One Night On The Virgin's Terms (Mills & Boon Modern) (Wanted: A Billionaire, Book 1)

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  ‘Okay.’

  His first thrust was shallow and gentle, but Ivy was too impatient to wait and lifted her hips to receive him, her hands going to his taut buttocks to urge him on. He gave an agonised groan and went a little deeper, the slickness of her body welcoming him. He stilled his movements, his breathing hectic. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Don’t stop. Please keep going.’ Her body was on fire, flickers and, flames and fizzing sensations travelling throughout her pelvis and down the backs of her legs.

  Louis continued to thrust, but she sensed he was holding himself back out of consideration for her. But her body was enjoying every inch of his powerful length and was crying out for more. She gripped him harder by the buttocks and lifted her hips to meet each downward thrust. He sucked in a harsh breath and his rhythm increased, the thrusts becoming deeper and faster, sending her senses reeling. Her body wrapped tight around him, his intimate invasion not quite enough to send her over the edge into the abyss. But then he began to caress her with his fingers, giving her the extra friction she needed to soar. She threw her head back and gasped out sobbing cries of release, her body shaking, quivering, thrashing with the sheer force rocketing through her.

  Ivy was still suffering the aftershocks when Louis found his own release and she held him through it, enjoying the way his body tensed and then finally broke free from the restraints he’d put on it. There was something so deeply primal about his groans and almost savage about his orgasm. It thrilled her that she had brought him so undone by her touch, her body, her caresses.

  Louis rolled away, disposed of the condom and then lay back and flung an arm across his eyes, his chest still heaving. ‘Dear God in heaven...’

  Ivy propped herself up on one elbow by his side, her hand stroking down his chest. ‘Was it good for you?’ She couldn’t quite remove the note of uncertainty in her voice.

  He turned his head her way and smiled a lopsided smile, and something in her chest turned over. He covered her hand with his, anchoring on the thud-thud-thud of his heart. ‘Better than good—amazing.’

  She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. ‘Thanks for making it so special for me.’

  He tucked a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear, his gaze locked on hers. ‘I didn’t hurt you?’

  She smiled and tiptoed her fingers across his toned pectoral muscles. ‘Not a bit. I read somewhere that the only way you can tell if a woman is a virgin is if she tells you and you believe her. All that stuff about broken and bleeding hymens is a bit of a myth. Most women and girls damage their hymen doing sports during childhood or using tampons when they get their periods.’

  ‘True, but sex can still be uncomfortable for a woman if her partner isn’t considerate.’

  Ivy lifted her hand to his head and toyed with his short-cropped hair. ‘But you were very considerate.’

  His expression was warm with tenderness, his hand going to her hip and rolling her towards him. ‘If I was truly considerate, I’d take you downstairs and feed you the delicious dinner my housekeeper prepared.’

  ‘I’m sensing a “but” at the end of that sentence.’

  He grinned and swiftly turned her over so her back was against the mattress, his body half-covering hers. ‘But I want to do this first.’ And his mouth came down to hers.

  Louis kissed her slowly and leisurely at first, but then a storm of need began to barrel through him, and he deepened the kiss with a commanding thrust of his tongue. She opened to him like a flower and he groaned at the back of his throat and explored her sweet mouth as if it was the last kiss he would ever have. Her lips were soft and yielding, passionate and responsive, and his blood pounded with renewed desire. Making love to her had shocked him to the core. Not in a bad way, but in a way he hadn’t been expecting. Normally sex was just sex, a physical thing he enjoyed like any other man. But with Ivy something felt different. Not just because it was her first time, although he had to admit that had made it rather special—memorably special. But the taste of her skin, the response of her body, stirred him in a way no other lover had done before.

  Louis rained kisses down her body, lingering over her breasts before going to the silk of her inner thighs. He teased her with his lips and tongue, working his way to the feminine heart of her body. She gasped as he anointed her with his tongue, her body shuddering through an orgasm, his own body desperate for intimate connection with the tight slickness of hers.

