Beauty and the Billionaire (BILLIONAIRE BOYS CLUB NOVEL) (15 page)

And then she’d taken him all the way into her, her legs straddling his, her ass against his stomach.

His forehead pressed to her back and he groaned again, loudly. “Never thought I’d feel anything so good, Gretchen. Never.”

Her heart gave a little flip at the intensity in his voice. “The fun’s just starting,” she told him softly, and dug her hips in and rocked.

His hands clenched against her. “Ah!”

“Oh, Hunter. You’re so deep inside me. That feels unbelievable.”

“Gretchen,” he breathed raggedly.

She began to work her hips, moving slowly over him in a subtle rocking motion. She leaned forward, bracing her arms against the desk, and began to bounce her hips on him, controlling the depth of each stroke.

He groaned again, and her eyes flew to him in the mirror. He was contorted in something curiously close to ecstasy, the look on his face so open and raw and exposed that it made her heart hurt a little. When had she ever had a lover look at her quite like that?

Never.

“Touch me, Hunter,” she told him, continuing to work her hips over him. “I’ve got you. Just touch me.”

To her surprise, he pulled her back against him, until her body was flush against his chest. His hands grasped her breasts tightly, and she cried out in pleasure when his fingers teased her nipples, her head lolling back against his shoulder.

He kissed her neck even as he continued to roll her nipples. The sensation was so overwhelming that she forgot to move her hips, until he thrust into her, hard. She gasped again.

“Damn,” he groaned against her ear. “I think I like you being on top, but I want to be in charge for a bit.”

“I’m all yours,” she told him in a trembling voice.

He thrust hard again, and she whimpered, his fingers playing on her tight, aching nipples.

“Lean forward,” he told her in a voice rough with desire. “On the desk.”

Excitement pulsed through her, sending another wave of slickness through her sex. She bit her lip and tilted forward until she had her stomach pressed against the edge of the desk.

“Forward more,” he told her, rolling his chair back a few steps.

Their bodies parted, and she whimpered a protest at the loss of his cock deep inside her. But she leaned forward onto the cold, smooth surface of his desk, obedient.

She felt him come up behind her, and she tilted her head so she could watch them in the mirror. Hunter’s large body was positioned behind hers, and he pulled her thighs apart, stroking his fingers over her slick pussy, as if seeking her entrance. She cried out at the touch.

Then, Hunter’s cock was at her entrance and he thrust, hard. Gretchen’s legs were pinned against the desk, her breasts pressed against the wood. He drove into her again, and the motion was so hard that the entire desk shook. She cried out his nam
e again. Each thrust was rough with need, and he slammed into her at just the right angle that she could have sworn he was brushing against her G-spot. “Hunter,” she cried. “Oh, God, keep doing that!”

His hand anchored on her shoulder, the other on her hip, and then he was slamming into her over and over again, his thrusts wild and undisciplined. She was being taken by a man out of control.

It was glorious. She’d never been fucked so hard.

Every time he pounded into her an involuntary groan of pleasure escaped her throat. She was so close and he hadn’t even touched her clit. “Oh, God, Hunter, keep fucking me.”

“So . . . damn . . . naughty,” he told her between rough thrusts. “You’re such a fucking tease, Gretchen.”

“I am,” she moaned. “I like teasing you. You like it, too.”

He smacked her buttock in a light spank, and the crisp bite of pain mixed with pleasure was so startling that she sucked in a deep breath, her body tensing in surprise. She glanced up in the mirror and he seemed almost as surprised as her by his actions.

His hand quickly rubbed her buttock, as if soothing the smack away, and she lifted her hips again. “Need you, Hunter.”

He obeyed. With his next thrust, she began to come, a soft, weak cry of protest escaping her throat. So fast. She hadn’t wanted to come so fast. Ah, God, it was so incredibly good, though. Her nails dug into the wood of the table as he continued to pound into her and the orgasm wasn’t stopping. He was hitting her so hard and so rough that she just kept coming and coming, her pussy spasming around him and it felt so incredible. She called his name over and over again. “Hunter! Hunter! Hunter!”

