My Roommate, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 3)

by Serenity Woods

  “Okay.” He reaches up to the switch above his head and turns off the lights, and I roll over so I’m facing away from him, and nestle back into his embrace. He slides his arm around my waist and kisses my neck. “This is nice,” he murmurs.

  I remember him saying he hadn’t had any long-term relationships. “How many girls have you stayed the night with?”

  He nuzzles my hair. “Honestly? One, for one night, and she left for work early the next day.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I’ve never done the morning-after thing you see in the movies, lazing in bed on a Sunday and having breakfast in bed.”

  “Me neither,” I admit.

  “Why not? You lived with Pierre, didn’t you?”

  “Oui. But even when I was there, he was always busy, always rushing around. He never made me feel as if I was the most important thing in his life.”

  “That makes me want to smash his teeth in even more.”

  I chuckle. “You are so sweet.”

  I feel the rumble of laughter in his chest against my back. “Sorry.”

  “It is nice. I like that you feel protective of me.” His body is warm, and I feel safe and secure in the circle of his arms.

  The wind has calmed a little, but it’s still wild out there. It was incredibly frightening when the tree came down on top of the building. The memory makes me shiver. But then I think of the way Albie battled through the storm with Belle in his arms, and how when he came into the building, he gave the dog to Hal and then hugged me so tightly I thought he’d crack my ribs, and I know this man is always going to do his best to keep me from harm.

  I fall asleep with that knowledge playing around in my head, and when I dream, it’s not about the storm, but about Albie’s lips on mine.

  *

  I wake up to the feeling of someone kissing down my back.

  I blink and focus, puzzled for the moment as I don’t recognize the room, and then everything comes flooding back, and I remember where I am.

  I’m lying in Albie’s bed, and through the cracks in the curtains I can see there’s a lighter shade to the darkness—it must be early morning. I lift my head and look at my phone on the bedside table—yes, it’s six-thirty. We’ve both slept all night, exhausted from the trauma of the events of the day before.

  I lay my head on the pillow. He’s under the covers, pressing his lips leisurely over my shoulder blades. Mmm. This is a nice way to wake up. He kisses down my spine, over my ribs to my waist, and then to my hips, moving slowly, every now and again touching his tongue to my skin as if he’s tasting me, tiny licks that make me inhale, and my nipples tighten.

  When he gets to my bottom, he pushes gently on my hip. Taking the hint, I roll onto my tummy, hugging a pillow, and I feel him shift on the bed, pushing open my legs and moving between them. Lowering down, he continues to kiss my skin. He kisses over my bottom, and continues down the back of one thigh, touching his lips to the sensitive skin behind my knee, going over my calf, until he finally reaches my ankle. His warm tongue curls around my ankle bone, and then he lifts my foot and kisses my toes. I know he likes my nail polish—I’ve seen him looking at it, and I sigh as I feel his tongue slip between my toes.

  He swaps to my other foot, kissing that too, taking each toe into his warm mouth and sucking, and I clench inside at the erotic feeling. Ooh, that’s sexy. I murmur out loud, knowing I have to show this man when I like something, and his breath whispers across my skin as he sighs.

  He begins kissing up my ankle, my calf, the back of my knee, and my thigh, his fingers following behind his lips, stroking, sometimes gently squeezing. I feel as if I’m humming all over now, like an engine warming up.

  He runs his tongue along the crease beneath the cheeks of my bottom, then kisses up over the muscles, and I feel his warm hands on each one as he parts them gently. I bury my face in the pillow and squeal as he runs his tongue up the middle.

  Laughing, he kisses back up my spine to my neck, moving over me, and I feel his erection pressing against my bottom as he kisses my neck and ear, then tugs at the lobe with his lips. “Turn over,” he murmurs.

  Obediently, I shift on the bed, turning onto my back, and look up into his eyes in the semi-darkness. He kisses me, and I put my arms around him and let him delve his tongue into my mouth. Then he moves down, kissing my neck and throat, all the way to my breasts.

  He shifts on the bed again, lying beside me, and runs his fingers over the satin of my nightie. “I like this,” he says.

