My Wounded Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 5)

by Serenity Woods

  He grins. “Next time I see Charlie, I’m going to shake his hand.”

  “He’d like that.” It’s the truth, I think, as I watch Marc retrieve two tumblers from the cupboard above the sink and begin to undo the bottle. Dad’s met Marc several times when he’s come to the Ark. Last time was at Hal and Izzy’s wedding, when he told me, “That Fitz is a solid guy, Poppy,” after Marc gave him a tour of the new buildings with Jack at his heels, then offered to play football in the field with Summer’s two boys. If I’m honest with myself, Dad giving him the okay was the moment the idea sprang into my head about asking Marc to be a sperm donor. I knew right then that if Dad thought he was a good guy, I couldn’t go far wrong in having him as the father of my child.

  And then the second realization of the night hits me. If things go according to plan, I could be leaving the lighthouse at the end of the week already pregnant.

  “Penny for them,” Marc says, handing me one of the tumblers.

  Normally, I don’t say what’s on my mind, because I’m never sure what people’s reactions will be. But he asked me to talk to him, to be open with him, and so I decide to tell the truth. “I was thinking that by the time we fly home, I could be pregnant.”

  He smiles. “That’s the plan.” He gestures at my glass. “Is it okay to have alcohol while you’re trying?”

  “Obviously, I wouldn’t drink while I was pregnant, but there’s no evidence it’s harmful beforehand. I won’t get plastered, but I could do with a little Dutch courage.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I lift the whisky glass to my nose and take a sniff. Mmm, sweet fruits—mandarin and mango, and a touch of coconut. I take a sip and taste orange and vanilla—it’s amazing.

  Marc runs his tongue across his teeth. “Fantastic.”

  “Mmm.” I have another large mouthful. I’ve had two glasses of wine and I don’t want to be comatose, but equally I’m desperate to relax.

  He takes my hand. “Come with me.”

  My heart racing, I follow him as he climbs the steps. Is he going to want me to take my clothes off straight away? Will he let me put the light out? Oh God, I’m so nervous I think I’m going to be sick.

  But he doesn’t stop at the bedroom. Instead, he continues climbing to the first floor, and we emerge into the viewing room.

  “Oh, wow.” My jaw drops at the sight of the Pacific spread out before us. The light above us sweeps across the black blanket of the ocean, warning unwary sailors of the rocks below us. A thousand stars glitter in the night sky, while the moon, almost full, hangs there like a silver bauble.

  Marc sits at the right-hand end of the sofa and, still holding my hand, pulls me down beside him. I curl up next to him, and he puts his arm around me, sliding down a little so his head rests on the back of the sofa, stretching out his legs. I can cope with this. He’s warm and he smells nice, and it’s good to be touching him at last.

  We sip our whiskies and look out at the stars. “Have you ever been sailing?” he asks me. I shake my head. “Me neither,” he replies. “Just never got into it. It must be amazing, being out on the ocean at night.”

  “Until there’s a storm and you’re trying to stay upright in six-foot waves.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah.” He turns and kisses my forehead, then returns to sipping his whisky. “Tell me more about your visit to the monastery. Did it give you an interest in Buddhism?”

  Surprised, I talk for a while about the services I attended, and the monks I spoke to who told me a little about their beliefs and philosophy. “I found it really interesting,” I conclude. “I’m not about to take it up, but I did like some of the core philosophies. What about you, are you religious?”

  He shakes his head. “When I was younger, Mom sometimes took Izzy and me to church at Easter and Christmas. I was fifteen when Dad died, and that changed everything for her. She spent a lot of her time cursing God for taking Dad away from her. Since then, I haven’t set foot in a church.”

  “Do you have faith?”

  He has a mouthful of whisky as he considers my question, then looks across at me. “I could start believing if I thought heaven might contain angels like you.”

  “I’m no angel,” I whisper.

  “The best girls aren’t.” He smiles.

  My heart bangs against my ribs. His gaze drops to my mouth, but he makes no move to kiss me. I keep waiting for him to start his seduction, but for some reason he’s holding back.

