Charmed by the Billionaire

by Jessica Lemmon

  “This is your reminder that whenever you need guidance, you can trust yourself. You never let anyone down, Cris. Time to prioritize your own needs for a change.” I kiss the back of her neck. “You are your own true north.”

  Fingers touching the compass, she faces me. “You know what I need, don’t you?”

  Like she transferred her emotions to me, a lump forms in my throat. I swallow past it, which takes some doing. Steering us from the emotional quicksand and into sexier territory, I blink my eyes slowly and add gravel to my voice. “I do. Which is why you’ve chosen me for this particular expedition.”

  I make an obvious show of checking her out, my gaze wandering down her body and up again while I rub my hands together. “I can’t decide which part of you to kiss first.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cris

  Benji has given me plenty of gifts since I started working for him, but never jewelry. Now, he’s draped me in gold and diamonds moments before he plans to strip me out of my clothes and make love to me for the first time. The necklace, the roses, the bathtub, and the dessert… It’s all too much.

  If I’m not careful, I’ll lose more than my virginity tonight. Time to shore up the walls of those “compartments” before my heart escapes and goes streaking through the nearest open field.

  I forbid myself to fall in love with him.

  Tonight is going to be special. Unforgettable. I can’t allow sex or this gift to ruin our strong friendship. A real and lasting, meaningful friendship. With my mind properly reconfigured, I drop the compass pendant against my neck and tug at Benji’s tie. Specifically, the knot.

  He smells good. As I inhale, I recall Marla and her very wrong assumption that he would be spending time in her bed tonight. The memory of him claiming me makes me feel powerful, so I use it to my benefit.

  “Tonight,” I tell him as I undo his tie, “the only thing I want pointing north is your”—I am a breath away from his lips when I whisper—“big, hard cock.”

  He crushes my mouth to his, and I giggle against his firm lips. Not because the kiss is funny, but because I had an inkling my talking dirty would turn him on. I’m feeling my power twofold.

  “God, I love it when you talk to me like that.” Breathless is too delicate a word for how he sounds, but I’ve definitely robbed him of some vital oxygen.

  Wide, warm palms skim my arms before reaching for the zipper of my dress. My bare back is introduced to the cool air when he drops the dress to the floor. He stares at what he’s revealed—my lingerie. This, I brought from home. I bought it specifically for this trip. I nearly died of embarrassment buying it. I boldly walked into a shop with mostly nude mannequins and heart-shaped tables and shiny black floors and chose this particular set.

  “Is this for me?” His voice is choked with lust.

  “Just for you,” I tell him. “I didn’t own lingerie before we made our plans tonight.”

  He cups my breasts over the see-through black lace and thumbs my nipples. They peak greedily, begging for more attention. He ducks his head and grants the wish, his tongue swirling over my sensitized flesh. He leaves the lace damp. Heat gathers into a warm pool at the apex of my thighs.

  He takes my hands and helps me step out of the circle of my dress.

  “Shoes too?” I ask.

  He blows out a tortured breath. “I want you to keep them on, but I think for tonight you should leave them off. We’ll save the dirty stuff for later. Tonight’s about one thing and one thing only.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  He dips his chin. “You.”

  I try not to let that mean everything as I toe off my high-heeled shoes. Before I know what’s happening, I’m off my feet and cradled in his arms. He steps around to the side of the bed and places me on the white bedding. Somehow—and I honestly have no idea how—when he lets me go, my bra is in his hands and I’m topless.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Skills, honey.” He tosses the garment over his shoulder. Suited, suave Benji undressing me isn’t a moment I’ll soon forget. He peels my panties away, his eyes flaring as he takes in what he reveals. His voice is tight when he says, “These are very nice, but you won’t be needing them either.”

  I make a “gimme” motion with my hands. “Lose the shirt, buddy. I’m not letting you stay clothed tonight.”

  “You’re bossy. That’s not part of the plan.”

  “I’m your life coach, Mr. Owen. I make the plans.”

