My Fair Billionaire(32)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Implicit in his statement was that if they let things continue the way they had started, she and Peyton could have not just one but two nights like that. But was it enough? And wanting him more now, would it be even harder to let him go this time?

She didn’t have a chance to form an answer to either question, because Peyton lowered his head and kissed her again. He was more careful this time, tilting to avoid her hat, brushing his lips gently over hers once, twice, three times, four. With every stroke of his mouth, Ava’s heart raced more wildly, her temperature shot higher, and her thoughts melted away. The next thing she knew, she was framing Peyton’s face in her gloved hands and kissing him back with all the tenderness he was showing her.

But just as before, that deliberation quickly escalated. She pushed her hands through his hair to cup one over his nape and the other along his throat. Then both hands were skimming under his lapels to push his jacket from his shoulders. He shrugged the garment off, then moved his hands to the top of her dress, unfastening the first of its many buttons. She wanted to undo the ones on his shirt, but her gloves hindered her once more. She pulled her mouth away from his to attempt their removal again, only to have him stop her.

“I want them off so I can touch you,” she said.

“And I want them on,” he told her. He grinned in a way that was downright salacious. “At least the first time. And the little hat, too.”

Her pulse quickened at the prospect of a second—and perhaps even a third—time. Just as there had been that night when they were teenagers, even if the third time had been thanks to Peyton’s gentle touches, because she’d been too tender to accommodate him again. Touching was good. She liked touching. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed such intimacies with anyone. In a way, she supposed she hadn’t truly enjoyed them since that night with Peyton—at least not as much as she had with him. When a woman’s first time was with someone like him, it left other guys at a disadvantage.

Then the second part of his statement came clear, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “Just how long have you been thinking about this?”

“All afternoon.”

“But I’m having trouble unbuttoning anything with them on,” she told him. She hesitated to add that that was mostly because his touch made her tremble all over.

“Oh, that’s okay,” he assured her. “I can unbutton anything you—or I—want.”

He dropped his fingers to the second button on her dress and deftly slipped it free, then moved on to the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. As he went, he moved his body slowly forward, gently urging her toward the kitchen door. Then into the hallway. Then to her bedroom door. Then into her bedroom. He reached her hem just as they arrived at her bed and, with the release of the final button, he spread her dress open. Beneath it, she wore a white lace demicup bra and matching panties. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the latter and eased them down over her hips, then gently pushed her down to a sitting position on the bed.

Ava started to scoot backward to make room for him, too, but he gripped her thighs and halted her.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he murmured.

He started pulling down her panties again, over her thighs and knees, kneeling to push them along her calves and over her ankles. Instead of rising again, however, he moved between her legs, pushing her thighs apart. When Ava threaded her white-gloved hands through his hair, he gripped one of her wrists to place a kiss at the center of her palm. She closed her eyes, feeling the kiss through the fabric, through her skin, down to her very core. Then she felt his mouth on her na**d thigh, and she gasped, her eyes flying open. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs, but he caught one in each hand and opened her wider. Then he moved his mouth higher, and higher, and higher still, until he was tasting her in the most intimate way he could.

Pleasure pooled in her belly as he darted his tongue against her, rippling outward to send ribbons of deliciousness echoing through her. Over and over, he savored her, relished her, aroused her. Little by little, those ribbons began to coil tight. Closer and closer they drew, until she didn’t think she would be able to tolerate the chaos surging through her. Then, just when she thought she would shatter, those coils sprang free and she fell back onto the bed, arms spread wide, surrendering as one wave after another engulfed her.

Delirious, panting for breath, she somehow managed to lift her head enough to see Peyton stand. As he moved his hands to the buttons of his shirt, his grin was smug and satisfied. As much as she had enjoyed the last—how long had she been lying here? Moments? Months? An eternity?—she enjoyed watching him undress even more. He did it methodically, intently, his eyes never leaving hers, casting his shirt to the floor and then reaching for the waistband of his trousers.

He might have been a workaholic, but he clearly also took time to work out. His torso was roped with muscle and sinew, and his shoulders and biceps bunched and flexed as he jerked his belt free and lowered his zipper. Beneath, he wore a pair of silk boxers Ava had been in no way instrumental in encouraging him to buy. So either he cared more about undergarments than he did about what he wore over them, or else he wanted to impress someone. She remembered he would be meeting soon with a woman who’d been handpicked for him. And she pushed the thought away. He was with her now. That was all that mattered. For now.

When he stepped out of his boxers, he was full and ready for her. Ava caught her breath at the sight of him, so confident, so commanding, so very, very male. He lay alongside her and draped an arm over her waist, then lowered his head to hers, pushed back the netting on her hat, and kissed her deeply. She curled her fingers around his neck and pulled him closer, vying momentarily for possession of the kiss before giving herself over to him completely. He covered her breast with one hand, kneading gently. Then he followed the lace of her bra until he found the front closure, unsnapping it easily. After that, his bare hand was on her bare flesh, warm and insistent, his skin exquisitely rough.

He moved his mouth from hers, dragging kisses over her cheek, across her forehead, along her jaw. Then lower still, along her neck and collarbone, between her br**sts. Then on her breast, tracing the tip of his tongue along the lower curve before opening wide over the sensitive peak. As he drew her into his mouth, he flattened his tongue against her nipple, tasting her there as intimately as he had everywhere else. Those little coils began to tighten inside her again, eliciting a groan of need.