  “You like pretty nightwear?”

  “I love it.”

  “And lingerie?”

  He sighs. “I don’t know what half those garments you hang on the line are for, but they’re all beautiful.”

  “I will model them for you,” I say as he lowers his head to my breast. “I promise.”

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  I laugh, then groan as he covers a satin-coated nipple with his mouth and sucks. He lifts his head and examines the way the wet material lies over my puckered nipple, then swaps to the other one, doing the same, until the satin is soaked and my nipples are protruding through like pebbles.

  “Mm,” he says approvingly, before shifting on the bed again, moving between my legs, and starting to kiss down my tummy. He pulls the duvet over him as he goes, presumably so we don’t get cold, and disappears beneath it.

  “You are making me ache,” I whisper, sinking my hands into his hair.

  “Good.” He pushes up the nightie, his lips moving over the bare skin of my mound. “Oh, man.” He licks up it, and I shiver. “So silky,” he murmurs, “I don’t know how you do it.” He pushes up my legs and widens my knees, lowering down.

  I sigh, letting him direct me, and close my eyes, lifting my arms above my head. He kisses up my inner thigh, touches his lips to my mound, and then presses his hands either side and parts me. His breath whispers across the sensitive skin, and I shiver. Then he lowers his head and slides his warm tongue through my folds.

  My exhalation turns into a long, soft moan. Ohhh… it feels amazing, and I repeatedly hold my breath, then release it in another moan, as he explores me with his lips and tongue and fingers. His touch is light, soft, quick flicks of his tongue, and gentle brushing with the tips of his fingers. He teases my entrance for a while, circling a finger there, inserting it just a little, and I groan. I know my body is swelling and moistening and preparing itself for him, and sure enough, I feel him gather moisture with his thumb and spread it up through my folds and over my clit. He covers it with his mouth and sucks gently, and I sigh.

  Mmm, this is slow torture, as his licks become longer, firmer, his fingers surer. He teases my entrance again, then slowly, gently, slides a finger inside me. I tighten the muscles there and he gives an answering grunt of approval, and a second finger joins the first, slipping deep inside, curving up a little so he’s stroking the front wall.

  I lower a hand to slip into his hair. “That is nice,” I say. “Mmm, Albie, that feels really good.”

  He continues, so I know he’s heard me, and he brushes his tongue through my folds and then finally concentrates on my clit, flicking it for a while with the tip of his tongue, and then, as he obviously spots I’m getting close, swirling his tongue over it. Finally he sucks again, and it proves to be my undoing. The orgasm begins slowly, a gradual tightening, a focusing of my attention in my core as the pleasurable sensations bloom. He slows down, drawing it out… Ooh… he’s good at this… I moan as it sweeps over me, almost too exquisite to bear. I clench around his fingers and pulse in his mouth, and his deep groan reverberates through me. Oh, yes, five, six, seven, strong clenches, until my body releases me, and I fall back on the bed, gasping.

  “Sorry,” I say out loud, conscious I was clutching at his hair. I rub it. “Did I pull any out?”

  He laughs and pushes up, sitting back on his heels, reaches to the side where he’s left a condom, and rolls it on. Then he moves forward, leaning over me
. “It was well worth it.”

  He lowers onto his elbows and kisses me, and I can smell and taste myself on his lips, but I don’t care, and I’m thrilled he doesn’t either. I wish we could stay in bed for the whole two weeks and do this all day. Would anyone miss us?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Albie

  Remy’s lips are warm and oh, so soft. I could kiss her for hours, days, weeks, and not get tired of them. What is it about a woman’s mouth that makes it so different from a man’s? In fact, why do I find everything about her so fascinating? She’s smaller than me, shorter, lighter, finer boned, her shoulders narrower, everything about her elegant and sexy. Her teeth are neat and straight, her lips plump and full, as if they’re about to purse at any moment. I love the way she does that, purses her lips and her eyelids drop to half-mast when she’s looking at me, as if she’s thinking about what I look like naked. Just the thought makes me hard.