  “I’m going to let you have that one, but only because you’re naked and spread out on my hotel bed. Which, by the way, is a surefire way for you to get away with anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.” His eyes flare, and a happy zing dances in my stomach.

  “Something to remember for the future.”

  He slips the buttons through his shirt with nimble fingers and then it’s gone. In the flickering candlelight surrounding us, I admire the subtle shift of the muscles of his torso as he unbuckles his belt. I take inventory and catalog each detail, filing them into a secret place in my memory. My eyes zoom in on the carpe diem tattoo he designed himself. I’ve always loved the sturdy curl of his letter Cs.

  Once he’s gloriously naked, I stop thinking about his handwriting and focus on the feel of his warm flesh against mine. He’s lying on his side, pressed against me. He teases my nipple with his tongue and then trails his fingers to my center where he finds me soaked for him.

  “So wet,” he praises, his breath beading my nipple. I feel a nudge against my thigh, something hard. Something mouthwatering—I know for a fact. He steers my hand to his length, and my fingers coast over coarse, manscaped hair. I tug on the part of him I’ve never admired so much or so often, and match my strokes to his.

  My body recognizes the familiarity of his touch and relaxes, my legs falling open. I’ve arrived at a state of arousal so sharp, so hyper-focused, I lose myself in it. My orgasm builds, but slower than any one before it. And since he knows when I’m about to come, he times his strokes accordingly.

  He reroutes my hand to his hair and then ducks his head to kiss my belly button. Then he slips between my legs and delivers a leisurely, devious lick to my swollen clitoris.

  My hips tilt to meet his tongue. Soon I’m moaning and pulling his hair. I force my eyes open to take in the scene of his head bobbing, his amazing face framed by my parted legs. My fingers in his hair. The erotic scene is backlit by candlelight, the only music the sounds of his intimate kisses as he bathes me with his tongue.

  Overcome by the intensity, I clutch and come. While I’m coasting on a wave of utter bliss, warmth blanketing me despite the cooler air of the room, I lose track of him. Eyes closed, my breaths lengthen. I feel his open mouth on my throat as he kisses me. More kisses trail over my ear and then to my mouth before he issues a command.

  “Look at me.”

  My lashes flutter open. He fills every inch of my vision, and an unwelcome sensation clutches my heart in an iron grip. The predicament I’ve fervently been trying to avoid has been here all along. It’s so painfully obvious I can no longer deny it.

  I’m in love with Benjamin Owen.

  Not a crush. Not lust. Not friendly love. In. Love. I probably fell in love with him a long time ago, but denial was the most self-preserving course of action. Tonight is going to encase him in an amber chamber of my heart.

  I give the thought a violent shove. I am a damn good organizer. A good organizer knows how to prioritize; knows what to keep and what to throw out. What to hoard in a decorative box in the corner of the closet to be opened at a later date. I tuck my feelings for Benji into the box and vow not to reach for them. Not now. Not later.

  “I’m looking at you,” I say, my voice raspy.

  “Are you sure about this? Really, really sure? This is it, Firecracker. You give me the green light, and I’m going to send you over again and again. Which I hear is not typical for a first time for a lot of women.”

>   “Did you take a poll or something?” I tease, the joke hitting its mark. He smiles down at me easily, his thumbs at my temples stroking. I commit to not analyzing further. I don’t want to miss anything.

  “Unofficially. I’ve heard a few bad stories. You’re going to have a good one.”

  I’m going to have the best one. I wrap my arms around his neck and tip my hips, bumping my softness against his hardness. His mouth drops open. He’s the picture of turned on. I love the picture so much I frame it and tuck it into the box too.

  He drops his forehead on mine and shuts his eyes. “I have to put on a condom.” He delivers the news wrapped in disappointment.

  “Do you?” I whisper against his waiting lips. I’ve already thought this through. Many, many times.

  “Don’t I?” Hope hugs every letter.

  “I’ve been on the pill for five years. And you are a master of safety. I assume that extends to the bedroom.” He would never forget a condom and risk an accidental pregnancy or an STD. “Plus, you’ve been single for a while.”

