Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance (39 page)

This time, he was silent and strong and in absolute control, pleasuring me with his sure, gentle touch until I wanted more than anything to scream.

I tried to slow my breathing, tried to think – but thinking when Devon’s hands were on me was next to impossible.

As he rubbed my hard nipples and nibbled down to my shoulder, I felt his powerful erection pressing against me from behind, hard and hot and demanding. I reached back for it with my right hand, trying for a little control of my own – but he caught me.

One second his left hand was on my breasts, and in the next it was clamped onto my wrist like an iron vise; he was the one in control, and I lay pinned against his body, helpless to move and helpless to stop the fresh flush of wetness and desire deep inside me.

Then he eased his right hand away from my breasts, traced his fingers down my ribs and over the curve of my hip, and reached between my legs.

He slipped one finger, just one, between my moist folds, as I opened my legs to make the way easier for him. Up through the soft valleys, circling my opening without quite entering me, he stroked and teased through my wetness until without warning, he rubbed his fingertip over my clit.

I jerked and shuddered, eyes closed. I waited, breathing hard, desperate to feel that shivering thrill of pleasure again, any second now – and then he pulled his hand away.

I loved him and I so wanted to kill him.

Before I could yell or hit him or just beg him to get on with it, Devon sat up. In one swift motion, he reached down and pulled my sweat-drenched t-shirt up my body and off over my head. He tossed it away into the darkness, and turned me onto my back with his strong hands. I opened my legs, welcoming him, and then he was on me, the weight of his body pressing me down into the mattress.

He pulled back, moved lower and lower, and planted a kiss on my mound, just above the one spot where I absolutely, more than anything, needed to be kissed. I pushed up toward him, trying to draw him in, trying to get some special attention for my neglected clit, but nothing doing.

Instead, the big adorable tease kissed and licked and nuzzled his way back up my body, running his powerful hands over every one of my curves and tasting me in sensitive spots I didn’t even know I had.

After his sweet, endless journey up my body, Devon laid his head, just for a moment, on the center of my chest. Was he waiting, drawing out the suspense and testing my nerves? Or was he just resting, resting and listening to the thundering beat of my heart?

I felt his ear and his stubbled cheek pressing against me, and there was something so strange and intimate and sweet about feeling the tiny brush of his eyelashes against my skin as he turned his head and kissed me in the deepest part of the valley between my breasts.

Then I made a sound I’d never heard before as his warm, wet mouth fastened onto my right nipple.

He sucked gently at first, working his tongue over and around the sensitive tip, his lips pressed to the areola, his mouth drawing me in as I whimpered with pleasure, pleasure and the need for him to do so much more.

He answered me. He answered me by bearing down and suckling hard, pulling my swollen nipple deep into his mouth as I bucked and moaned beneath him. His mouth worked at the stiff, aching peak, demanding and hungry, and every time his rough, wet tongue rubbed over the tip, I felt an answering pulse in my clit.

I could have cried with frustration and need when his mouth left my breast and I felt the cool air of the room on my wet nipple – but before I could make a single sound or even take a single breath, his mouth was on my other breast, and I forgot everything.

He drew the flat of his tongue all around the swell of my left breast, leaving a warm, moist trail over my skin. When he came around to the nipple, he just teased it at first – blowing on it, flicking it with just the tip of his tongue, barely brushing his lips over it – until I decided that was all the torture I could take. I grabbed a handful of his hair and I pulled his head down, forcing his mouth to my nipple, because there’s only so much teasing a girl can stand.

And just like before, he answered me, giving every bit of what I wanted. He sucked and pulled and worked on my left nipple, probing and tasting with his tongue while I whimpered, helpless and needy beneath the power of his mouth and his body. He suckled, long and deep, and I groaned; he nibbled the hard tip with just the lightest touch of his teeth, and I fisted my hands in the sheets, pushing my hips up to him and moaning for more.

I needed him inside me.

He needed that too, needed to bury himself deep within my body; I could feel it from the way his massive cock stirred against my thigh, hard and hungry, ready to take me.

It happened so fast, and it could never happen fast enough.

Devon’s mouth left my breast. He sat up, leaned past me, and I heard the drawer of a bedside table slide open in the darkness. The sound of ripping foil followed, and I knew he was pulling a condom down over the length of his cock, the cock that would soon possess me.

He reached down between my legs, slipped a finger through my folds, and rubbed my own wetness over the round bud of my clit. Desire lanced through me and I spread my legs wide, wanting him; then he kneeled between my knees, I felt the head of his shaft press against my opening, and with a single powerful buck of his hips, he was inside me.

It was a single perfect moment, and in a just world, it would have lasted forever. I reveled in it, lived for the feeling of every inch of his strength sliding into me, stretching me wide as wordless moans of pleasure came from my throat. He took me, surging deeper with each thrust, burning down into my core, until I shattered beneath him.

I came like someone who was drowning, gasping and shaking as release tore through every nerve in my body. Exhausted, I clung tight to this man who meant more than anything to me, burying my face in his neck and quivering in his arms as each rippling aftershock of pleasure ran through me. 

Endless seconds passed, and then I felt one final spasm as deep within, I tightened around his thrusting cock. He responded with his own helpless, shuddering release, bucking his hips against me and groaning as he spent his seed inside me.

Devon sank down onto me, and I accepted his weight with a sigh. My breasts flattened beneath his broad chest, he murmured something I couldn’t make out into the hollow of my shoulder, and I cradled him with my body, content beyond words. Sure, it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to breathe with that much man sprawled over me, sated and utterly relaxed, but so what?