  Then he lifts his gaze back to mine, and suddenly I understand. He is seducing me. He’s been doing it all day. Talking to me, trying to relax me, encouraging me out of my shell, getting me to tell him about myself. And now he’s waiting for me to give him a sign I’m ready. He’s such a sweetheart. He’s determined not to push me. He’s leaving it up to me.

  I finish off my whisky and put the glass on the floor. The firewater has spread through me, filing off the edges, and for the first time I feel excited rather than nervous. I’m going to do this. It’s an amazing opportunity, and I’m not going to pass up the chance now I’m here.

  Marc does the same, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before placing his glass on the floor. He leans back, and I turn a little to face him. I lift a hand and cup his cheek, brushing my thumb against his five-o’clock shadow, enjoying the scrape of his bristles. Then I slide my fingers into his hair to pull his head down and bring his mouth to mine.

  Chapter Twelve

  Poppy

  Our lips touch, and we both exhale with relief and satisfaction, our breaths mingling. His lips are warm and firm, and he places soft kisses across mine, showing me he’s going to take his time. I can’t stop a little shiver running through me, and I feel his lips curve up, but he doesn’t stop.

  He kisses me for a long time, breaking contact with my mouth at one point to kiss my cheeks, my eyebrows, my nose, and finally back to my lips. By this time, I’m in a dream, hazy with longing. He kisses me, and then, for the first time, I feel the touch of his tongue on my bottom lip.

  I hesitate, not wanting to spoil the magic with a disgusting, sloppy kiss, but I don’t want to disappoint him, so I part my lips to allow him access. But he doesn’t force his tongue into my mouth like all the other men have before. He continues to press his lips to mine, following each time with a small brush of the tip of his tongue. He kisses across my bottom lip, then back across my top lip, as if he’s exploring every fraction of an inch, and now I’m tingling all over, and more than ready to join in.

  I follow his lead and do the same to him, kissing him, then touching my tongue to his lips, and he sighs. The thought that I’m turning him on pleases me, and when he eventually touches his tongue to mine, I respond with a shy thrust of my own. It’s all the encouragement he needs to deepen the kiss, and he tightens his arms around me, sliding his tongue inside my mouth, but it’s not disgusting or invasive; it’s gentle and sensual and erotic. All the hairs on my body rise in response, and an ache begins deep inside me.

  He’s in no hurry, it seems, because he kisses me like that for ages, one arm tight around me, one hand in my hair, or stroking my face. I slide my arm around his waist and feel the hem of his shirt, pause as I debate whether to take this step, then think screw it, lift the fabric, and slip my hand onto his back.

  Ooh, first contact. His skin is warm and smooth, and as I skate my fingers up a little, my thumb brushing up his side, I feel toned muscle. “Mmm,” he murmurs against my mouth—he likes that, so I move my hand around his back and slide it up to between his shoulders, then draw my fingers down his spine. I like touching him, it feels possessive, as if I’m claiming him. At this moment, he doesn’t belong to any other woman, and I can pretend he’s mine.

  He moves on the sofa, placing his hands beneath me, and then he lifts me, drawing me across his lap. I gasp as I find myself straddling him, but he doesn’t give me time to think about it; he cups my head and brings my lips down to his, tightening his other arm around me until I’m flush against him. O
h my, I can feel his erection even through his jeans, hard against my mound.

  Resting his hands on my hips, he strokes them up my back to my shoulders, down my arms, then back up, still kissing me leisurely. It feels as if we could do this all night, this gentle exploration of each other, and I adore it; I love that he’s taking his time with me, that he’s not rushing me. I sink my hands into his hair, and I do what he did to me earlier—kiss his cheek, his eyebrows, his forehead, down his nose. In response, he kisses my neck and up to my ear, nuzzles it, and touches his tongue to the lobe. A tiny moan I hadn’t planned escapes my lips, and so he takes the lobe into his mouth and sucks gently, making me shudder.

  Mmm, this is nice. I feel hazy and glowing, as if I’m floating in a warm sea that’s carrying me away toward the horizon. It’s fanciful, and I’m sure some of it is due to the whisky, but most of it is down to Marc’s gentle hands and mouth, and the feelings he’s arousing in me.