  She tasted divine, so amazing with her slippery, swollen folds, and I slide the tip of my erection through them now, up to her clit and down again, feeling her sigh against my lips. I do this three or four times, then lower a hand to change the angle, guide the tip to her entrance, and push forward. Slowly, oh so slowly, I fill her up, looking into her eyes as I do, watching her mouth open and her eyes widen as she feels me stretch her.

  “Oh,” she says helplessly, blinking in slow motion, looking dazed. “Mmm.”

  I like her being vocal. Earlier she told me, “That feels really good.” She knows I need reassuring, and it touches me that she doesn’t mind being my guide.

  “Tell me what it feels like,” I murmur, withdrawing until I’m almost out of her, then sliding back in, right up to the hilt this time.

  “Ohhh… Albie… Mmm… I can feel you all the way to the top… You are so big… Mmm…”

  Flattered, even though I know it’s something girls say to massage the male ego, I kiss her, and she wraps her legs around my waist, tilting her hips up so I can go even deeper. As I withdraw, her body clings onto me, sucking me back in. I sink my hand into her hair and plunge my tongue into her mouth, and she responds with a long moan and a thrust of her hips, matching the rhythm of mine. We move perfectly together, in sync, not just physically, but… I don’t know what I mean, what I’m thinking or feeling. I just know I’m losing myself in her.

  “Mmm,” she says as I lift up onto my hands, “oh yes, harder, Albie.” She rests her fingers on my shoulder blades, and then runs her nails lightly down my back.

  I shudder, swelling inside her. “Are you sure?” Oddly, being with Remy feels so different that I’d sort of put aside the notion of going hard and fast. That’s for sex, when the only goal is gratification. I’m not having sex with Remy—I’m making love with her. Never has the difference been so clear in my head. I don’t want her to feel as if I’m using her to thrust myself to an orgasm; I want her to feel wanted and adored and loved.

  But she’s giving me a wry look, and there’s a sexy sparkle in her eyes. “I have heard that you make the headboard bang against the wall,” she teases. Jesus, Izzy, thanks for telling Remy that. Not that it seems to have upset her. She brushes her hands across my chest and circles a finger over my nipples. “Come on, Al-bear. Fuck me senseless.”

  Man, it sounds even sexier in her beautiful accent. But I’m still not sure.

  She gently plucks at my nipples.

  “Ow.” I scowl at her, and she laughs, lifting onto her elbows and licking over each nipple. “Stop it,” I scold. I try to move her away, but she pushes me and, off-balance, I fall onto my hand and wince as pain shoots through my damaged shoulder. “Ah. Fuck!”

  “Aw, careful.” Her words are kind, but she sneakily takes the opportunity of me being off-balance to lick my nipple again.

  “Remy!”

  She laughs and falls back, clutches hold of my butt, pulls me so I grind against her, and catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Mmm.” Once again, she slides her hands up to my shoulder blades, then rakes her nails down, her eyes glittering when I shiver.

  It’s my first glimpse of what a sexual relationship will be like with her, and excitement shoots through me at the thought of losing control with her, of letting our passion roll over us and sweep us away. I pull out of her, sit back on my heels, and tug her toward me, then watch as I enter her. She lifts her arms above her head and sighs as I give tiny movements of my hips, arousing us both as she welcomes me inside her, drawing me in. The wet satin of her nightie clings to her breasts, and I lean forward and suck her nipples for a while, until she’s gasping, begging me for more, at which point I lift up and lean forward and slide right into her.

  She exclaims and arches her back, and so I do it again, and again, and she cries out each time, and says, “More, Albie, more.” So I give her more, and soon I’m thrusting hard, driving into her, and the headboard is banging against the wall, and Remy’s moaning and swearing in both French and English beneath me. And it’s so hot I think I’m going to explode, but I manage to hold on until she comes, and within seconds I’m joining her. The two of us lock together, swelling, pulsing, groaning, and holy Jesus it seems to go on forever, deep, beautiful clenches inside me, leaving me gasping and looking down into her beautiful brown eyes, unable to speak, no words left to explain how I feel at that moment.

  *

  “Blissful,” I say.

