The Billionaire’s Secret Love (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance) (6 page)

T
he knock sounded
on my door at 7:58. I'd worried that she might change her mind and bail on me. I'd been shocked as hell when she'd run out the night before. After our conversation, it made a bit more sense, but I was still out of my depth with Emily. I didn't know that much about anxiety or panic attacks, but if she was half as nervous as I was, we might be in trouble.

Crazy to say, with my history, but I’d never slept with a virgin before. I still couldn’t get my brain around the idea that smart, beautiful Emily Winslow was untouched. Un-fucked. How could a girl with a body like that—all soft curves, with that round ass and those full tits—hit her early twenties a virgin? Had no one bothered to break through her shyness? It seemed they hadn’t.

I had the fleeting thought that I should bow out and leave her to a nicer guy, one who hadn’t slept with so many faceless, nameless women. One who was as shy and sweet as Emily. That thought hadn’t lasted long. She didn’t need some mild-mannered guy to take her to bed. She needed me. I knew how to handle a body like hers. I’d make her come all night and fuck her until she couldn’t walk. I’d make her mine.

Was that what I wanted? For her to be mine? To belong to me? I couldn’t swear it, not yet, but I was pretty sure it was exactly what I wanted. It had taken all my willpower not to chase after her the night before when she’d run off. All my instincts had screamed that she was prey—all I had to do was catch her. I hadn’t known about her panic attacks. I was thanking God that my gut—and Jo—had warned me to give Emily space. Chasing her down the street would have pushed her over the edge.

Jo said she was shy, but shy and having an anxiety disorder were not the same thing. If I’d known about the panic attacks, I might have done things differently. I’d followed her home at a distance, far enough that she couldn’t spot me but close enough to see that she got back to her building safely.

Maybe I should've left her alone for the night, but I couldn't do it. I'd settled for texting her once I knew she was home, hoping at the very least to reestablish communication and keep her from shutting me out. I had not expected her proposition that we have sex. Don't get me wrong. I wanted sex with Emily. I could barely think about her without getting hard. But just going at it didn't feel right, not when our hooking up was the very thing that had almost sent her into a panic attack.

I could see her point, that taking it slow would just give her time to get nervous, and once she got it over with, it wouldn't be so intimidating. The way I saw it, my job was to show Emily how good she could feel when she was with me. I was starting to understand that her shyness and the panic attacks meant I'd have to handle her with care, but they had an unexpected upside. Once I'd had Emily in my bed, once I’d shown her how much she wanted to be there, it was unlikely she'd look elsewhere. I'd gotten used to women who fucked anyone who caught their interest. I'm not judging. I did the same thing. Until now.

Emily had me thinking about more than just a random hookup. When I thought about Emily, I thought about time. Not just time in bed, though that mental image was becoming an obsession, but time with her. Emily was the first girl who caught my attention on every level. I wanted her body, and I loved to look at her. But she was more than that, more than her body, her face, her hair, and those crystal-clear gray eyes. She was smart, and a gamer. She was perfect for me. I just had to convince her that I was perfect for her.

I swung the door open at her hesitant knock, and my breath caught in my throat. Unlike the night before when she’d clearly dressed for a date, Emily wore faded jeans and a zip-front sweater that was attractive and well-cut but not the least bit seductive. Her gray eyes met mine, wary and skittish before landing on my shoulder. I thought I should let her take the lead, though it occurred to me that this might work better if I tossed her over my shoulder and carried her to my bedroom.

"Hey," she said.

"Come in.” I stepped back from the open door to let her enter, closing and locking it behind her. She stood before me, her arms wrapped around her middle, each hand clutching the opposite elbow. Not the picture of a woman ready to be seduced.

I'd planned to let her take the lead, concerned about pushing her too far. I considered going the traditional route—a glass of wine, the right music—but we were beyond that. I’d tried that approach on our date, and it hadn't ended well. I decided to step outside the box and take the direct approach.