“I can feel you coming, Gretchen. Ah, damn it. You’re so tight on my cock. God, I love that.” He slammed in again and rocked deep, as if wanting to sink into her forever. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Yes,” she moaned, still shuddering with the aftermath of her extended orgasm.

“
Fuck
,” he bit out one last time, and then his fingers dug into her hips, hard. She looked up in the mirror and his lips were parted, teeth bared, mouth drawn back in an exaggerated grimace made alarming by the scars on his face. If it was on anyone else, it would have been frightening to see.

But it was Hunter, and his eyes were closed with ecstasy, his shoulders heaving with his breaths, and she thought he was the most gorgeous man in the world.

He rocked into her one last time, slowly, sweetly, as if reluctant to have things end. “Ah, Gretchen,” he breathed, panting. “Ah, fuck me.”

“Again?” she teased with a shaky breath. “Give a girl a moment.”

He tugged her off the desk and collapsed back in his chair, dragging her back into his lap. His mouth began to kiss her neck. “God, that was incredible.”

“Mmmhmm, it sure was,” she said, very pleased.

His fingers slid between her legs and began to tease her clit. “I don’t want to stop touching you.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she stiffened, half wanting to drag his fingers away from her and half wanting him to never stop. “We only have the one condom, Hunter.”

“I’m still in you,” he reminded her. “And after my shower, I’m ordering Eldon to get a box of a hundred condoms.” His fingers continued to lightly play with her clit, spreading her thighs wide and continuing to slide back and forth, teasingly, slowly, over that sensitive bud of flesh.

“Oooh.” She bit her lip, trying not to bear down against his hand and failing miserably. Oh, God, he was such a quick learner. “A hundred condoms? You’re very optimistic about either my stamina or yours.”

“Both,” he said, and his teeth nibbled on her earlobe, sending shudders through her exhausted body. “I want you to come for me again. This time I want to watch.” He took her leg and dragged it over the arm of his chair, leaving her spread wide for the mirror.

She shuddered, moaning. She looked in the mirror at her flushed sex wet with arousal, his fingers teasing and circling that small bud, his cock still buried deep inside her. Her nipples were hard and thrusting, her face contorted with pleasure.

He slid a finger down to the well of her pussy, where her heat still gripped him tight within her. He ran a finger in the wetness there, then dragged it back to her clit, circling it, his eyes watching her reaction avidly in the mirror.

She came again, the orgasm exploding through her in waves that seemed to coincide with his fingers grazing over and over on her sensitized clit. Gretchen cried out, the sound ridiculous and garbled with the intensity of her orgasm.

“Beautiful,” he told her, and kissed her neck again.

And as they slid apart, Gretchen was wondering just exactly who had been seduced here. She’d come into the room expecting to throw him off, to seduce and tease her way into his virginal pants. Except that as soon as he’d gained a little confidence, he’d turned into a demon in the sack.

And holy hell, she was weak with desire . . . and she couldn’t wait to do that again.

Forget Lula and Benedict. They had nothing on Hunter Buchanan.

Chapter 8

After Gretchen had showered and taken a nap, she awoke with the realization that she’d completely forgotten to ask Hunter if he wanted to invite a few friends over.

She suspected it wouldn’t be an easy topic to broach with him. There had to be a reason why this big, gorgeous house was empty of everyone but the owner and sour Eldon. Still, a party would be a good thing. She could introduce him to her friends, and she could put Kat’s mind at ease about the situation.

And she could show him that the world wasn’t full of people who wanted nothing more than to leer at his face and stare at him.

She suspected Hunter didn’t leave the grounds much, just as she knew no one came to visit very often. Why he’d ever agreed to let her do the letters here, she had no idea, but she was grateful. It had brought them together, however briefly.

