The Billionaire's Claim_Possession Page 3

  He isn’t done with the foreplay, though. His hands stroke every inch of my legs, starting from my ankles without bothering to take my heels off. His lips and tongue trail closely behind, heating my blood.

  I say things—mindless things I don’t quite understand. Keep going, kiss me, love me, touch me. My body adores his caresses, craves them.

  When he spreads my legs and looks at the wet flesh between them, I’m too far gone to feel embarrassed. His roughening breathing tells me he loves what he sees.

  “You’re soaked,” he says, his voice guttural with lust.

  “I know. Hurry.” I put my hands on his wrists, assuming he’ll push inside.

  Instead, he dips his head and runs the flat of his tongue along my wetness. Need jolts through me like lightning; air sticks in my lungs like thick syrup. He licks and sucks, his clever tongue relentless. His thumb finds my opening, dipping inside briefly and driving me wild. It feels so good, but it isn’t enough. He pulls my clit in his mouth while pushing a finger inside me.

  A mouth down there feels so different from what I imagined. It’s wicked hot and dirty and mind-blowing. I can’t help but lift my hips toward him, and he growls his approval. His finger’s thick, rough, nothing like my slender ones. He pushes another one into me, stretching me. I gasp at how full I feel, how every nerve ending in my body is coming alive.

  “You’re really tight,” he rasps before returning to my clit.

  A few licks later, an unbearable pleasure spirals in my body. My back arched, my legs spread wide, I come harder than I ever have, the bliss Dominic’s giving me nothing like what I can elicit with my own hands.

  But before my breathing can return to its normal tempo, he pushes me again, his face buried between my thighs. Another climax shoots through me, and I sob, my fingers digging into his hair. When he doesn’t stop, I beg, crying pleasure-slurred words. I can’t decide if I’m trying to pull him closer or push him away as waves of euphoria sweep through me, one after another. He’s harder on me than I’ve ever been on myself, wringing more climaxes out of me than I thought possible. After what has to be my fourth—or fifth?—orgasm, I think I’m finished, but then he pushes another finger into me, and my spine bends as another mind-destroying volcano of bliss erupts through me.

  I vaguely hear something tear. He moves up, kissing me deeply. His lips taste slightly salty and slick, and I clutch his shoulders, then thread my fingers into his sweat-damp hair.

  His dick probes at my opening, and I moan softly, urging him on. I want him to share the pleasure I’ve felt, am still feeling. His mouth fused over mine, he drives inside, and my soft gasp of pain is lost in the kiss.

  He’s impossibly thick and big inside me. It’s nothing like his fingers. His cock pulses, and my tightly stretched pussy throbs in response.

  “Liza… Is this…your first time?” he asks in a strained voice.

  “Uh-huh,” I say, breathless, loving the feeling of him hard and thick and throbbing inside me. It’s intimate as hell, makes me realize how close I can be with a man. I don’t want him to stop over some weird honorable sentiment—because Dominic is exactly the type to be noble about stuff like that—so I clench around him hard.

  “But it’s over now. Let’s move. Hard. Fast. Delicious.” I lick his lips.

  A deep groan tears from his throat, and he pulls out and shoves back into me in a slow, spine-tingling rhythm. Every time he’s fully seated, the pleasure builds. My breathing grows shallow, and I pant, kissing him.

  I pull my knees up, and he thrusts more deeply. Breath sticks in my throat, and he grinds into me, stimulating my clit with every drive.

  My vision dims for a moment as the most powerful orgasm of all wrecks me, my throat going hoarse from screaming.

  “Liza, Liza, Liza…” he groans as he shudders, emptying inside me.

  I wrap my arms around him as he heaves, enjoying the closeness. I didn’t realize sex could be this…intimate, leaving me feeling slightly vulnerable. Thankfully, he also makes me feel protected…almost cherished.

  He lifts his head when his breathing settles. He starts to say something, but changes his mind and goes to the bathroom first, shamelessly displaying his glorious nude body. Of course I look.

  “You should’ve said something,” he says after returning to bed and pulling me closer.