"Which part makes you nervous?" I asked gently. "Is it having sex itself? Foreplay? I want to understand so I can make this good for you."

Emily visibly relaxed, her arms falling to her sides. She met my eyes, a sheepish expression on her face.

"This is embarrassing," she admitted. Trying to ease her mind and take the pressure off, I walked into my kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, getting an extra for Emily. I popped them open, handed her the bottle, and leaned back against my counter, pretending I was completely chilled out about the conversation we were having. She was nervous enough on her own. She didn't need to know I was just as tense, afraid one wrong word would send her running again. I wasn't going to give up on Emily, but I knew we'd both be much happier if we could get past this now.

"Don't be embarrassed," I said. "Were going to figure this out together. I just need to know what it was last night that set off the panic. The way I touched you? How hard you came?"

I shifted against the counter, glad my jeans were loose enough to hide my hard cock. Just the memory of her coming, her tight pussy squeezing my fingers and her moans, had me on the edge. In response to my graphic questions, Emily's cheeks flushed a gorgeous deep pink. The color spread down her neck and over her collarbone. Were her tits that same shade of pink? I'd find out soon enough.

"It wasn't that," she said, her voice low and husky. She took a quick sip of her beer. "It was after. I didn't know what to do, and I started to worry that I was going to do something wrong, and then everything got tangled up in my head, and it was too much, and I started to panic."

I had to change the subject fast. I'd needed to know what set her off, but we weren’t going to talk about it since that was clearly cranking her anxiety right back up to danger levels.

"So everything that came before was good?" I asked, loving how the flush in her cheeks deepened. Yeah, it had been good. Better than good. If I were being honest, feeling Emily Winslow coming on my fingers was better than the best sex I’d ever had. Knowing I was the first man to take her there, that mine were the first fingers inside that sweet pussy . . . there weren't words for how good that was.

Emily swallowed and nodded her head.

"Then I know what we’re going to do," I said. "This first time, you don't have to do anything. If I need you to do something, I'll tell you. Or show you. You don't have to make any decisions, and nothing you do will be wrong."

"How do you know I won't do anything wrong?" She asked, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

"Because you couldn't possibly do anything wrong. It doesn't work like that. And I already know you're going to be a natural at this. You just need a little practice."

I set my beer on the counter and crossed the kitchen to Emily. I was giving her too much time to think. She didn't need her brain right now. She just needed to feel. I stopped in front of her and took the beer from her hands, setting it carefully on the counter behind her. She looked up at me those beautiful gray eyes clouded with worry and said, “How do you know I'll be good at it?"

"No one who kisses like you do could be anything but good in bed."

Her eyes brightened, and a small smile curved her lips as she looked up at me. The contrasts in this woman were killing me. She was beautiful and brilliant, fun to be with, and filled with passion she hadn’t yet tapped. She should have had all the confidence in the world, and when it came to her work, she did. But there was no reason a woman like Emily should be so uncertain when it came to her appeal. I'd never wanted anyone like this. There was no way I was just going to fuck her once and leave her. My normal MO was out the window. I didn't know where things were going with Emily and me, but getting her in my bed was going to be more than a one-time thing. If I could do this right, I could keep her there as long as I wanted.

I took her hands in mine and led her out of the kitchen, down the hall to my bedroom. I couldn't let myself touch her until we were near the bed.
Slow
, I reminded myself.
You have to take this slow
. I wasn't just worried about scaring her. I was terrified I was going to hurt her. I'd felt how tight she was the night before, and at the time, it had turned me on. It still turned me on, but my cock wasn't exactly small, or even average. I dreaded the idea of hurting her almost as much as I was desperate to get inside her.

My plan was simple. Get her so turned on, she couldn't think. We hadn't had any trouble with that part the night before. It was afterward when everything went to hell. This time, I knew what to look for. I looked down into Emily's face, meeting her eyes, falling into the clear gray, entranced at the way arousal and anticipation were chasing off her fears.

