Quadruplets for the Billionaire (Babies for the Billionaire Book 2)

by Ana Sparks

  “Then what’s bothering you?” I ask, giving voice to the thought.

  He draws away from my touch, keeping his grip on my hand. It’s almost comical how large his hands are in comparison to mine, but I focus on his face. He appears to be heavily weighing his options, seeming to debate whether to be upfront about what, precisely, is on his mind.

  “Come on, Carson. We’re past the point of being shy around each other, wouldn’t you say? You can tell me what’s on your mind,” I assure him. He seems to consider my words, breathing a sigh.

  “I just don’t want to be some sleazeball boss,” he mutters, and I tilt my head, encouraging him to continue. “I’ve dated employees before. It’s never gone well. Granted, I’ve never felt as enamored as I feel with you…” he trails off.

  A brief surge of jealousy washes over me, but I realize that there is little I can do but take him for his word. I can only believe him when he says I’m somehow different.

  Granted, since I first met him, it’s become clear that it isn’t his first time around the block. While I can only hope I present something new and exciting, I can only muse that Carson could have any woman he desired. Then again, perhaps that’s what makes this so special. The fact that he’s chosen me.

  Carson seems sincere in his desire to treat me as an equal, and not as though I were just any woman he’s encountered previously. I have no doubts regarding how intensely I want him, and it’s obvious from the dark desire in his eyes that he wants me just as badly.

  “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t suggest…” I trail off, not wanting to be awfully blunt in the crowded restaurant. I’ve never exactly considered an older man sexy before, never been with someone more than two years older than me, but I find that I’m tempted to make an exception for Carson Sharpe. “I want you,” I say more quietly, putting as much feeling as I possibly can in my assertion.

  He lifts a brow, looking vaguely taken aback.

  “I just want to be certain that you’re sure,” he says quietly. “I don’t want you to regret this. If we were to return to work, unable to face each other…I don’t know that I could properly handle that.”

  I chuckle softly, meeting his gaze with an expression that I can only hope conveys how strongly I feel.

  “Nothing could make me regret being with you, Carson. I have confidence that we’ll manage to keep things professional at work, regardless of what happens between us,” I murmur.

  Seemingly convinced, he looks at me with barely concealed desire.

  “All right. What do you say we get out of here, then?” he suggests, flagging down the waiter.

  He places a wad of cash in the younger man’s hands, telling him to keep the change. The waiter’s eyes widen, as if he’s never seen that much money in his life. Hell, I’m sure he hasn’t. Carson slides out of his chair, offering me his arm with a sly smile. I can see the arousal glimmering in his eyes, and I try to contain my own excitement.

  It’s really happening. I’m going to sleep with my gorgeous billionaire boss, Carson Sharpe. I never could have expected this. Even now, as he guides me to his luxurious car, I can only wonder how I’ve come to this point.

  All of my willpower is required to stop myself from locking lips with him as soon as we’re seated in the car. I reach out, resting my hand on his thigh. He breathes a shuddering sigh, curling his hands around the steering wheel.

  “Is my place all right?” he asks quietly, and I pretend to consider the question very deeply as I stroke my hand up and down his inner thigh.

  He tenses, and my eyes nearly bulge from my head as I take in the size of his member, which is now straining against his slacks. My hand quakes on his leg, and I try to control myself, try to keep a hold on the situation.

  “That sounds wonderful,” I reply, my mouth dry. His jaw is clenched and he nods silently, shifting the car into reverse to back out of the parking lot.

  We surge out onto the main street, the lights of the city flashing past us as we careen down the road. It’s obvious that Carson is struggling to keep his attention on the road as I sink my fingernails into the fabric of his pants.

  I draw my hand away, more for my own benefit than to give him any reprieve. I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself any longer if I allow my hand to remain on his thigh. Glancing at me from the corner of his eye, he pulls into a large parking compound before veering into a space that has a sign marking it as reserved.

