concerned.

  “Natalie, my brother is an asshole. This isn’t going to work out for you, and I like you.” Connor touched her arm, and Foster growled, taking a step forward. Connor’s words might not have annoyed Foster, but his hands on Natalie infuriated him.

  He didn’t get to touch her.

  Connor lifted his hand from her arm, meeting Foster’s gaze across the distance between them. His brow raised as he looked back at Natalie.

  “Can’t you see it?” Connor continued. “This isn’t going to go well for you. He’s stuck on stupid promises we made when we were kids and—”

  “I’m a grown woman, and any risks I’m taking are my choices, not yours,” she said. Facing off with his brother, she looked like some slim beacon of power and light. Dressed in no more than a T-shirt that hit her mid-thigh, she was a queen, dominating the room with the sheer force of her will. She was glorious. “You don’t get to tell me how to live my life, although your concern is appreciated.”

  Connor shook his head. “You might think you know him, but I’m his twin. I knew him before he was born. He’s going to hurt you. And before you say he won’t, I want to tell you that I’ll be here, Natalie. If you need a friend when it happens? I’ll be here.”

  Foster didn’t argue, because Connor wasn’t wrong, not exactly. Not exactly.

  Foster said nothing, Natalie sputtered, and Connor gave his brother a nod as he let himself back out of the apartment. Oddly enough, it comforted him to know that Connor understood this one was special. That his brother would be there for her when things fell apart.

  As they would. They always did. But he liked Natalie, too, and didn’t want her to be alone when things went south.

  “Like I’d go to him if things went badly between us?”

  He didn’t want to talk to her. Not when the words would tangle and mess things up. For now, they were golden. She’d stood up for the thing between them against his brother. There was something inherently hot about seeing her all brave and determined.

  Maybe his plans were shot, but there was good in what came out of it. Her.

  Perhaps it was time to revel in what went right instead of drowning in all that was going wrong.

  He didn’t want food, had no interest in pretending to eat, and watching her face off with his brother reminded him that he wanted her.

  And he didn’t want to wait.

  “Go lay down,” Foster told Buffy, and the dog obeyed.

  Moving to the counter, he opened a drawer and found a condom. He kept them around the house, just in case opportunities presented themselves. The rubber slid onto his dick with little effort, and Natalie didn’t bother to look and see what he was doing. Joining Natalie at the stove, he reached around her to shut it off, caging her with his body. Her small gasp made his lips curl in a smile.

  “I’m not done with the eggs,” she began.

  She had to feel him, hard, behind her. But he placed a kiss on the column of her throat while slowly wrapping the length of her hair around his wrist. Her breath stuttered out of her, and she allowed him to move her to face the table. In seconds, his hand in her panties had her bucking against his touch, panting for him to take her. A simple hoist of her body onto the table itself, and he held her torso down by her hair.

  “Beg,” he ordered. He needed to find some sort of control in the madness spiraling through his senses, and her submission would give him that. He craved her surrender, this powerful and intelligent woman. He wanted her wild for him, as lost in his body as he was in hers.

  By pinning her against the hard surface, she was getting pressure from both sides—her mons pressed against the wood while he slowly sank into her heat. He kept the pace modulated, controlled, waiting for her surrender.

  “Foster,” she panted out, those little sounds humming out of her throat as her body sang for him. “Foster, I want to see you.”

  “Beg,” he ordered, feeling his self-control slip. If she didn’t cave, he wouldn’t manage to wait her out. He was so close.

  “Please, please, please,” she chanted, her palms slipping on the table as she tried to buck into him, to speed him up so that she could orgasm.

  It was what he needed, what he’d waited for. He drilled into her, thrusting until they both exploded, the orgasm leaving his legs weak and his muscles trembling. Her skin was warm under his, her body shaking, so he brushed the hair back from her face to pepper kisses at her temple and cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. She was golden, and for now…she was his.

  …

  “So, I’m having sex with Foster Boyd,” Natalie admitted to Harper, after ensuring her friend was alone in her apartment in Seattle. She didn’t want even Harper’s lover to overhear this particular round of confessions.

  Harper squealed, her fists at her face practically hiding the ear-to-ear smile. “Oh, my god, is he good? Is the dick worth the bazillion dollars, or does he have a little thingy, to counteract the size of his inflated ego?”

  “He’s…amazing?” Natalie said the words, but paused to think it over. She’d known him how long now? She should be confident by now that she knew him better. Instead, the more time she spent with him, the bigger the gulf seemed to grow between them. It was, like, a chasm of unspoken things.

  They didn’t talk about the fact that the press never recanted the story of her being his sexting pal, even if they’d dropped the story based on his declaration. They didn’t talk about the fact that he’d publicly said he wouldn’t be involved with an image consultant—her, specifically, as she wasn’t his usual type. They didn’t talk about the fact that the press aired additional photos of them, just grabbing coffee and talking, about a week back. They didn’t talk about the fact that she was pretty much a failure so far as distracting Conner was concerned, although her image consulting portion of her work seemed to be working wonders.