My fingertips light on her smooth skin, I brushed her hair back and tilted her face up to mine, touching my lips to hers in a light kiss. She let out the breath she was holding, scented with beer and mint. I ran my thumb over her full lower lip. She obediently opened for me. The mental image of her following other, kinkier orders flashed through my brain.
Slow.

I kissed her again, tasting her with my lips and my tongue, wrapping my arms around her until her body was pressed to mine. Triumph surged through me when her hands wrapped around my back, her fists clenching in my shirt. She let out a little moan as I kissed her harder, losing myself in her mouth and the way she fit her body to mine.

Whatever went through her head when she got anxious, it wasn't a problem when I was touching her. I broke the kiss and our embrace just long enough to pull her shirt over her head. She acquiesced immediately, raising her arms and pulling them through the sleeves.

"I want to see you naked," I said. "Help me take your clothes off."

My hands went to the clasp of her bra. Hers dropped to the button of her jeans. With a rustle of fabric, her clothes hit the floor a second later, leaving her in nothing more than a pair of black lace panties. My mouth watered. Despite being black lace, they weren't overtly sexy panties—not a thong, and they didn't ride low on her hips. But on Emily, they were more than enough. Reminding myself for the millionth time to slow down, I scooped her up and carried her the few feet to my bed. Her eyelids were heavy as she stared up at me, her breath shallow as she let me lay her down on the dark comforter. I stripped off her black panties as I moved away, leaving her completely naked in my bed.

I stepped back to get rid of my own clothes, my mouth dry at the sight of Emily in my bed. Her long, dark hair gleamed in the dim light, and her creamy skin seemed to glow. Her body was almost too much. I wasn't used to women who looked like Emily, though I'd always been attracted to them. The women in my circles were groomed to within an inch of their lives, with perfect hair, perfect makeup and bodies surgically enhanced and incessantly exercised to drive off any hint of excess weight.

What they didn't get was that all that work would never outshine a woman as natural as Emily. Her legs were toned from walking, but her thighs and hips were full below the gentle rise of her belly, tapering to a waist that narrowed just below her un-fucking-believable breasts. No question—those were real. More than a handful, their weight pulling them to the sides, topped by small pink nipples drawn by arousal into tight little points. Except for her temptingly hard nipples, everything about Emily was rounded and soft and begged me to touch, invited my fingers to sink into her ass, her hips, and the back of her thighs as she straddled me and I fucked up into her tight, wet pussy.

Before she could start to think and get nervous, I joined her on the bed. Stretching out beside her, I took her mouth with mine, waiting until she relaxed into my kiss before touching her anywhere else. Patience had never been so hard before, but I'd never wanted to touch a woman as much as I wanted to touch Emily. When she moaned and rolled into me, I slid one hand down her back, around the curve of her ass to the back of her knee, and pulled her leg up over mine, opening her just a little. When my fingertips grazed the slick flesh between her legs, her breath caught and she let out a whimper. I hiked her leg higher and teased her with one finger, sliding it up and down, avoiding her clit, until her hips moved against me. I pushed my finger inside her, my balls drawing tight at the sucking clasp of her pussy. That was just one finger. I was going to have to stretch her out before I fucked her if I didn’t want to hurt her. But first, I was going to make her come.

I
couldn't believe
I was naked in bed with Tate Winters. When I’d freaked out the night before, I thought it was over. I'd been terrified I was going to mess things up again, right up until he kissed me. He'd known what he was talking about. Once he was touching me, I wasn't scared. I wasn't anxious. All I could do was feel, and I wanted more.

He pressed his finger inside me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, seeing sparks behind my closed lids, my head spinning at how good it felt. His finger was nothing like mine. It was thick and long, and I had the hazy thought that if one finger filled me up this much, I had no idea how his cock would fit. I trembled at the thought and let out a moan, sinking one hand into his thick, silky hair and kissing him harder. His thumb slid against my clit, and I ground my pussy against him, my body out of my control.