  Ivy reached for him and he only just had time to put on another condom in his haste to bury himself in her honeyed core. The tumult built to a crescendo inside him, her movements so in tune with his, sending his senses reeling. The heat, the musk of mating, the glide of aroused male flesh against velvet female flesh, sent him into the stratosphere where no thought could reside, only pleasure...mind-blowing, skin-tingling bliss...

  In the quiet, restful moments afterwards, a stray thought managed to get through the firewall of Louis’ mind.

  One night, huh? Are you sure that’s going to be enough?

  He tried to think of something else but, with Ivy’s soft hand gently stroking the flank of his thigh, he knew the hunger he had for her was not going to be satisfied by one night. But he would have to accept that and stick with the plan. Continuing this any longer than a night was tempting but too dangerous. It was a physical hunger, nothing else, and it would fade as long as he didn’t fuel it. He didn’t do anything else. Couldn’t do anything else. Wouldn’t do anything else.

  But, oh, how he wanted to.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IVY WOKE TO find herself alone in bed early the next morning. Louis had told her he was a restless sleeper who often got up during the night to work but she hadn’t seen him bring a laptop with him—although she had noticed a well-appointed study downstairs. Perhaps he had put in a few hours on his latest project or gone for a run or something.

  She pushed aside the sense of disappointment that Louis hadn’t woken up beside her and instead focussed on the positives. She was no longer a virgin. Her mission was accomplished with two weeks to spare until she turned thirty. Her body felt different, somehow, more alive and sensitive than ever before. Even the sensation of the sheets against her skin was heightened. It was as if her nerves had shifted position.

  She pushed the bedcovers off and slipped on the satin bathrobe she’d brought with her. The smooth fabric on her body felt as delicious as a caress and she couldn’t wait to feel Louis’ touch again. She squeezed her thighs together. Her inner muscles gave the faintest of protests and a frisson passed over her flesh. How wonderful would it be to spend the rest of the weekend together, making love again—and not just this weekend, but the one after and the one after and...

  Ivy was pulled away from her thoughts as if by the sudden tug of a marionette’s strings. One night and one night only. That was what she’d agreed on and it was all Louis was offering. She knew enough about him to know he could be stubborn when his mind was made up.

  Wouldn’t it be better if she avoided the ‘morning after the night before’ scene she was dreading? How could she look at him now and see him as only a friend and not the most amazing lover a woman could ask for? Her body was already craving him. How would she hide her longing from him? It was better to leave before he came back from wherever he’d gone during the night. Before he saw how much she wanted him to continue their fling. Before her feelings got involved any more than they already were. Before she made a complete and utter fool of herself by begging him to extend their fling beyond the one night they’d agreed on.

  She reached for her phone and organised a taxi back to London.

  Hopefully she would be halfway home before he even knew she had gone.

  Louis hadn’t slept so soundly for years—even if it had only been until just before dawn. Maybe it was the Cotswolds air. Maybe it was breaking his sex drought. Maybe it was Ivy...

  He’d left
her sleeping in the early hours, not trusting himself to wake up beside her without wanting to make love to her again. Or tweaking the rules so they spent the rest of the weekend down here. But he had no business tweaking the rules. He had done as she requested and there was no need to take things any further.

  Weird, but he had no regrets about last night. How could he when it was the best sex he’d ever had? Sensual, meaningful, memorable, tender...and yet racy. His body tingled at the thought of Ivy’s touch. His lips remembered the taste and texture of hers. Every cell in his body wanted her with a grinding hunger.

  But their night together was over.

  It was Saturday morning and their relationship had to go back to normal. Normal? How normal was it that every time he looked at her now he would recall the softness of her mouth under his, the stroke of her hands, the warm, velvet grip of her body? He shuddered and groaned as desire swept through him like a tide, heating and hardening his flesh to the point of pain.