  His laugh ruffles my hair, which is a wreck. I can’t muster up the energy to care. “That’s a big gift for me, honey.”

  “Very big.” I grind against him again. “Do you accept?”

  “Fuck yeah, I accept.” He kisses me again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He nudges my entrance with the velvety tip of his cock. He lifts his head and zeroes in on my face, his shallow breaths mirroring mine.

  He tilts his hips and eases into my folds ever so slowly. His expression is awestruck but confident. Encouraging, even. “Walk me through it.”

  “I thought”—I gasp and curl my fingers around the back of his neck when he eases in a bit more—“you were supposed to walk me through it.”

  “I don’t know how you feel.” He drops a kiss to my mouth. “Tell me.”

  “Eager,” I whisper.

  He gives me a million-dollar grin. “You’re not the only one. You’re also strangling me. I don’t mind,” he adds when I loosen my grasp. “But that’s a sign you’re not relaxed, and I need you to relax. I’m going to gauge my every move on your satisfaction. You say back off, I’ll back off.”

  “Keep going.” No way in hell am I telling him to back off. I’m a space shuttle before blastoff, all fire and smoke as I prepare to hurtle into the great unknown. He sinks in another inch and I hold my breath. A sharp pain pricks me deep within and I bite my lip.

  He doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he rolls his hips. The sharp spike dulls, and before he can slow down, I beg, “More.”

  He gives me what I ask for, his expression morphing from cocky confidence to positively tortured. His eyebrows are bent, his mouth grimacing.

  “Fuck.” He exhales harshly before brushing my cheeks with his thumbs. “Fuck, you feel good.”

  “So do you,” I whisper.

  “I have to move or I might die.” He sets a slightly sweaty kiss on my upper lip.

  “Please, Benji. Please move.” I close my eyes as he eases out. He glides in and shockingly, there is less pain than before. I’m shocked further when my knees lift of their own volition, my heels gripping his ass cheeks to pull him closer. Then there’s no talk of slowing down or speeding up. He sets a rhythm I match with my hips, angling so he hits a spot—that spot… Right…there.

  “Oh!” Eyes wide, my hands wound in his hair, I stare at him in awe. He appears concerned for a second before his expression slips into arrogance. A grin takes over his face.

  “Well, well. Look what I found.”

  “Is it good?” I choke out.

  “Did it feel good?” he asks, but he knows.

  “So, so good,” I admit, a little afraid of my own body. It’s reacting in a way it never has before and surprising me at every turn.

  He hoists my leg up, placing the back of my knee in the crease of his elbow. “Stretch time.” He gently lifts my ankle and rests it on his shoulder. Then he follows suit with my other ankle. This time when he sinks inside me, the heat within has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure.

  Each deep glide hits the bullseye of a hidden target. I’ve given up holding on to him to twist the comforter in my fists instead. Anything to anchor myself to the earth and keep from flying into a gravity-free spin into oblivion. Each thrust sends me up an invisible incline I never knew existed. Up, up, until I have no choice but to go over.

  My orgasm grips me tightly. It’s all-consuming. My eyes close, my worries vanish, my thoughts break into tiny pieces. I float in sensory overload on the highest of highs. I gradually become aware of an increasing fullness followed by a stickiness inside me. Of him releasing my legs to rest on either side of his prone body. His weight presses me deeper into the bed as he fights to support himself with shaky arms. He’s still inside me, thick and pulsing.

  His lips kiss my eyelids once. Twice. Through sheer force of will, I lift the sandbags weighing them down and focus on the man above me. His fantastic eyebrows wing upward in an unasked question. He wants to know how he did. And damn him, he did excellent. He did perfect.

  “I’m not sure who made out better in that transaction,” he informs me gruffly. “I feel almost guilty for how much fun I had.”

  “I can’t remember how much fun you had because I was on another planet,” I murmur. And then I laugh. He laughs.

  This is so…easy. Even if I’ve only lived a third of my life, I know this moment is one of the best moments of the rest of it.

  Hands down.