A second finger joined the first, the stretch just on the edge of pain. I leaned into him, raising my knee, opening myself further, as if that would make it easier to take his fingers. I thrust harder against him, my body finding its own rhythm, chasing the pleasure of being so full. My head fell back, breaking our kiss, and I heard myself cry out as my orgasm hit. His fingers worked me through the waves of sensation, drawing out my release.

I wanted to give Tate the same pleasure he'd given me, and I reached down to close my fingers around his cock. I had the brief impression of length and impossible girth before he moved his hips back and said, “Not yet, baby."

Before I could worry that I’d done something wrong, he leaned in and kissed me, then said, "I want nothing more than your hand on my cock, but I'm way too close to the edge, and I want to fuck you, not come on your leg."

At his graphic language, I felt my cheeks heat. I used those words in my mind when I thought about sex, but somehow, that was nothing like hearing Tate say the word
cock
in his husky, aroused voice.

"I love the way you blush," he said, making my cheeks flame even hotter. "I was wondering how far down it would go."

He leaned back and stared at me, a satisfied smile on his face. His fingers were still inside me, and slowly, they started to move again. I squirmed against him. Abruptly, he slid his fingers from my body and sat up, stacking pillows against the headboard of his bed. He leaned back into them and tugged on my arm. Following his lead, I rose to my knees. I watched with wide eyes as he rolled on a condom. I really wasn’t sure he was going to fit. Biologically, I knew it was possible, but still.

With his hands on my hips, he guided me to straddle him, positioning me so that the head of his cock was right against the gate of my pussy. He looked up at me and said, "I don't want to hurt you. This way, you can take your time with me while I distract myself with these perfect breasts."

Keeping his hands on my hips, he urged me down an inch, just enough so he was barely inside me, the stretch not too much more than his fingers but already giving me a taste of how big he was.

"Take your time, love." His hands left my hips and rose to my breasts, cupping their full weight, squeezing and lifting them. The look in his eyes, hot and absorbed, made me want to laugh even as it sent a bolt of heat between my legs. His fingers found my nipples, squeezing and pinching just hard enough, sending bolts of tingling bliss through my body. I wanted to move. I needed to move. And I realized
where
I wanted to move.

Down.

I wanted to take that thick, long cock inside my pussy and ride it. I wanted to make him come. And I wanted to come again, this time with more than his fingers inside me. I spread my knees a fraction and sank down, just a little, biting my lip at the pinch of pain as his cock pushed into my untried pussy.

Logically, I knew it was going to hurt the first time. Maybe if he'd been smaller . . . but I didn't want smaller. I wanted Tate. I could do this. I wiggled my hips from side to side, working my way down another inch, distracted by his hands kneading my breasts. When his mouth closed over one hard nipple, I let out a squeal that might have been embarrassing if I'd had enough operable brain cells to think about it. Instead of worrying about the sounds I was making, I arched my back, offering my breasts into his hands and sinking down another inch.

Lost to instinct, I dropped a hand between my legs and stroked my fingers over my clit, shocked at the intensity of the pleasure and thrilled at the feel of his cock partially buried inside me. I slid my fingers down his length and then back up, skating again over my clit and sinking a little farther down.

Tate groaned and said, "Jesus, fuck, but you're hot. Keep fucking doing that."

I did it again, my fingertips wet from my pussy, easily sliding over Tate's cock and up again to circle my clit. I did it over and over, each time taking more of him inside me until I had him to the root. I was stretched full, and it hurt, but I didn't fucking care, because it felt better than anything had ever felt in my entire life.

Tate raised his hips, thrusting up into me, and I fell forward, bracing myself on one hand. My nipple rested against his cheek, and Tate turned his head to take it, his hot mouth sucking hard. I rolled my hips into him, unable to stay still, rocking and grinding on him, hearing my own gasps and moans as if from a distance. It was too much, his mouth sucking my nipple, his cock so deep inside me, my hips moving, dragging my clit against him, everything swelling and rising until the pleasure crashed over me and I screamed out Tate's name.