  He grabs me by the front of my cocktail dress, nearly yanking me entirely across the center console as he presses his lips to mine. I gasp against his parted lips, tangling my hands in his hair. He kisses me as if my lips are the oasis he has craved while wandering in a vast desert. I whimper into his mouth, and he draws away with a vaguely dazed expression.

  “Not here,” he mutters urgently, and I nod as I unfasten my seatbelt.

  Carson lurches out of the driver’s side door, meeting me at the back end of the car and sweeping me into his arms once more. He can’t seem to keep his hands off of me, and it’s all I can do not to shout his name to the heavens as his hands caress my ass. He draws me close, so close that I can feel the throbbing of his manhood through the thin layers of fabric between us.

  Seeming to have a moment of doubt, he draws back just enough to look me in the eye.

  “I’m giving you one last opportunity to back out,” he gasps, his voice ragged.

  I smile, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him against me once more. He presses me back against his car, nudging a knee between my thighs.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” he murmurs against my ear, stepping back with a sensual smile and seeming to regain his composure as he leads me into the building.

  It’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself as we slip into the elevator, but he seems to have fewer qualms with the risk of being seen in a compromising position. He grabs me by the hip, jerking me towards him with a soft growl. I hop up, wrapping my legs around him with the slight support of the handrail inside the elevator. As we kiss, he smacks my ass, the sensation staggering even through my dress.

  When we reach Carson’s floor, he lurches out of the elevator, carrying me into his apartment. Our tongues tangle as he captures my lips again, and his experience in this department starkly contrasts mine.

  It’s clear he knows his way around a woman’s body, while I’ve only had scarce contact with men. I’m not a virgin by any means, but Carson holds a talent that I can only attribute to his age.

  Before I even realize what’s happening, we’re in his bedroom. He twists around, falling backwards onto the plush pillow top of his mattress. He grazes his teeth on my lower lip, and I cry out as his hands slip under the edge of my dress.

  “No panties, Aimee? You naughty thing,” he scolds, and I redden at the comment.

  Before I can reply, his nimble fingers press between my outer lips, caressing my already swollen clit. I buck against him, burying my face in his chest as he pleasures me with his hand.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I whisper, meeting his gaze daringly as he stops the motion of his fingers.

  I reach down, gripping the bottom of my dress and pulling it off over my head. His hand swiftly moves to the clasp of my bra, snapping it undone and allowing my breasts to fall free. It seems to be going so fast, but I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life. If the brief fondling between my thighs was any indication, it’s clear that he knows how to play me.

  “I thought you might like to set the pace,” he murmurs, palming my breast in his hand. I arch against him, eyes fluttering shut as my hips move of their own accord.

  “You don’t seem the type to give up control so easily,” I gasp, reaching between us to fidget with the button of his pants. The swell of his arousal is nestled comfortably at the apex of my thighs, but there are decidedly too many layers between us. He chuckles, crossing his arms behind his head and watching me with mirth in his gaze.

  “I’m just letting you do the
hard work. After all, isn’t that your job?” he says smoothly. I blush, but offer little argument as I work his pants down his hips. “Eager, aren’t you?” he comments idly, reaching up to slowly unbutton his shirt.

  Before he can completely unfasten the garment, I rip the remainder of it apart. His eyes widen in surprise, but I lean down and graze my teeth against his throat.

  “I’m not known for my patience, though I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now,” I whisper. He chuckles, tracing his fingers around my erect nipples.

  “We have all night, love,” he points out, and my heart swells at the pet name. In spite of his suddenly apparent desire to take things slow, as I grip his length in my hand, he utters a guttural groan. His hips jerk slightly, but he seems to regain control of himself as he meets my gaze. “But I won’t keep you from what you want,” he says slyly.

  I grin, adjusting my hips to hover above his manhood.

  “Do you have a condom?” I inquire softly, afraid of ruining the mood. He nods, quickly reaching over to the bedside table. He produces one, ripping it open with his teeth before rolling the material down his impressive length. “Thank God,” I breathe, lowering myself onto him with little further preamble.