  I shrug. “Why? Would it have made any difference?”

  He frowns.

  I place a finger on the furrowed spot between his eyebrows. “You didn’t announce your experience, so I don’t know why I should.” I place a hand on his muscled chest. “We both enjoyed it, and I sure wouldn’t have stopped if it had been your first time.”

  He chuckles, his arm wrapped around my waist. He looks into my eyes. “It’s just that you’re twenty-one and sexy and beautiful as hell. I wasn’t exactly expecting to be your first.”

  I smile softly. He has no idea I handed him a fake ID, and I don’t want to come clean. I’m leaving in two days anyway—less than two.

  He runs a warm hand along my spine, pulling the sheet over us. “Stay the night,” he whispers.

  I look into his eyes. It’s way past midnight, but nobody’s going to care if I don’t make it back. They’ll just assume I started my birthday celebration early. “Okay.” I snuggle close. As my eyelids grow heavier, I murmur, “I’m glad it was you.”

  Chapter Six

  Dominic

  When I open my eyes in the morning, Liza’s still deep in sleep. I gently push away some strands of hair that have fallen over her lovely face. She looks so peaceful, her relaxed mouth closed, the slanting morning sunlight on her eyelashes forming shadows in the shape of crescent moons on her cheeks. She breathes so softly, it seems like she’s holding her breath.

  She was totally sexual every time we woke up during the night and reached for each other. I didn’t want to push into her again since it was her first time, so she suggested we try “other things.”

  When I asked her where she learned all those other things, she primly said, “Just because I was a virgin until tonight doesn’t mean I’m ignorant. I’ve seen porn.”

  A corner of my lips lifts at the memory. As much as I hate to leave, I climb out of bed and get dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. I need to feed her, and I only have a couple of eggs, ketchup, mustard and mayo in the fridge. She deserves more than that.

  The grocery run doesn’t take long. I bring home two dozen eggs, cheese, berries, bacon, whipped cream cheese and assorted bagels and croissants. Fancier than what I normally eat, but Liza’s worth the splurge.

  When I get home, Liza’s up. Her hair’s damp, and her face is scrubbed clean from a recent shower. Instead of the clothes from the night before, she’s put on one of my shirts. It hangs like a dress, and I like the way it looks on her way too much.

  Mine.

  She said she wants to call me that, and I want to reciprocate. It isn’t like me to be so possessive, but Liza’s showing me maybe I’ve been wrong about myself in more ways than one.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” she says, gesturing at the shirt.

  “Nope.”

  “I put my dirty stuff in there.”

  So that explains the glossy Gap bag on the counter.

  “What did you get?” she says, pouring two glasses of OJ and eyeing the brown paper bag I’m holding.

  “Some breakfast.” I rattle off what’s inside.

  At the mention of bagel and cream cheese, her eyes sparkle. “Whipped?”

  “Yup.”

  “You’re my hero.” She takes a big sip of her juice.

  I have some with her. “Need any aspirin or anything?”

  “For what?”

  “Post-coital soreness? A hangover?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. I feel fine.” Her grin widens. “Better than fine.”

  After placing a kiss on her forehead—if I kiss her lips, we’ll never get to breakfast—I pull out a pan to fry the bacon, but she puts a hand on my forearm. “
I’m not in the mood for it.”

  “Not in the mood for bacon?” I raise both of my eyebrows. Any other girl, I might’ve thought diet, but not Liza. Girls on diets don’t drink the way she did. “What are you? An alien?”

  She chuckles. “Is this going to be a problem?” She swings her hand back and forth between us.

  I frown in feigned consideration. “I don’t know… Bacon rejection is pretty serious. You aren’t the woman I thought you were.”

  Something crosses her eyes, but then she looks away. “You’re welcome to my bacon,” she says. “I just want a bagel.”

  I let her pick her bagel first. I grabbed a bunch of different types since I don’t know what she likes—something I want to rectify. She takes an egg bagel, and I get a plain one.

  I cut and toast them, hers first. After spreading a generous amount of cream cheese, she takes a big bite, then moans around the food.