The second my orgasm hit, Tate rolled me to my back, rising above me and fucking me hard, his hips pounding, his cock filling me to the hilt over and over. I held onto his arms and wrapped my legs around his hips, my eyes on his as the sharp, hot pleasure took me again, this time with Tate.

I don’t know how long it was before I could catch my breath enough to say anything, and then when I could, I didn't know what to say. Everything that came to mind was inadequate. Amazing. Mind blowing. Stupendous. Best thing ever, and can we do it again? None of it was enough. I waited for the merry-go-round of thoughts that would lead me from concern to anxiety, but they didn't come. Every muscle in my body was relaxed. I was curled into Tate, my head on his shoulder, his arm tight around me and one leg thrown over my hip. Just as I was settling in, he kissed my forehead and said, “Be right back."

He returned a moment later, and I realized he'd been taking care of the condom. He slid into bed and pulled me back into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin, his fingers stroking up and down my spine. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm good." I thought about it for a second. "I'm very good."

"Yes, you are," he said. I giggled, a lighthearted, silly sound. I couldn't remember the last time I'd giggled. I wasn't a giggler.

"So what do we do now?" I asked, feeling a little stupid but wanting to know. If Tate was waiting for me to leave, I didn't want to worry that I was missing his signals.

His arm tightened around me, and he said, “We stay right here until I get my breath back, and then we do it again."

"You want to cuddle and then do it again?” I asked, relieved that he wasn't trying to think of ways to get me to leave.

“Unless you want to go?" he said with a note of uncertainty in his voice that reassured me.

"No. I don't want to go, but you have to tell me . . . I don't—"

Tate gave me another squeeze and admitted, "I don't know what I'm doing here either. I don't usually cuddle women after sex."

"You don't?" I rose on one elbow to look down at him. His eyes were serious as they studied me.

"No. Normally, at this point, I'd be telling you about my early meeting or some other bullshit excuse to get you moving so you could go home. But I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay. This isn't just sex for me, Emily. I want more than that with you, and I can honestly tell you I've never said that to any woman before."

"Oh," I said, wonder spilling through my chest. I hadn't really thought Tate would want more with me. Part of me had assumed once we had sex, we'd be done. Tate brushed my hair off my face, his blue eyes searching mine.

"I want more too,” I whispered.

Relief washed over his expression as he pulled me in for a kiss—a kiss that quickly got out of control. I was ready to have sex again, but Tate stopped me, saying, “You're too sore. You need a break. Let's try this instead."

He pulled me from the bed and led me into his bathroom, where he had an enormous soaking tub. I couldn't imagine Tate as the type who liked to take long baths, but the tub was more than big enough for the two of us. The short walk from the bedroom to the bathroom proved he was right. Despite the care he'd taken to get me ready and how much I'd enjoyed it, losing my virginity had left me raw and sore. Maybe I didn't want to have sex again just yet.

The tub filled quickly, and Tate settled me on top of him. We lay face-to-face, his already hard cock trapped between our bodies, pressing against my clit. He kissed me, and his mouth felt different, more possessive, as if it were claiming me. I liked it. I felt myself getting wet, my pussy softening, wanting his cock, leaking slick moisture. Instead of fucking me, he rocked against me, rubbing his hard cock against my clit, teasing both of us with the slippery pressure until the pleasure crested in a long, sweet orgasm. After, I collapsed against him, resting my head on his damp shoulder, knowing I never wanted to move.

"I haven't dry humped with a girl since I was a teenager," Tate said with a laugh after he kissed the top of my head.

"Is it still dry humping when we're in the tub?"

"Close enough."

We dried off and went back to bed, curling into each other as exhaustion finally hit and we fell asleep. The night was the best I’d ever had. I would have done it all over again, even knowing the nightmare we’d face when we woke up.