  I love this slow adventure, but it’s not intimate enough. I want to feel his skin again; I want to feel him against me. I bring my hands down to the top button of his shirt and move back to look at him. His lips curve up, so I push the button through the hole and move down to the next one, slowly unwrapping him. I’m concentrating too much on the shirt to meet his eyes, but I know he’s watching me as I undo the last button and move the sides of his shirt apart.

  I’ve seen him topless several times when he’s been working around the Ark and he’s gotten hot, but this is different; he’s here, in front of me, and I can touch him. I place my palms on his chest and fan out my fingers, then brush them down his front, exploring his muscles with my fingertips, admiring the view as I go. His chest hair curls like the hair on his head, an attractive scatter across his ribs.

  I lift my gaze to his. He looks a mixture of amused and aroused, his lips curved up, his eyes at half-mast. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he lifts his hands to my blouse and begins to undo the buttons.

  My breasts rise and fall faster than usual with my deep, fast breaths, but I sit still as he reaches the bottom of the blouse and parts the sides. He drops his gaze and sighs, then draws his fingers down my collarbone and over the top of my breasts where they’re propped up in the pretty cream lacy bra.

  He pushes the blouse off my shoulders, and I let it fall to the floor. Then he pulls me toward him again for another kiss.

  This is slightly different; it’s not hard or forceful, but there’s heat behind it, and he cups the back of my head, keeping me there, as if he’s determined to claim the kiss. I put my arms around his neck, leaning against him, and ohhh… the feel of my skin against his fires me up, and I sink my hands into his hair, clenching my fingers. His tongue slides against mine, and unbidden, my hips rock against his. Mmm… that’s sexy, I feel hot and dizzy, filled with an odd ache, a deep desire I haven’t felt before, not to this extent.

  He cups my breasts and brushes his thumbs across the tips. When I arch my spine a little, he moves his hands around to my back, and then he unfastens my bra, the elastic loosening and setting me free. After drawing the straps down my arms, he tosses it aside, then cups my breasts with his warm hands.

  Aaahhh… I exhale, my breath whispering across his lips. Gently, oh so gently, he strokes his thumbs across my nipples. I bite my lip, resting my forehead against his. This is so far removed from Daniel’s hard and fast, sometimes almost cruel lovemaking, that I want to cry. He used to tug or suck on my nipples until it hurt, and it got to the stage where I didn’t like him touching them, but this… This is something different. Marc circles around the edges of my nipples, then rolls the tips gently with the pad of his thumb, and they tighten to tight buds.

  Pushing me upright, he kisses down my neck, then over my left breast as he cups it and covers the nipple with his mouth. His warm tongue washes over it, and I close my eyes and tip my head back, sinking my hand into his hair. Oh God, this is so heavenly… He takes his time kissing one nipple, then switches to the other, teasing with the tip of his tongue until my breathing deepens.

  At that point, he moves back and kisses me again, running his hands over my body, and then, without any warning, he holds me tightly and gets to his feet, lowering mine carefully to the floor.

  “Come on,” he says, his voice low and husky. “I want you naked in my arms.”

  Breathless, I follow him down the steps to the bedroom, where he flicks on the bedside light, filling the tiny room with a warm glow. There’s one window, facing toward the ocean, and briefly I see the light above us sweep across the sea’s surface before Marc turns me and presses me up against the wall, and I forget everything except the man before me.

  He kisses me while he lets his shirt slip off and then undoes his jeans, and I do the same with my trousers, letting them fall and kicking them off. Now we’re only in our underwear, and when he presses up against me, he’s all hot skin, height and breadth, hair and muscles, strength and power. I feel overwhelmed by him, my senses filled until I can’t see, hear, or think of anything else.

  His erection is hard against my belly, and I shiver as I think that soon he’s going to be sliding inside me.

  “Are you cold?” he murmurs, and I shake my head. He cups my face, looking into my eyes. “Are you all right? Do you want me to stop?”

  “God, no.” My reply is so vehement that he laughs, and he kisses me again, pushing his warm body against mine. He pulls the elastic back from the bottom of my braid and then unravels it and spreads my hair across my shoulders, giving a satisfied grunt. He likes my hair, and he sinks one hand into it as he continues to kiss me.