  The satisfied sound causes my dick to swell as though we didn’t roll around in bed for hours last night.

  Five orgasms—a new record.

  Right now, my half-hard cock says we should go for six.

  She swallows. “I haven’t had a good bagel since I came home.”

  “How come?” I want her fed before seducing her again.

  “Mom’s not a fan of carbs.” Exasperation crosses her face. “She thinks they’ll make me blow up.”

  “Pssh.” Liza is model slim with curves in all the right places. Her mother’s gotta be crazy to think she needs to watch her diet. “Eat what you like.”

  Liza polishes off the last bite. “Seriously? You aren’t going to scream and run the other way if I blow up like…” She spreads her arms, elbows straight.

  “More of you to kiss and lick.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “That’s nice. And such a smooth line.”

  “It’s not a line.”

  And it’s actually not. I mean it. I’ve had beautiful girls, awkward girls, confident girls, bratty girls, sweet girls, but none of them measure up to Liza. She has the power to make all other women fade away, and it has nothing to do with her weight or appearance. It’s something as fundamental and innate as the air we share.

  If I were the woo-woo type, I would say it’s her soul.

  Liza looks away for a moment, biting into her lip. There’s a fleeting sadness in her that comes and goes, and I don’t like it. I raise a hand, trace the curve of her cheekbone with my thumb and then, very carefully, cradle her face. She places a hand over mine, her eyes fluttering closed. She looks so vulnerable, so lovely.

  Before I can pull her in for a kiss, she takes a deep breath and gives me a smile brilliant enough to make the gears my head stutter. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Her phone rings, and she glances at it. A frown creases her brow. “I have to go. My ride’s here.”

  Slight panic and denial mix together. I don’t want her to go.

  If she leaves now, this is the end.

  She bites her lower lip again, then hesitates for maybe a fifth of a second—the amount of time it takes to fall for someone.

  She takes a napkin and jots down ten digits in neat handwriting. “Call me.”

  After placing a kiss on my cheek, she walks out, leaving only the scent of my soap behind.

  Chapter Seven

  Elizabeth

  After the taxi takes me back to the bar, I drive my Maserati to Uncle Salazar’s mansion. I prefer to stay with Marcella in the three-bedroom condo her parents leased for her, but that wasn’t an option when I returned to the States.

  “Marcella?” Grandma Shirley snorted. “That girl and her family are beneath you, Elizabeth. You’ll come stay with me. There are plenty of empty bedrooms.” She’s been living in a small mansion since her husband’s death.

  I didn’t bother to look to Mom for help since I know where her loyalty lies.

  “You should do as your grandmother says. She knows best, and Marcella just isn’t the right kind of friend.” Of course, Mom knows this despite never having met Marcella. “You can do better.” She placed a sycophantic hand on Grandma’s shoulder.

  At the end, it was Uncle Salazar who said I ought to stay with him since his place is bigger—by ten bedrooms. “A teenager doesn’t want to be under somebody’s eye all the time, Mother,” he told Grandma. “Even if it is her doting grandmother.”

  Grandma protested…a little. She adores her only son—even though he always does whatever he wants, consequences be damned.

  All things considered, Uncle Salazar’s place isn’t terrible. It’s huge, so I never run into him or Aunt Ceinlys. The household staff takes care of everything, and nobody cares what I do.

  But on a day like this…

  I cringe at the sight of a red Lamborghini as I pull up to the mansion. The last person I want to run into is my oldest—and coldest—cousin, Dane, who can make me feel like I’m encased in a block of ice with a single glance. He probably doesn’t like me much, either… I’ve disappointed Grandma. He doesn’t fawn over her the way Mom does, but he adores her.

  He doesn’t live at the ridiculously large mansion, but he might be inside. He probably came by to say hello to his parents. Actually, he probably has some business to discuss with his father. He isn’t the type to call or visit otherwise.

  After parking my car next to his Lamborghini, I run out. My high heels click against the stone steps, sounding like mini firecrackers. Still no Dane.

  Yes!

  I yank the door open and run smack into a hard chest.

  “Ack!”