  He went for a long run along the country lanes, trying to summon his self-control. Maybe he should tweak the rules. Maybe she needed more than one night to gain even more confidence. She’d told him how her parents’ break-up had contributed to her uneasiness with intimacy, and it had made him realise even more how stressful and difficult her adolescence had been. Hadn’t he carried his own hang-ups from his childhood?

  You’re rationalising—you just want to continue your fling with her.

  Louis knew the danger of extending their fling. It was one of the reasons he’d been reluctant to start it in the first place. Ivy wasn’t like the other women he dated—not because they hadn’t been nice women, with lots to offer. But he could always switch off his feelings when he had casual dates. He was a master at it. But with Ivy those unwanted feelings had a habit of slipping under his guard, making him hunger for things he had so long suppressed or told himself he didn’t really want.

  And then there was the other complication of his friendship with her brother. Ronan would never forgive him for hurting Ivy. And how could he avoid hurting her if he continued to sleep with her without offering her the whole package she yearned for—marriage, babies and forever love? A package he had no intention of offering to anyone. Ever.

  Louis came back from his run and showered and dressed before going to Ivy’s room. The door of her room was closed, so he gave it a gentle tap.

  ‘Ivy? Are you up? Time for breakfast before we head back to London.’

  There was no answer, so he opened the door and went in. The bed had been stripped and the duvet neatly folded back to wait for fresh sheets to be placed on later. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing—or not seeing. There was no trace of Ivy in the room. Her luggage was gone and when he checked the en suite no trace of her toiletries remained. All that was left was the faint trace of her perfume lingering in the air.

  There was something strangely mocking about that bare and empty bed. He was the one who normally left before his casual dates woke on the rare occasions he spent the whole night with anyone. He assiduously avoided the morning-after scenes where a date would drop hints about wanting to see him again. Why had Ivy left? How had she left?

  And then he saw the note propped next to the bedside lamp. He walked across the room and snatched it up, unfolding the rectangle of paper to read:

  Thanks for last night. I didn’t want to wake you, so caught a cab back home. I have to get ready for Paris next week.

  Your friend, Ivy

  He stared at the word ‘friend’ for so long, he became cross-eyed. He sucked in a harsh breath, scrunched the note into a ball and tossed it on the bed. The bed where he had made love to her last night. Not simply had hook-up sex, but actually made love. Her first time had been his first time feeling more than needing an itch to be scratched. His first time feeling more than lust, feeling something far more complicated.

  Why had she left without seeing him face to face? Was she feeling uncomfortable? Embarrassed? Regretful? He took out his phone and called her number, but it went through to voice mail.

  ‘Call me.’ He spoke more curtly than he’d intended, annoyed with himself for not anticipating her leaving. He was rarely blindsided by people these days. He never got close enough to anyone for them to surprise him. It didn’t sit well with him to be the one left behind, staring at the empty bed where he’d had the best sex of his life.

  One night not enough for you, huh? His conscience jeered from the sidelines.

  Louis ground his teeth so hard, he thought he’d be taking his meals through a straw for the next month.

  No, one night wasn’t enough—so he was going to do something about it.

  Ivy was tidying up the back office of the antiques store for her elderly boss, Mr Thornley, when she heard a customer come into the shop. She glanced at the CCTV monitor on the desk and her heart missed a beat—and then raced, as if it needed an emergency dose of beta blockers. Louis had only once before come in to the shop and her heart hadn’t threatened to go into overdrive then. But that had been before she had slept with him, experienced for one night the phenomenal magic of being in his arms.

  She wiped her suddenly damp palms on the front of her skirt and went out to greet him, painting a smile on her face. ‘Hiya, Louis.’

  She was proud of how normal she sounded. Who said she couldn’t switch back to being friends with him without a stumble? Even if every cell of her body was acutely aware of him and longed to feel his arms go around her to hold her close.