  I slide my hands up his ribs and around to his back, brush them down either side of his spine, and onto his butt. The muscles there are tight and hard, and I give a low moan against his lips. I can’t help it; it’s automatic, but he groans in response and tears his lips from mine.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” he says huskily, turning me from the wall and backing me toward the bed. “I want to go slow, but you’re making it impossible.”

  “Sorry.”

  He laughs. “It wasn’t a complaint.” He pushes me gently back until I’m sitting on the bed, then turns me so I’m lying down, gesturing for me to move up onto the pillows. I wait for him to strip off his boxers and climb on top of me, but instead he moves to the end of the bed and gets on there, pausing as he leans over my legs.

  “I have to taste you,” he says in an apologetic tone. “I can’t wait any longer. Is that all right?”

  My head spins. “Yes,” I say, my voice little more than a squeak.

  “Good.” He hooks his fingers into the side of my panties and strips them off deftly. Then he lowers himself down between my legs.

  Oh dear God. Daniel never did this to me, not once. One of my old boyfriends had a go a few times, and I liked it, but he lost interest after several minutes. Somehow, I don’t think Marc is going to lose interest. He kisses up my thigh, and his breath fans across me as he exhales. His hands press either side, parting me, and I cover my face with my hands as I feel his gaze on me, hot as his breath. And then he slides his tongue down into my folds. I can’t stop the moan that leaves my lips. Ohhh… it feels amazing. My elbows fall to the side and I abandon myself to him, feeling his tongue teasing, his fingers joining in, sliding inside me.

  I’m shocked that, only a few minutes later, pleasure begins to gather deep inside me. But why am I shocked? This is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. I feel embarrassed and ashamed at how vehemently I protested to him that this never happens for women—he must have thought I was such a fool. I hate Daniel for making me think that. I resent him deeply.

  But I’m not going to think about him now. Marc’s tongue is working magic down there, and I can feel all the tiny muscles deep inside me winding tighter and tighter. Oh God, I think I’m going to come like this… I’m astounded, and I give a deep, shuddering breath. But as my climax approaches, he lifts up on the bed, moving up over me.

  Giving deep,
ragged breaths, I look up at him with some frustration, not sure whether to tell him how close I am. As soon as I look at him, though, I can tell that he knows. He slides off his boxers, and then leans either side of my shoulders, looking down at me with sympathy.

  “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Next time I’ll take you all the way like that. But tonight, the first time you come, I want to be inside you.”

  Next time? He was serious—he gives a woman an orgasm every time he sleeps with her. For the first time, I understand why people make such a fuss about sex. If a woman were to have a real partner like this, I can see why she might never get out of bed.

  Past the point of sensible speech, I let him kiss me, my face flaming at the thought of where his tongue has just been, and then he presses the tip of his erection into my folds.

  “Ready?” he whispers. “You’re sure?”

  I nod, and he pushes his hips forward and slides inside me.

  There’s no pain at all; he’s all the way up in one smooth thrust, filling me, and I close my eyes and groan as I feel myself stretch to accommodate him.

  “Ah, Poppy.” He kisses my lips, my cheek, my eyelids. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He withdraws a little and pushes forward again. My body seems on fire, as if it’s been super-heated. Each thrust he gives sends a ripple of pleasure running through me, and I return his kiss hungrily, clutching my fingers in his hair.

  He moves slowly, and it’s so sensual, that slide of him through my sensitive skin, so much more erotic than having a guy hammer away. He should teach classes on this—he’d make a fortune.

  Mmm… that feels so great… He pushes my knees higher, wrapping my legs around his waist, and stills for a moment as he pushes forward, oh God, so deep inside me… Then he begins moving again, kissing me, delving his tongue into my mouth. The sexy slide of it against mine matches the rhythm of his hips, and I’m sure I’m melting inside, turned into liquid pleasure by his slow, regular thrusts.

  I run my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, down his back, loving the feel of his muscles moving, like a machine, with no sense of urgency. I never knew sex could feel like this… so loving… His mouth is tender, his lips and tongue teasing me… mmm…