  “Jesus, Aimee,” he gasps, sinking his nails into the flesh on my hips. I bite my lip as I take him completely inside of me, adjusting to his girth. When our hips meet, a sense of fulfillment washes over me and I can’t help but smile.

  “Are you sure you want me to do all the work?” I tease, wiggling my hips slightly. He groans in pleasure, shifting our positions to pin me against the sheets.

  “Well, that wouldn’t be entirely gentlemanly,” he smirks. Then, he jerks his hips back before swiftly plunging back into me.

  A strangled cry spills past my lips, and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming his name as he begins to relentlessly pound into me. Neither of us can form words in the moment, simply gasping and moaning as our bodies work together like a well-oiled machine.

  Feeling myself reaching my peak almost embarrassingly soon, I try to fight the inevitable. Carson seems to notice the slight shift in my demeanor and smiles knowingly. He angles his hips just so, quickening the pace of his thrusts. A girlish squeal erupts from my lips before he silences me with a kiss. My entire body quakes with ecstasy as my orgasm rips through me, and I find myself clenching around his member.

  He grunts my name, hilting himself inside of me as he shoots his load. His mouth hangs agape, his eyes closed in a blissful expression. I want nothing more than to kiss him, and I oblige my own desires, capturing his lips with my own.

  It’s the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had in my life, and I’m stricken with the sudden realization that I don’t want this to be a one-night stand. While I’m not exactly thinking in terms of a relationship, it’s impossible to argue against this being the best sex I’ve ever had.

  Coming down from his high, Carson slumps onto his back beside me, pulling me close to him and resting his chin atop my head. It strikes me that I should probably leave, but he seems to be in no rush to kick me out of his apartment.

  “Wow,” I whisper, nuzzling against his chest.

  He chuckles, closing his eyes as his head rests on his pillow. I’m not quite sure what to say beyond this point, but in the moment, I truly don’t care. As he wraps his arms around me, I settle comfortably in his embrace and allow myself to drift into a peaceful doze. The consequences of our actions may come to bite us later, but for now, we’re both sated.

  Chapter Eight

  Carson

  When I wake, it’s with a sense of satisfaction that I haven’t felt in years. As I shift to get out of bed, the sensation of a warm body beside me brings the memories of the night before to the forefront of my mind.

  I breathe a contented sigh, pleased that Aimee remained at my side for the duration of the night. The young woman looks so peaceful in her slumber, an expression of utter contentment on her delicate features.

  Even still, as I draw away to consider her sleeping face, a sense of guilt washes over me. As much as I try to ignore it, I can’t help feeling as if I’ve made a mistake. Will my sweet Aimee simply be another in the line of lovers I’ve enjoyed but ultimately discarded? As much as I’d like to believe she’s different, I can only wonder how much actual truth lies within that thought.

  Realizing I’ve slept in much later than usual, I push the thought to the back of my mind. Before we both go to Russia, I have a short trip to make to New York on my own. I don’t want to leave her, but I’m worried that if I take her along, I’ll be so damn distracted that I blow the deal.

  Russia will be different. The business deal is basically sealed already, and in the time we’ll have together, I know we’ll have ample opportunities to properly get to know each other. At least, that’s what I try to tell myself. While Aimee doesn’t know it, she’s not the first lover I’ve brought on such a trip. However, I’m confident that she’s unlike the others in more ways than one. Most importantly, I can see myself being with the beautiful young woman beyond a simple fling.

  Glancing to the clock, I realize just how late I’m running. I shift away from my Sleeping Beauty, moving slowly and carefully so as not to awaken her. Her expression is peaceful, utterly serene as I tuck one of my larger pillows in the space that my body had occupied mere moments prior. She curls close to the plush replacement, breathing a happy sigh that sends jolts of longing through my heart.

  She is different. I know she is. However, in spite of how strongly I feel on the surface, I have to fight against lingering doubts. How many women have I shared a bed with, with the thought that they will remain in my life for the duration? Is this adoration I feel for the innocent form in my bed so different from the feelings I’ve shared with other women before her?