She’d have to approach the thought of a party with a lot of tact and subtlety.

***

Hunter wanted to do something for Gretchen, he decided as he ran off his tension on the treadmill.

She’d done so much for him—gave herself so freely and so sweetly—that he wanted to do something for her. But what? He was already giving her money through the book contract, and just handing a woman thousands of dollars after sleeping with her felt rather . . . crass. But money was the only thing he knew, other than property.

Property
. Hunter debated it for a moment, then shook his head and kept running. Most of the properties acquired by the Buchanan family were extremely expensive investment properties. He doubted Gretchen would know what to do if he handed her a twenty-million-dollar flat in Manhattan or a shopping mall in Poughkeepsie. And she might panic at the amount of money. He didn’t give a shit, but he suspected something like that might be alarming to a regular sort of person.

More roses? He gave her roses every day, though. It was part of their little ritual. He needed something that only he could give her. Something that would show her that he knew how she thought and what she would appreciate.

Something thoughtful.

Something that told her he loved her.

Because he was pretty sure he did. It was too soon to tell, and there was too much adrenaline rushing through his veins after sex to know that it wasn’t just post-coitus giddiness.

But Gretchen was perfect for him. He wanted to show her that he was perfect for her, too. There had to be something.

Hunter continued running. He’d come up with something eventually.

***

Gretchen hadn’t heard from Hunter all day. His schedule had been full of meetings, and despite her longing to spend time with him—which was ridiculous, really—he had to work, and she did, too.

Her morning rose had unfurled in its vase by dinnertime, and she leaned in and touched a velvety petal. Her work had been going slow, her thoughts distracted. Every single sexual act described in Victorian euphemism in the letters made her pulse race and her imagination automatically insert Hunter into her mental images.

It made working at a brisk pace near impossible. She had tight deadlines, so she couldn’t afford the distraction, and yet . . .

A knock at the door made Gretchen jump. “Come in.”

She turned just in time to see Hunter, and a smile curved her face. The smile disappeared a little when she caught sight of the somber suit he was dressed in as well as the bodyguard out in the hall. “Going out?”

“I have a . . . meeting.” He grimaced, the lines of his scars stark on his face. “I don’t know what time I’ll be back.”

“Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.” She gave him a playful mock-pout. “I guess I won’t stay up and wait for you, then.”

“Actually,” Hunter said, moving into the room. He stood before her and lightly brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “If you want to wait in my bed for me, I’d be happy to wake you up when I return.”

“Mmmm.” She leaned into his hand, and then lightly bit at the pad of his thumb. “We’ll see.”

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d totally be there.

Hunter’s gaze seemed to brighten, though he didn’t quite crack a smile. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Actually,” Gretchen began. “I wanted to talk to you about having a small get-together of some kind. My agent is really pushing for a small house party here, since it’d give me a good chance to spend time with my editor and tie in the project with the house.” She winced at his expressionless face. “Feel free to tell me no. I know this is your house.”

After a long moment, his finger brushed over her cheek again. “Would this please you?”

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable,” she told him truthfully. “But it’d get my agent and my editor off my back for a while, which would be nice. I figured you could invite your friends, though. Maybe that’d make things less painful.”

“I . . . am not good with strangers,” he admitted.

“Is it because of your face?” When his cheeks began to flush red, she shook her head. “You don’t have anything to be uncomfortable about. I find your scars incredibly sexy.”

He gave her a scathing look. “My scars are not attractive, Gretchen.”

“On anyone else they wouldn’t be,” she agreed, getting to her feet and wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned in and traced her tongue along the jagged line that distorted the shape of his mouth. “But on you, they arouse me.”

His hand slid to her ass and he gripped it tightly, then groaned low enough that only she could hear. “I can’t miss this meeting, Gretchen. But you’re making me want to leave early. If you want to have this party, it’s fine with me.”

“Are you sure?”

He leaned in and kissed her mouth, sucking on her lower lip in a way that made her quiver. Good God, where had he learned that? “As long as you’re in my bed tonight when I come home, you can have as many parties as you want.”