  Chapter Twenty

  Benji

  Cris is lying on her belly, the sheets pooled at her waist. I have no idea what time it is, but we’ve been at it a few hours. We paused to warm up the bathwater and slide in. I extinguished the flames on the floating candles first, but we left the rose petals. Sitting across from her in the wide tub, the moonlight streaming through the window and hitting her fair hair, I couldn’t help thinking how much time we’ve wasted together not having sex.

  Because, fuck, are we good at it.

  When she stepped out of the tub, some of the rose petals stuck to her naked back and legs. I carefully removed them, kissing the skin behind each red petal. When I led her back to the bed, she dropped to her knees and took me in her mouth before I could lay her down again. As good as that felt, having sex with her was ten times better.

  Now, after we’ve both spent ourselves again, she’s propped up on her elbows, her fingers clasped together, her blond curls a riotous mess surrounding a cherubic face. Only she looks less angelic since I know what she’s capable of.

  I decide to pose the question I’ve thought at least one hundred times since I first kissed her. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

  She laughs, adjusting her position and revealing creamy breasts with pink nipples I can’t resist touching.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask as I brush one of those nipples with the side of my knuckle.

  “When would you have had the time?”

  “Meaning?” I’m not offended. I actually have no idea what she means.

  “Come on, Benji. We both know you date a lot. I’m not sure when you would’ve slotted me in between all the women you were wining and dining.” She gestures around the room at the roses and vases, and the remaining two donuts (we stopped for a snack after the bath and round two). “Evidently—obviously, this isn’t your first rodeo.”

  Now I’m offended and uncomfortable but unsure why. It’s not like she’s wrong. I date a lot. Not constantly, but often. But she’s wrong about part of her observation, and I feel the need to point that out. A little in my own defense, but mostly so she doesn’t underestimate her power.

  “I’ll have you know, this entire setup for the hotel room is completely unique to you. I’ve never treated a woman to such decadence. At least, not all at once.” Jewelry, roses, candlelight, and a night spent steeped in romance is a recipe for a woman having the wrong idea about where we’re headed. I’ve never put on a show for anyone for just t
hat reason.

  “No VIP treatment for Marla?” Under the guise of teasing me, she’s concerned about how she compares to the women in my past. Her mouth is a cupid’s bow of impishness, but insecurity shines in her eyes.

  “We’ve already discussed how she doesn’t measure up to you. I’m not going to lie, I’ve sent flowers to the women I’ve dated. I’ve given them gifts. Never jewelry,” I add, realizing that damn, I never bought a woman jewelry until Cris. Except for Lainey, but moms don’t count. “The roses and the candles were for ambiance. The necklace was for…” I’m suddenly weirdly embarrassed. I lick my lips and will myself to finish the sentence. “The necklace was because I want you to know how strong and capable you are.”

  Something warm and gooey seeps into her expression before she wills it away and rolls her storm-gray eyes. “And it had nothing to do with my state before tonight?”

  “Your virginity was a big consideration.” How could it not be? “That you’re my best friend is another. If I would’ve booked a cheap motel and bought a heart-shaped box of chocolates, you wouldn’t have let me live it down.” She laughs, and the tension in my chest uncoils. “The event gave us an excuse to fly down here, away from who we are at home. I thought it’d help you relax.”

  She props her jaw on her fist and leans her head to the side, studying me. I’m having trouble meeting her eyes, my gaze skittering over her bared flesh and wild curls instead. As I mentioned earlier, the idea of her assessing me makes me nervous. She knows me well. It wouldn’t be hard for her to come to whatever conclusion she’s trying to shake out of the tree.

  But I know myself well too. I’m in charge of what I show and what I hide. Normally. Naked and under her scrutiny, my cloaking mechanism is not working as well as it should. Sex has a way of leveling my brain cells. My guard has dropped. God knows what I’ve revealed without knowing it.

  But this is Cris, I remind myself. The one thing she needed from me happens to be the only thing I have to give. She lost her virginity in an elegant, satiating, body-melting dance.