  It’s about forty minutes later. We’re sitting in bed, eating a fried-egg-and-bacon sandwich, with a cup of tea each on the bedside table.

  Remy made me stay in bed while she cooked me breakfast. Bemused, I didn’t complain, although it feels odd to have a girl fuss around me like this. After we’d made love, she got out of bed and went over to my wardrobe, stripped off her wet nightdress, then took out one of my shirts and slipped it on. I’ve seen girls do it in the movies, but no woman has done it for me in real life, and I got hard again at the sight of her with her ruffled, just-fucked hair and bruised mouth. She noticed, but just smiled, opened the curtains, then declared she was going to make me breakfast in bed.

  And so here we are, trying to come up with words that describe how we’re feeling.

  “Shagged,” she says, and laughs.

  “You like swearing in English don’t you?”

  “I do. It feels naughtier.”

  “Teach me some French swear words.”

  She grins. “Merde—that’s shit, obviously.”

  “Mais oui. Merde. I know that one.”

  “And putain. It literally means prostitute, but we use it all the time like the word fuck. It does not mean to fuck. It is an exclamation, like fucking hell! Or fuck me! Putain!”

  “So what’s to fuck?”

  “Baiser.”

  “I thought that was to kiss.”

  “It is very confusing. Un baiser is a kiss. But baiser means to fuck. To kiss is the verb embrasser. You don’t want to get them mixed up!”

  I laugh. “Do the French swear a lot?”

  “Mais oui! It is not seen as shocking as it is in, say, America. We swear like the British do. And we do not censor as much—we do not bleep out swear words on TV.”

  I have a bite of the sandwich—which is amazing—and think about what she’s said. “It’s odd because in some ways you’re more open than we are here in New Zealand, and yet in other ways you’re quite reserved.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like when we’re in a group, we’ll talk about our views on anything and everything, and we’re open with our lives, our experiences. But you don’t volunteer much information, even with people you know quite well.”

  She picks up some ketchup with her finger and licks it. “The psychologist Kurt Lewin has divided the world’s cultures into peaches and coconuts. Americans and Kiwis are more like peaches—soft on the outside, which means they are friendly and familiar, but that must not be mistaken for real friendship or intimacy. The French are coconuts—we have a tough outer shell, but we are sweet inside.”

  I smile
. “That’s interesting. I’ve not heard of that before.”

  “It is very black and white,” she says. “And there are nuances, of course. But basically, French people do not reveal details about themselves to strangers; it is considered rude to ask a French couple, for example, how they met when you do not know them. It is too intimate.”

  I have a sip of tea, meeting her eyes over the rim of the mug. “You don’t seem to mind being intimate.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me, then has a big bite of her sandwich. A blob of egg drips onto her chin, so I lean forward and lick it off.

  “Albie!”

  “What?” I press my lips to hers.

  She laughs and pushes me away, pressing her fingers to her mouth. “I’m trying to eat.”

  “I want to eat you.”

  “You already have!”

  “I want to do it again.”

  “Well, you can wait until after breakfast.”

  I sigh and return to my own sandwich. I suppose it makes sense to imbibe a few calories to keep our energy levels up.

  “I wonder how things are this morning at the Ark,” she says. She’s looking out of the window. You’d never have guessed there was a cyclone here yesterday. Today the rain has stopped and the sun is shining.

  “I’ll probably go in later,” I tell her, “help with some of the clearing up.”

  “I’ll come. I’d like to help.”

  “Okay.”

  “Have you heard from Hal?”

  I nod. “He sent a text. Belle made it through the night and has had something to eat this morning. He reckons she’s going to make it.”

  Remy smiles. “You should adopt her.”

  I lean back against the pillows. “He said the same. I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it. I love dogs, but they break your heart when they go.”

  “That is true. But is it not better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?”

  Her eyes meet mine. She’s not just talking about the dog now.

  We study each other while we eat our sandwiches. I want to ask her not to leave. I want to beg her to stay. But I’m not sure how she’ll react to that. I don’t want her to get impatient with me and tell me I’m reading too much into this relationship. It’s possible she’s enjoying the sex and that’s all she wants, and I don’t want to push her away by coming on too strong.