  His grey-blue eyes ran over her skirt and blouse and she wondered if he was recalling every inch of her naked flesh and how it had felt against his own. His mouth was set in a firm line and there was a muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘Why did you leave without saying goodbye on Saturday, or calling me as I asked?’ His tone was as curt as the short message he had left on her voice mail the other day. A message she had chosen not to obey.

  Ivy raised her chin, sending him a tiny flash of her gaze. ‘You didn’t ask—you demanded.’

  His eyes warred with hers for a long moment. Then his tense features softened a fraction and his voice lowered to a rich, deep burr. ‘I was worried about you. I thought you might be feeling some regret about our night together.’

  Ivy schooled her features into ‘Ms Modern Hook-Up’ mode. ‘Why should I be feeling regret? We spent the night together as agreed. It went well and I went home. End of.’

  A frown pulled at his brow and his mouth flattened once more. ‘But why not wait until I drove you back?’

  She turned to straighten some papers on the cluttered desk. ‘I thought it was better to go before you talked me into staying the whole weekend with you.’

  There was a silence so intense, the soft ticking of the French carriage clock on the desk sounded like hammer blows.

  Louis gave an incredulous laugh. ‘You thought I was going to ask you for an extension?’

  Ivy turned back to face him, her look pointed. ‘Weren’t you?’

  A shutter came down at the back of his gaze, screening his thoughts, hiding his feelings, locking her out. ‘I only do one-night stands, remember?’

  Ivy folded her arms across her body and lifted her right hand to her mouth, tapping against her lips as if studying a particularly interesting artefact. ‘Then why are you here now? It’s too late for lunch or even coffee. Besides, I’m flying to Paris early tomorrow, so—’

  ‘So am I.’

  Ivy stared at him. ‘You are?’ She disguised a tight swallow. ‘Are you seeing a client or...?’ She couldn’t complete the rest of her sentence. She didn’t want to know if he planned to hook up with someone while he was in France. He often travelled for work, and was rarely in London for more than a week at a time. He would no doubt go back to his playboy lifestyle now and she would have to suffer seeing him in the gossip pages with a host of other women who were happy with the brief encounters he offer
ed them.

  ‘I have a couple of projects going on in Paris that I need to check,’ he said. ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘I haven’t had time to book my accommodation yet,’ Ivy said, unfolding her arms. ‘My boss normally organises it when I go away on a business trip for him, but his wife had a fall on Sunday night, so he’s been a bit distracted. I was going to find a room tonight.’

  ‘Stay with me at my apartment.’ His expression was still difficult to read but something about the incredible stillness of his posture made her suspect he was holding his breath.

  She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, not sure what to make of his invitation. Wanting to accept it but not sure if it was wise to do so. Stay with him in Paris. The most romantic city in the world. The city of love. ‘Why do you want me to stay with you?’

  His eyes darkened and he crossed the distance to where she was standing in two or three strides. He took one of her hands in his and stroked his thumb over her racing pulse. ‘You know why.’ His voice was so deep it could have come from the centre of the earth.

  Ivy decided to play it cool. ‘Do I? Last time we spoke you made it clear we were a one-night thing. Are we going to be friends or lovers in Paris?’

  His thumb stroked over the fleshy part of her thumb, triggering a storm of sensations that travelled from her hand to her core in a fizzing fire trail. His eyes held hers in an unwavering lock, making her spine tingle, as though sherbet were slowly trickling through her vertebrae. ‘We can be both.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘How long will you be in Paris?’

  ‘Wednesday till Friday.’

  ‘Can you stay until Sunday?’ he asked.

  ‘I guess so... But I thought you said—’

  ‘Five days in Paris. That’s all I’m offering. Take it or leave it.’ His tone was so businesslike and clinical, yet his hand holding hers seemed to communicate a more desperate plea. A plea that her own body was communicating with a raised pulse and a skipping heartbeat and bated breath.