“I’ll be there,” she told him breathlessly, and collapsed in her chair when he gave her a scorching look and headed out the door.

Gretchen stared after him long after he’d disappeared, then glanced at the clock. How many hours until bedtime? Too many.

***

R
eese threw his cards down on the table in disgust. “I’m out.”

Hunter’s mouth curved into one of his rare smiles, and he raked the chips on the table toward him. “You should have stayed.”

Reese shook his head. “I can’t read you tonight. You’re being . . . weird.”

“Weird?” Griffin’s cultured voice cut through the smoky haze in the Brotherhood’s meeting room. He put down his cigar and peered at Hunter. “Weird like how?”

“I don’t know,” Reese said bluntly. He tossed back his drink and then shook his head. “I can’t put my finger on it. It’s different.”

“He’s happy,” Cade said.

All eyes turned to the blond man. Cade shrugged, grinning. “I’ve seen him smile twice tonight. He doesn’t scowl when someone suggests something, and he’s actually participated in every conversation and not all of it about business. He’s happy.”

At his side, Logan turned and stared at his friend.

Hunter ignored him, picking the cards up off the table and shuffling. He handed the deck over to Jonathan. “Your deal.” He kept his voice gruff, even though he was pretty sure his face was burning with embarrassment. Was he that obvious?

He glanced over at Jonathan. The other man was chewing on his cigar, his brow creased as if something troubled him. He shuffled and then tossed a chip into the center pile. “Everyone ante up.”

Jonathan didn’t look in Hunter’s direction.
Good.

Hunter glanced over at Logan, his oldest friend. Logan was staring at him with a suspicious gaze.

“What?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?” He tossed his chip into the center of the table and picked up a card that Jonathan threw his way. “Cade’s right. You’re downright cheerful.”

He frowned at Logan. “You’re one to talk. How’s Brontë?”

A grin flashed across Logan’s face. “In a state of crisis. She’s trying to take classes and expand her reading charity at the same time.” He picked another card up off the table and couldn’t keep the satisfied grin off his face. “And she keeps complaining that I won’t let her get any sleep.”

Hunter’s lips twitched with amusement. Brontë had a remarkably stubborn streak when it came to Logan’s bulldozing ways, and it was a good thing. The tiny woman would never let him walk all over her like he did his business partners, and it was good to see Logan so completely confounded and besotted and happy.

“It’s a woman, isn’t it?” Logan said quietly to Hunter. “That redhead you asked Brontë about. Greta?”

“Gretchen,” Hunter corrected, and then couldn’t hide his smile. “She’s the sister of your assistant.”

“Audrey has a sister?” Logan looked surprised, then recognition dawned. “Ah, right, the one Brontë stayed with for a time. Brontë likes her quite a bit.” His tone implied that anyone that Brontë liked, Logan approved of.

“She has two sisters,” Cade added. “Daphne lives out in LA.”

Hunter glanced at Cade. “You know them?”

Cade downed his drink, then shrugged. “Old family friends. We go back to childhood. You in on this hand?”

Hunter barely glanced at his cards, then tossed a few chips on the pile, feeling reckless. “Gretchen wants me to invite a few friends over,” he admitted in a gruff voice. “A party of some kind.”

“Does this mean we’re all invited?” Reese asked with a cocky grin.

“No,” Hunter said with a scowl.

Jonathan glanced at his cards, then folded. “I admit I’m curious to see this sister of Audrey’s.”

“You’ve seen one of them before,” Cade replied easily. “Daphne Petty.”

Hunter had no idea who that was, but Reese seemed impressed. “No way. Daphne Petty? The Daphne Petty? The one in the tabloids constantly?”

“Who’s Daphne Petty?” Logan frowned, then looked over at Hunter as if he’d have the answers. Hunter shrugged.