  I rebound like a ball, tipping backward. A strong—but not particularly gentle—hand grips my arm and sets me right.

  “Watch where you’re going,” comes the unmistakable voice.

  I force a smile, as I look up at Dane’s ever-unfriendly face. He’s in a bespoke suit as usual, his dark hair perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. Outwardly, he’s a perfect gentleman—if you don’t look too closely at his icy blue eyes, which make you want to shiver. Others in the family claim he has ice in his veins, but I’ve always thought there’s more than cold water to him.

  He has to be a reptile.

  His gaze sweeps me up and down. “Wild night out?”

  A nervous giggle bubbles up, but I manage to clear my throat instead. “Pretty good. I was out with Marcella.” I don’t mention Vanessa since she doesn’t need crap from her oldest brother.

  Disapproval turns his face even more remote.

  I stare at his chest, noting the buttons on his shirt are pearly white and semi-translucent. It’s amazing that he can make me squirm faster than Dad. But then, Dad could never manage calm, icy disapproval the way Dane can.

  “She’s bad business,” Dane says.

  I’m getting tired of people disapproving my choice of friends, but I’m not brave enough to tell Dane off. “Okay,” I mumble.

  “And you should dress better in public.”

  I look down. Yeah. It’s sort of obvious I’m trying to pass a man’s shirt off as a dress. I clear my throat. Again. “Right.” Mom.

  A sudden thought lights up my mind. I should’ve given the shirt back to Dominic. I’m flying to Italy tomorrow evening. Maybe he’ll call me, but I can’t take a taxi to his place or drive my Maserati. What excuse am I going to give him about my car?

  Dane starts to walk past me. “Can I borrow a few thousand bucks?” I blurt out.

  “Define ‘a few.’”

  “Um…” I hesitate for a moment, berating myself for asking Dane, of all people. When I need something, I put it on my credit card. If it’s over the limit, I call one of my parents’ assistants. If I don’t want to bug my parents—and I don’t want to involve them at all—I turn to Mark, who’s a helluva lot sweeter and more fun than Dane. “Eight?”

  “For what?”

  “Um. A car…?”

  Is eight thousand enough to get me a cheap car like college kids drive?

  I have no idea. The Maserati was a gift from Dad when I tu
rned sixteen. Not an indulgence, but a gesture to show Mom, who was his Wife Number One, that he’s rich enough to throw that kind of money around and not miss it. Isn’t she sorry she divorced him instead of shrugging off “one minor indiscretion”?

  “What’s wrong with your Maserati?” Dane asks.

  “Nothing.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  I shift my weight back and forth. “I just wanted to buy a normal car that won’t stand out so much.”

  “And you’ve come to this decision after having the Maserati for over a year?”

  “I can pay you back.”

  “You’re going to do more than that. You’re going to owe me one.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

  He shakes his head. “Never say ‘fine’ when somebody says you’re going to owe them one. The answer should always be ‘go to hell.’”

  Whatever, I think, but don’t dare say it out loud. The Reptile might not give me the money.

  “Even if I gave you the cash, you still wouldn’t be able to buy a car anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re seventeen, Elizabeth.”

  I stick my tongue out…almost. “Wrong. I’ve been eighteen since ten hours ago.”

  “Ah, that’s right. Your birthday’s today.”

  “So what are you going to give me?”

  He gives me a look that says I’ve lost my mind. “Eight grand not enough?”

  “But I’m going to owe you one!” Shaking his head, he starts to walk away, and I trot after him. “Hey, why don’t you help me with car shopping?”

  “Because I have better things to do.”

  “If you’re with me, no sleazy salesman’s going to try to rip me off. Please? What if they try to sell me a lemon?”

  He comes to an abrupt stop. I almost bump into him, but catch myself in time. He turns and levels his gaze on me. “Call my assistant.”

  “Thanks, Dane. You’re the best.”

  “Not bad for a reptile, I know.”

  I choke, unable to decide if he’s joking from his absolutely flat, emotionless delivery. I swear I’ve never called him that when he could hear. Before I can recover, he climbs into his Lamborghini and leaves.