As he drifted deeper into sleep, he tightened his arms around me.

I’m not going anywhere, big guy.

26. Ask Me Anything

Breakfast happened at noon, but that was Devon’s fault.

Hey, I got up at ten, okay? I sat up, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, all ready to get dressed and organized and awake – but then a certain tall gorgeous slab of sleepy man slipped his arm around me and pulled me back against his fabulous array of muscles that wouldn’t quit. His hands started wandering around my curves, and … um, yeah.

I tried again around eleven-ish, and that time I got as far as the shower – but a few minutes into the lathering stage, someone who shall remain nameless but sexy as hell appeared behind me, pinned me against the tiled wall, and ... well, let me just point out that there was enough room in there for an entire football team to take a shower, and we made use of every inch of the space.

We ate our lunchtime breakfast in a small staff break room near the third floor kitchen. The room was pretty similar to the one where we’d had our impromptu ice cream confessional the night before, and as a sixty-something woman with an accent I couldn’t place put heaping plates of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of us, I wondered about that.

“Devon, do your household people resent it at all when you keep invading their personal space like this? What with my being an actual employed person and all, I can testify that people usually don’t like it when the boss shows up in whatever safe little corner they use to escape from work for a while.”

“Well, let’s ask Masina, shall we?”

Devon set down his glass of frosted orange juice and turned to the woman who’d served us. She was now sitting at the far end of the table with a cup of steaming black coffee, a stubby little pencil, and a sudoku magazine. She barely glanced up when the big guy spoke to her in a long stream of fractured syllables belonging to some language that I couldn’t even begin to identify.

She started nodding before he even finished with whatever the hell he was saying, and turned to me with a calm little grandma smile.

“Mr. Killane eat often with us, he is good boy – we take care of him, feed him and look always out for him. Miss, you be nice to him, yes? Always the girls from the TV, they were mean to him – act nice but mean, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand – and I promise that any slinky TV sluts who get within six feet of the big guy will get a taste of my fist on their perfect little faces, okay?”

She smiled, turned to Devon, and fired off another round of Mystery Language commentary. Then she returned to her sudoku with a sigh.

“Do I want to know what she just said?”

Devon paused with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth. “She chose to advise me that you are a kind and lovely girl, and that if I am not nice to you, she will never feed me or talk to me ever again.”

He washed down the eggs with a swallow of orange juice, and then showed his inherent resolve and strength of character by resisting the bacon long enough to add, “In truth, Ashley, I have always been far more comfortable around servants than executives.”

“For somebody who’s earned kazillions by knowing how to handle executives, that seems a little odd – how did you come to be Eat-In-The-Kitchen Boy, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“You may always ask me anything, sweet Ashley. I may not always answer, depending on my many moods and insecurities, but always feel free to ask me whatever you wish.”

“Then while we’re at it, how did you also become Mr. Language Guy? I had no idea you spoke German until you and Michael got all chatty in the diner that night, and just now you sprang some more mad language skills on me – what’s up with that? Did you set out to learn that kind of thing because you figured it would be helpful for international business dealings or whatever?”

I looked down at my bacon, realized with a twinge of horror that it had been getting cold while I ran my mouth, and got to work on its greasy goodness. Devon set about cutting his strips of yumminess into unnecessary chunks with his fork, and then toyed with the crunchy mess while he answered me.

“As it happens, both of your questions are resolved by the same circumstance. During the years I lived in my father’s household, some of my least unhappy moments were spent in the company of servants – when I was fortunate the Killanes ignored me, and so I was raised in large part by cooks, maids, and bodyguards. I’ve eaten in more kitchens than I can count, and I’ve always found the staff members there to be far more like family than my actual relatives.”

“That’s … well, that’s sad.” It was beyond sad, of course – it was pitiful and wretched, and it made me want to head on down to wherever the Killanes were being held in custody and punch them all in their smug faces.

“Not at all. A variety of maids taught me by their patient example that women are strong, intelligent, endlessly intriguing, and not at all the worthless creatures my father made them out to be. Maids and housekeepers helped me with my homework, soothed away my hurts, and listened to me when no one named Killane could be bothered. Chauffeurs played catch with me, a gardener taught me how to ride a bicycle, and two bodyguards took me to my first baseball game.”

“Wow, they took you right off the reservation to enjoy the real world, huh? Sounds cool, did –”

“Oh, it was quite cool – until my father found out and fired them with no notice or severance pay, but with rather a lot of profanity.”

Man, the more I heard about his dad, the more I hated that pathological waste of skin. Why hadn’t his sweet mom been able to see what a monster the guy was, behind his good looks and witty asshole banter?

“So he let them go for the high and mighty crime of being nice to you?”

“For that, for treating me like a boy and not an annoying encumbrance, and most of all, I imagine, for feeling sorry for me – I got the impression neither of them even liked baseball that much, they just wanted me to see what fun was like for an afternoon.”

Devon soldiered through the rest of his bacon with the dedication of a weird mutant being who didn’t care for delicious chemical-laden pork products, but felt a moral duty to empty his plate anyway. In between bites, he answered my other unsettling question of the moment.

“As for languages, I have maids and cooks to thank for my learning Spanish and two Filipino dialects during the years I endured in my father’s house. I began imitating their speech out of mere curiosity at first, enchanted by the strangeness of the sounds, but I became quite serious about it once I saw how pleased they were by my first fumbling efforts. As you might imagine, I was rather desperate for any sort of attention or approval in those days.”