  If anything, the “scandal” of the sexting thing was mostly destroyed by the fact that the media had matched them up as a couple. People who were seeing each other who were also having sex wasn’t news, and the tabloids couldn’t present it as such. Her reputation was currently in shards, because sleeping with your boss was never a great thing—but the twins? Yeah, they’d followed her rules and the general approval for their behavior was higher than it probably had ever been before.

  All in all, she was successful in the image consultation of the brothers in charge of Boyd Cosmetics. But no one was likely to ever hire her—even after the success—because of her “indiscretions,” not to mention her media reputation as a fortune hunter.

  But the indiscretions themselves? Pretty great, really. Off the charts hot sex, guaranteed orgasm or two…

  “You sound unsure about that. Is he amazing, or did you use the wrong word?” Harper asked, leaning closer to the screen. “If you’d like, you can give me details. Gritty details. Pictures of him naked are entirely optional, but I’m open-minded as a friend, and am willing to help however you need.” Harper winked.

  “He is gorgeous, isn’t he?” Natalie asked with a sigh.

  “I always preferred his brother, to be honest. I mean, they’re both sexy as hell, but there is something dark and dangerous about Connor. Foster looks too much like a muscular Ken doll for my tastes.” Harper shrugged. “Tha
t said, if you’re into the whole brawny blond hero thing, Foster is for sure your guy.”

  “Yeah.” Natalie sighed again.

  “Look, buddy, I want to be super supportive here, while getting details on the nasty side of your relationship, but your sighs aren’t happy sighs. Something is up. Spill.” Harper leaned closer, as if trying to read Natalie’s face through the video connection.

  “I want to talk to you about the sex, that was why I brought it up,” Natalie confessed.

  Harper rubbed her hands together. “Dr. Sexytimes, reporting for duty. Please tell me it is kinky. I love it when the questions are about kink.”

  “It is,” Natalie agreed with a shrug. “He’s super dominant, like…preferring me restrained in some way or another before we do it. He tied me up with my own shirt, has me beg…stuff like that.”

  Harper bit her lip. “You’re blushing while you say it, so I’m guessing you’re not about to play some virginal, ‘oh my goodness, it is shocking!’ bullshit right about now, right?”

  “No, I like it!” Natalie inserted. “I mean, what isn’t to like about it? He makes sure I get off, every single time. Sometimes twice. I was close to three times, once… He’s an amazing lover, seriously. Dedicated to my pleasure before he takes his own. I have no complaints there.”

  “Ah, now ve get to the root of ze problem!” Harper said in a funny accent. “Do not lie to Dr. Sexytimes. Vat about his dominant, restraint driven sex drive is awakening your puritanical need to pick apart multiple orgasm sex? Tell me!”

  “I’m not picking at it,” Natalie defended, gnawing her fingernail. “Am I picking at it? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t complain at all. He wants me all the time. Even when we’re not having sex, he does these little things, like stroking my hair and touching my fingers… Like, this has been the best couple weeks of my life, sexually. You’re right; I shouldn’t complain.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Nat, I’m not telling you not to dissect whatever is bothering you. I’m being silly. Something about this is bugging you, orgasms or not, so what is it?” Harper sounded a little frustrated.

  “Promise not to think I’m crazy or oversharing?” she asked.

  Harper rolled her eyes so hard, she tilted her head with it. “Oh, come on. Who are you talking to here?”

  “Okay,” Natalie said, taking a breath for strength. “He only bangs me from behind.”

  “Like, in the pooper? Mr. Rich Prince dude likes to stick it in the big brown eye? Well, if you’re getting off from it, there’s no harm in—”

  “No!” Natalie said emphatically. “We haven’t done anal. Not yet, anyway.”

  “You’re telling me your big problem with this relationship is that you’re not doing missionary? Honey, you’re making it hard not to hate you.” Harper huffed out a breath, then reached for her coffee cup.

  “You’re not getting it,” Natalie said, frustrated. “He restrains me, like I said. With a T-shirt or his tie or just orders me not to touch him—whatever, it is restraints, so let’s call it what it is. And no matter what we’re doing, foreplay wise, whether I’m on his face or if he’s between my… God, TMI. Sorry. Never mind. You’re right. I’m picking at a good thing, kicking the proverbial gift horse—”

  “Wait!” Harper held up a hand and put the coffee back down. “Let me think for one sec. So, what you’re saying is that you’re not allowed to touch him during sex? At all?”

  “Yes,” Natalie said, relieved her friend was getting it. “At all.”

  “Can you touch him normally?” Harper asked.

  “He seems to encourage it, for the most part. And he touches me. A lot.”

  Harper furrowed her brow, tapping one long finger on her olive-colored cheek. “And he restrains you every single time?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re facing away from him when the actual sex happens? Is that all of it?”

  Natalie blushed.

  “Either my color settings are off on this thing, or you’re blushing. What else?”

  “Let’s drop it. How has work been?” Natalie asked. Usually, talking about work could keep Harper busy for a good hour solid.

