My Fair Billionaire(33)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Peyton seemed to understand, because he levered himself above her and returned his mouth to hers. As he kissed her, he entered her, long and hard and deep. Ava sighed at the feeling of completion that came over her. Never had she felt fuller or more whole. She opened her legs wider to accommodate him and he gave her a moment to adjust. Then he withdrew and bucked his h*ps forward again. Ava cried out at the second thrust, so perfect was the joining of their bodies. When Peyton braced himself on his forearms, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he propelled himself forward again. She lifted her h*ps to meet him, and together they set a rhythm that started off leisurely before building to a forceful crescendo.

They came together, both crying out at the fierceness of their release. Peyton rolled onto his back, bringing Ava with him so that she was the one on top, gazing down at him. His breathing was as rapid and ragged as her own, his skin as slick and hot with perspiration. But he smiled as he looked at her, moving a hand to the back of her head to unpin her hat and free her hair until it tumbled around them both.

He was so beautiful. So intoxicating. Such a generous, powerful lover. She’d been thinking she would be able to handle him better as an adult. She’d thought her hormones had calmed down to the point where she would be in control of herself this time. She’d thought she would be immune to the adolescent repercussions of her first time with Peyton.

Wrong. She had been so wrong. He was more potent now than he had ever been, and she was even more susceptible to him. Her control had evaporated the moment he covered her mouth with his. The repercussions this time would be nothing short of cataclysmic. Because where she had responded to Peyton before as a girl who knew nothing of love and little of the workings of her own body, now she responded to him as a woman who understood those things too well. But it wasn’t the physical consequences she might worry about in a situation like this—he had slipped on a condom before entering her. It was her heart. A part of her that was considerably more fragile.

And a part that was far more prone to breaking.

Nine

The second time Peyton awoke in Ava’s bedroom, he was just as disoriented as he’d been the first time. Only this time it wasn’t due to overindulgence in alcohol. This time, it was due to overindulgence in Ava.

Like that first time, he lay facedown, but today he was under the sheet instead of on top of it. And today he was sharing Ava’s pillow, because his, he vaguely recalled, had been thrust under her h*ps during a particularly passionate moment, only to be cast blindly aside when he turned her over. Her face was barely an inch from his, and her eyes were closed in slumber, one of them obscured by a wayward strand of dark auburn. She was lying on her side, the sheet down around her waist, her arm folded over her na**d br**sts, her hands burrowed under the pillow. She looked tumbled and voluptuous and sexy as hell, and he swelled to life, just looking at her.

Probably shouldn’t bother her with that again, though. Yet. A body did need some kind of refueling before it undertook those kinds of gymnastics a second—third? Fourth? They all got so jumbled together—time.

As carefully as he could, he climbed out of bed, halting before going anywhere to make sure he hadn’t woken her up. Coffee. He needed coffee. She doubtless would, too, once she was conscious. He located his boxers and trousers and pulled both on, shrugged into his shirt without buttoning it, then made his way to the kitchen. He still couldn’t get over the smallness of this place and wondered again where Ava’s main residence was. Wondered again, too, why she was so determined that he not find out where it was. Maybe she would take him home with her, to her real home, now that the two of them had—

He halted the thought right there. There was no reason for him to think today would be any different from yesterday, especially considering the history the two of them shared. The last time he and Ava had spontaneously combusted like that, not a single thing had changed from the day before to the day after. They’d both gone right back to their own worlds and returned to their full-blown antagonism. Nothing had been different. Except that they’d both known just how explosive—and how amazing—things could be between them. Physically, anyway.

Which, now that he thought about it, might have been why they had both been so determined to return to business as usual. It had scared the crap out of him when he was a teenager, the way he and Ava came together that night. Not just because he hadn’t understood why it had happened or how it could have been so unbelievably good, but because of how much he’d wanted it to happen again. That had probably scared him most of all. Somehow he’d known he would never have enough of Ava. And talk about forbidden fruit. He’d had to work even harder after that night to make sure he stayed at arm’s length.

It hadn’t made any sense. He’d still disliked her, even after the two of them made love…ah, he meant had sex. Hadn’t he? He’d still thought she was vain, shallow and snotty. Hadn’t he? And she’d made clear she still didn’t like him, either. Hadn’t she? So why had he, every day during the rest of his senior year, fantasized about being with her again? Sometimes he’d even fantasized about being with her in ways that had nothing to do with sex—taking in a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Patio Theater or sledding in Dan Ryan Woods. Hell, he’d even entertained a brief, lunatic idea about inviting her to the Emerson senior prom.

Sex, he told himself now, just as he’d told himself then. He’d been consumed by thoughts of Ava after that night because he associated her with sex after that night. He hadn’t been a virgin then, but he hadn’t seen nearly as much action as his reputation at Emerson had made others believe. Adolescent boys in the throes of testosterone overload weren’t exactly picky when it came to sex with a willing participant. They didn’t have to like the person they hooked up with. They only had to like the physical equipment that person had. Hell, even grown men weren’t all that discriminating.

In high school, with Ava, it had just been one of those weird chemical reactions between two people who had nothing in common otherwise. Who would never have anything in common otherwise. Great sex. Bad rapport. There was no reason to think last night had changed that. Yeah, the two of them got along better these days than they had in high school—usually. But that was only because they’d matured and developed skills for dealing with people they didn’t want to deal with. Sure, they could burn up the sheets in a sexual arena. But in polite society? Probably still best to stay at arm’s length.