  As much as I like to think otherwise, I can’t be entirely sure. I would never voice such a thought to Aimee herself, however. I have no intentions to wake her at all, let alone trouble her with my own worrisome thoughts. I don’t want her to feel used, but that seems inevitable considering the fact that I brought her home when I’m scheduled to leave for New York in just a few hours.

  Staring at her for a long moment, with a tenderness I’m certain I’ve never felt before, I slip away from the bed and into the adjoining bathroom. I make quick work of showering, praying that the noise doesn’t wake Aimee. I dry off promptly, taking a moment to shave the stubble that’s grown along my jaw.

  As I shave, I take a moment to consider my reflection in the mirror. I’m not sure I’m particularly fond of the man who stares back at me. I’m forcibly smothering my desire to wake Aimee and explain where I’m going, but as I shuffle back into my bedroom to get dressed, I can’t come to terms with the idea of waking her from such a pleasant slumber. I don’t want to taint the moment we shared the night before with the fact that I now have to leave.

  Slipping into one of my many suits, I pack what seems to be half a dozen of the exact same outfit in my suitcase. Perhaps someday soon I’ll be able to take a day off and pretend to be…I don’t know. Average? I’ll dress in a simple T-shirt and jeans, and take my sweetheart out for burgers and fries.

  Now, however, I’m simply delaying the inevitable. Maybe someday I’ll be able to pursue a normal, loving relationship with the woman in my bed. Today, I have a plane to catch.

  I shuffle over to my bedside table, grabbing the familiar notepad out of the drawer. The things this notepad has seen, the women it has aided me in letting down…these thoughts are nothing less than haunting as I jot down a quick note letting Aimee know where I’ll be.

  I can’t seem to find the words to express how I feel, or how sorry I am to leave her so abruptly. I want to tell her how wonderful our shared night had been; I want to assure her that she’s not some toy that I plan to discard. There are so many things I want to write, but I only have one small notepad and very little time.

  Breathing a sigh, I simply write that I will be in New York over the wee
kend, that I’ll be back soon, and that I look forward to our trip together. I tuck the note beneath my alarm clock, praying that she sees it when she wakes up.

  Casting a final lingering glance at her sweet expression, I have no doubt that my feelings for Aimee are unlike any I have experienced before. She curls closer to my pillow as if feeling my eyes upon her, breathing a fluttering little sigh. My heart breaks, the pieces scattering throughout my chest.

  Shaking off my misery, self-imposed as it may be, I grab my suitcase and tiptoe towards the door. As much as I’d like to remain in my room and gaze adoringly at my current fixation, I’m struck by the thought that a woman is replaceable. If I forsake my responsibilities, the empire I’ve worked to build will not be so easily rebuilt.

  It’s a bitter thought, but it is one that repeats itself in my brain as I force myself out of my bedroom, stalking through my apartment and out the door. What would my father think of me, if he saw me in such a state over a woman? After everything he taught me? I’m a grown man, in the prime of my life, and I have no business fawning over a pretty girl.

  No matter how beautiful and enchanting she may be, no woman is worth throwing your life away. It’s rare to find a woman who is willing to play second fiddle to your career, something I learned many years ago. In spite of my failed marriage, I wouldn’t change anything that’s happened in my life thus far. Though my life is sometimes a lonely one, there aren’t many men as fortunate as myself. I’ve worked hard. I’ve agonized, all for the sake of gaining a better life for myself. My job is everything to me.

  A small voice inside of me tries to insist that Aimee is worth putting above my job, that she’s special in ways beyond comprehension. Money can’t buy happiness, it argues. The larger part of me, the voice of the cool and collected billionaire, is swift to insist otherwise. I forcefully put a stop to the warring thoughts, feeling a headache coming on.

  Closing the door quietly behind me as I step out of the apartment, I find myself inhaling a deep breath and struggling not to release it in an angry huff.