  “No backtracking, doll, we’re on to something, and you don’t want to say it. What is it? Does he say something weird? Call you by another name? What is he doing that is also hitting your radar? Because I know it is something.”

  Natalie chewed her lip before answering. “He makes me beg.”

  Harper shrugged. “Sounds sexy enough.”

  “He holds off my orgasm until I beg, while I’m facing away from him. And he never says my name during sex. I almost— This is going to sound dumb, too,” she confessed.

  “Spill.”

  “I almost think, based on my knowledge of psychology, that he’s disassociating the act of sex with his partner, who in this case is me. Like, the rest of the time I’m me to him, but during the act, he distances himself until it is over. And he requires control and submission for his own release.” Natalie spat all the words out in one long rush, unable to look at Harper while she said it. “But it isn’t like I want to stop having sex with him. The sex is great, but…”

  “But it’s unfulfilling, because if you just wanted orgasms and no emotional connection, we have batteries for that.” Harper said the words in a matter of fact way, and Natalie looked at her again to see her frown.

  “Is that crazy?” Natalie asked.

  Harper smacked her leg, then wiggled her finger as she explained. “This is like that Greek myth. The one where the guy and the girl are having amazing sex, but he says she can never see him. Or else the sex will end. Or something. Anyway, so…finally, driven to curiosity, she uses a candle or something and looks upon his body. And he is hot. Like, hella hot as fuck, if you know what I mean. She lucked out in the husband department. But he’s also mad, because their deal was that she should never look. Have you read that one? I did, back in college.”

  “Does it have a happy ending? Once he stops being mad?” Natalie asked. She didn’t remember the story, but wasn’t sure if it was because Harper’s description left a lot out or because of her own lack of knowledge. She’d never paid that much attention in Lit classes, even though she loved to read. Something about them telling her what they thought the book had been about just irked her on a weird level.

  “Um, no, sweetie. I think he leaves her, if I remember correctly. But that isn’t important. I’m not saying you’re rewriting ancient history with your amazing billionaire sex, I’m just saying…you need to talk to him,” Harper said. “And fast, before your little twinge of things not being right flips and becomes a lot of resentment, which will tear you guys apart before you’ve really begun.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  From Natalie’s rules for Foster Boyd, v1

  Rule #8: Do not underestimate the value of a plan. Your public persona doesn’t have to be the same as your private one—so long as you manage to keep the private stuff private using the methods I detailed in the first rules. Consider everything the press learns and is fed to be branding of a sort. Like you brand your cosmetics and skin care. You are part of the brand of Boyd Cosmetics, whether you like it or not. With a little planning, you can confidently face the press, knowing that the only thing they’ll be sharing is that which you intended for them to find out. Plan, plan, plan, Foster!

  He hadn’t gotten his hands on her in more than twenty-four hours. It was coincidence—they’d flown to Florida to renew their certification for ISO 14001 status, proving their manufacturing, packaging, and distribution adhered to environmental and safety codes. Natalie came along, since the plan was for her to organize some more approved public appearances for them, but also just because he’d wanted her with him. She’d fallen asleep on the plane, dashing his plans to renew his membership in the mile-high club. Once they got there, meetings took up most of the day, and by the time he’d gotten back to the hotel, she’d already been there an hour.

  And had fallen asleep. H
e didn’t want to wake her, since the past few days had been back-to-back work and she’d been amazing—between press releases and otherwise organizing Connor and him—so he knew she needed the rest. He stood over her for long moments, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Unable to resist her entirely, he’d brushed the wild elf locks of hair back from her temple, and she’d turned her face into his touch. For the longest while, he just stood there with her face cupped in his palm as her breath raced across the pad of his thumb.

  Then Buffy whined, and he didn’t want to wake Natalie, so he’d taken the dog for a walk.

  He never would have believed that the thing between them would have lasted so long. The whole matter had him rethinking the rule about seconds. Perhaps he could be involved with a woman—one who shared his bedroom inclinations—and not be distracted from what he needed to do to keep the company thriving. Besides, there was something eminently pleasurable about knowing the woman he wanted was nearby. And not just for sexual reasons.

  He liked her laugh. When she tilted her head back and let it roll free of her throat, his own lips twitched into a smile, regardless of the topic. He liked the way her fingers would curl around his when he reached for her. He liked looking at her across a crowded room and knowing she understood him—frustrated, annoyed, whatever, the nonverbal communication thing was a gift unto itself.

  He just liked Natalie. Enough so that he wondered if some gold things could stay. Maybe. In strange and unexpected circumstances.

  By the time he made it back to her side—his walk having spun out for much longer than he planned, as the beach was beautiful in the darkness, the waves a balm, and the thoughts of the woman in his bed so damn pleasant—it was nearly morning. He pulled her into his arms, her naked body warm and inviting against his. Burrowing his nose into her hair, he must have dozed off, because daylight streamed into the room when he finally woke up. And his bed was empty, save for Buffy, who was sprawled across his legs and had put his foot to sleep.