She stretched her arms forward, found the bed rails and clung on with bone-crushing strength. She wanted to scream. She was going to scream. But she couldn’t get it out for the difficult breaths and the half-sobs that she couldn’t stop as he teased in a tormenting rhythm.

He slid both hands over her now, with firm strokes and then fluttering ones while he feasted on her.

Tremors convulsed through her body and she repeated his name, almost broken.

‘You still sure about being on top?’ His sexy humour only served to heighten her almost painful pleasure.

She couldn’t support herself any longer. The excitement was too intense and frankly all she wanted to do was lie back and enjoy it.

Toppling over to the side, she apologised. ‘I’m sorry, James. When you do that I can’t…’

‘What, move?’ He rolled, moving up the bed on all fours like a lion. She stretched out, happy to be his prey.

‘Or think…’ she murmured heavy-lidded as he paused at her breasts. ‘Or speak…’

Indeed she could only moan then as he took her hardened nipple into his mouth and his fingers resumed their rhythmic rubbing.

He moved slowly over her—all the way down, then over again until every inch of her skin had been both burned and dampened with kisses and caresses. Until she lay without control over her own body, arching up in invitation, pleading with him—to have him inside and for the unbearable tension to be snapped by the ultimate sensation.

‘James.’ She shook her head wildly as he kissed the hollow at the base of her neck. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. She had to have it all, now.

He left her body, left the bed, kicked off shoes, yanked down trousers and grabbed a condom from the complimentary pack in the drawer of the bedside table. All the while she lay supine, still arching her hips to his in time to that ancient rhythm, still whispering his name, because each time she did his eyes glowed and his hands shook.

His body was burnished with sweat. But still he could smile that slightly sarcastic smile and prove his point.

‘If it’s all right with you, princess, this time I’m on top.’

He was already back and settling his glorious weight on her when she abandoned all pretence and answered with ecstatic softness, ‘Oh, yes.’

With a satisfied grin and a long, deliberate stroke he pushed hard inside. Her breath hissed out and she started shaking—the delight too pleasurable to bear.

He paused, the ‘princess’ he muttered half strangled. Then he moved.

She clung to his slick, broad shoulders, crying out as his body buffeted against hers again and again. He totally filled her—thrusting, making her take everything he had. And she fought to match him, curling her legs around his, pushing up to meet him, to drive him as much as he was driving her. Her gaze met and held by his. And the exquisite torture continued and sharpened, heightened and strengthened until she could no longer cope, could no longer control her ferocious response.

She arched high one final time and locked into a moment where she had never, ever felt so good. Her body clamped onto it—onto him, gripping him tight and hard until finally she convulsed, lost under waves of intense pleasure, hardly aware of her own scream.


SHE was awake but kept her eyes closed. Her highly accurate body clock told her it was still early. Very early. But she couldn’t sleep a moment more. There was too much to stew over. Cataclysmic sex for one thing—she would never be the same.

So that was ‘dealing with it’, huh? She flexed her thigh muscles experimentally—just a touch. Yep, she definitely felt dealt with. James was incredible—as intense and in charge in the bedroom as he was in the boardroom. And already the runny-honey feeling inside was spreading, together with the lick of desire. She wanted to deal with him some too. So much for ensuring he was as much a slave to it as she was—she hadn’t really got the chance last night.

She closed her eyes tighter. Last night. The party. Her screw-up. His challenge for another party.


When she finally opened her eyes she saw he was propped up on his elbow, studying her—alert, despite the unshaven look, the rumpled hair.

‘Regrets?’ he asked straight out.

‘No.’ Not sleeping with him. She could never regret that. Other elements? Maybe.

His mouth twisted into that cynical smile she didn’t like so much. ‘Of course. You’re not the kind of person to have regrets.’

Did he still think she didn’t feel things deeply? That she was completely shallow—just the party princess?

She burrowed further under the sheet. Well, she wasn’t going to admit to how deeply she’d felt a connection with him last night. How wonderful he’d made her feel.

Tags: Natalie Anderson Billionaire Romance