“An old childhood friend of mine,” Cade said. “And Audrey’s twin. She’s also—if rumor has it—heavily into drugs and alcohol, thanks to her career.”

“Her career,” Logan said blankly. “What career is this?”

“Singer. Pick up any magazine and you’ll probably see her sloppy drunk on the cover,” Reese said. “Holy crap. I never knew. Audrey looks nothing like her.”

Cade grimaced in agreement. “I know. Daphne’s not . . . well. Audrey’s much healthier.”

Hunter thought of Logan’s extremely curvy assistant and drew a blank at her face. All he knew was that she wore her hair in a bun and she was brisk and efficient and didn’t ask many questions.

She was nothing like Gretchen in that aspect, he thought with a hint of a smile touching his mouth again. Nosy, too inquisitive Gretchen who didn’t know the meaning “mind your own business” if it bit her on the chin. But he kind of loved that about her.

“Ah, hell,” Jonathan said in disgust. “He’s grinning again. Whatever it is, he’s got it bad.”

“Now I’m definitely coming to this party,” Reese said.

“You weren’t invited,” Hunter pointed out, glaring. The last person he wanted around Gretchen was Reese, the epitome of a ladies’ man.

“You’re in the Brotherhood, Hunter,” Cade said with a slap on the back. “You know our rules. We’re all invited. Even the obnoxious ones like Reese.”

Hunter grunted in resignation. The teasing died back down again and they continued on for hours.

When they were ready to leave, Hunter pulled Logan aside. “I need your advice.”

“Oh? On what?”

“On Gretchen. I want to do something for her. Something that shows her how much I appreciate her.”

Logan gave him a wry smile. “Don’t buy her a diner.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just something I did for Brontë that backfired in my face. What did you have in mind?”

“Something . . . thoughtful. Not jewelry. She’s not a jewelry type.”

“Well, you dodged a bullet there,” Logan said. “Then again, jewelry makes it easy. Brontë’s not much of a jewelry type, either. Gets mad every time I try to buy her a necklace. The trick is you have to find something that you can do for her that no one else can.”

Hunter shook his head. “I don’t know what that would be. Property? It’s too much. Cars? Anyone can give her a car.” He didn’t share that he didn’t want to give her a car because he was afraid she’d spend her days driving away from the house. He liked that she was stuck there with him.

“You said she likes books, right?”

“She’s a ghostwriter.”

Logan shrugged. “There’s your answer. Something with books. Is she successful?”

Hunter considered this. “I don’t know. She writes astronaut books or some such.” It had seemed like an odd match to him—his silly, outspoken Gretchen writing overly masculine space pulp, but he didn’t question it.

“So buy them. Buy all of them.” Logan considered a new cigar, then put it down with a grimace. “I shouldn’t smoke this. Brontë doesn’t like the smell.”

“Buy all of them?” Hunter asked.

“All the books. Get her on the bestseller list or something. That would probably make her happy.”

The more Hunter thought about it, the more he liked the idea. “I’ll get Eldon on it right away.”

***

Hun
ter arrived home late that evening, his head slightly muzzy from cigar smoke and alcohol. He’d lost a fortune tonight at the table, but he couldn’t stop grinning. For the first time, he was able to smile when Reese told one of his ridiculous stories about women. He’d simply ignored comments about his own relationship without feeling excluded by the group.

For the first time, he didn’t feel like a freak amongst his friends—the scarred, lonely virgin.

Scarred, yes, but lonely and virgin? No longer.

He took off his tie and tossed it to the ground, then shrugged off his jacket even as he headed down the hall to his bedroom. His cock grew hard at the thought of Gretchen waiting for him in his bed. Gretchen, soft with sleep, her bright red hair spilling across his pillow. Would she be naked, waiting for him? Her legs slightly open? He imagined dipping his fingers between them and stroking her awake, thinking of the soft, aching cries she’d make when he touched her there.

Suddenly his pants were too constricting. He stripped off his clothes while moving steadily across his room to his bed.