I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (15 page)

My entire body was heated, searing, sensitized, wanting, and needing as I moved in motion with him. He withdrew his fingers and dragged them through my folds and up my stomach, leaving a long trail of wet arousal, up my neck, around my lips, then under my nose. “See what I mean when I say you smell amazing? Even though you left me, this scent hasn’t left my nostrils … ” Slipping his fingers in his mouth, he added, “The taste hasn’t left my tongue either.”

A moan was all I could afford in response as I bucked my hips upward to find some kind of friction against his bulge. “Trev, please,” I mewled. “Let me feel you … ”

As a granter of my wishes, he made quick work of lowering his zipper and shoving his jeans and boxers down his hips to free his mighty erection. He produced a condom from his back pocket and swiftly donned it.

Leaning down, he held my mouth in captivity once again, dancing his tongue around mine. But that was short-lived, as he drew back and up to his knees. He grasped my legs and effortlessly threw them over his shoulders. Then I felt his crown prodding at my entrance, teasing, just lingering there. Clasping my hips, he locked me into his gaze, then, with one swift motion, he surged deep inside me, knocking a cry from my lungs. “Holy
shit
!!”

“Don’t swear, Krissan,” he reproved.

Rearing back, he surged forward again, and I bit hard on my lip to stop from swearing again. But hell, he was hitting me deep.

He kissed and bit the leg resting on his left shoulder, then he found my eyes again. “Raise your hands above your head and grab on to the sofa handle.” When I did as told without hesitation, he reared back his hips and told me, “I’m going to fuck you hard, fast, and deep, Krissy. So hold fast and don’t let go.”

Before he even finished his sentence, he plunged into me. There was no pause after that. It was rapid, hard, fast, and faster, hitting me deep, and deeper. Swear to the gods of sex and fornication, I was feeling him in places I didn’t even know a man could reach. With each relentless, stomach-cramping slam, I cried louder.

This was … no words.

His fingers tightened around my hips as he hammered into me, until he came down on top of me and started going slow, moaning aloud with his face buried into the crook of my neck. “Christ, babe, you’re so … ah … ”

Letting go of my hips, he reached up for my hands that gripped the sofa handle. Taking them, he wrapped them around him so they settled on the center of his back. “Mark me,” he commanded.

Huh?

Not understanding, I hesitated.

“Fucking
mark
me, Krissy!” he growled.

Tentatively, I raked my nails down his back, testing to see if that’s what he meant. At the movement, he nipped at my neck and groaned, “Deeper. More.”

My fingernails were grown to a not so decent length, and I filed them almost daily, so there was no doubt I’d draw blood if I went deeper. I was dubious about doing as he asked, until I felt him start to pull away from me.

“Krissy, if you don’t — Ahhhhh!!”

I dug my nails deep into his skin and raked them down his back to stop him from pulling away. He growled long and hard, as his hips pumped unrelentingly into me. The sound of his intense shout of pain, the pleasure that filled his voice, the sheer eroticism of it all, sent me spiraling off with an ear-splitting orgasm, and in the throes of it, I inadvertently raked my nails harder down his back.

“Mnnhh!” he groaned in my ear. “Fucking fuck!”

Then he began pounding unapologetically faster into me, kissing and nipping at my neck and voicing his pleasures. Until his body went rigid on a loud, pleasure-filled growl, and it was just his cock that was pulsating inside me.

Panting, lips parted, I pulled his spent body down on mine, loving the feel of his heavy weight on top of me and his hot, sweaty skin against mine. Cupping his face, I kissed him until I couldn’t breathe.

I was falling …

T
he burning need to empty my bladder dragged me from the depths of sleep. As my eyes fluttered open, I became aware of being part of a tangled heap beneath the sheets in Trevillo’s bed.

That said man, with his legs and arms twisted over and around me, was sound asleep, emitting soft snores. Careful not to wake him, I gingerly untangled my limbs then slipped out of bed and went to relieve my bladder.

Aridity attacked my mouth as I emerged from the bathroom, so I changed route and trudged to the kitchen instead of heading back to bed. Pouring some ice-cold water into a Collins glass, I noticed, through the floor-to-ceiling window, the darkness of an old night was long gone, and the brightness of a new day was creeping in. The sun was just peeking its face up over the tops of the surrounding high-rise buildings; its mild glare coloring the cirrus clouds a faint, dusty pink.

Cold glass of water in hand, I ambled over and gazed out at the view in quiet appreciation of a new day as I drank shorts gulps of the water. That’s when I began thinking about Trevillo’s implications the night before, that there’d be an ‘us’.

“I want to keep you forever
.”

Last night he’d sleepily whispered those words to me after our third round of orgiastic sex. And, before that, he promised to “talk about that later”.

Bringing the glass up to my lips, I quaffed the rest of the water in one go. The thought of giving more of myself to someone scared me. The thought of sharing scared me. The thought of caring for anyone scared me. The unusual emotions pervading me each time we had sex scared me. Being scared, scared me all the more.

Sex with Trevillo was transcendent. Like nothing I’d ever tasted before. Straight up spectacular. He also had a warm touch of normalcy to him whenever he wasn’t exhibiting intimidation or exuding raw, carnal desire. A part of me
wanted
to know him more. Wanted to hear him laugh over and over and over again like he had last night. Because, God, he was beautiful when he laughed — even when it was at my expense. I wanted to hear him cry out in pain, in pleasure, to hear that erotic sound of his deep voice again. So, yes, I did want more. A lot more of him.

But there was something inside pulling me back, cautioning me. A pusillanimous part of me too afraid of the unforeseeable future.

Thoughts in a row, next move decided, I turned and went to set the empty glass in the kitchen sink and tiptoed to the bedroom to check whether Trevillo was still asleep. He was lying on his back, cream-colored sheets draped across his lower half, one leg bent and the other straight, both arms crooked above his head on the bunched-up pillows, his breathing even.

Wrestling with the urge to crawl across the bed, push down the sheets, straddle him, and give him an early morning ride, I absconded to the living area and shuffled around for my accouterments, belatedly remembering I hadn’t brought anything with me the night before. Not even my cellphone. Finding my cotton tee, shorts, and slippers, I threw them on. No money, no cellphone, but I figured I could have the concierge downstairs call a cab for me, and I could make payment when I got home.

Trekking back to the bathroom, I gurgled a mouthful of burning Listerine and snuck to the elevator. When I pressed the call button, unfortunately, a small rectangular monitor up higher on the wall I hadn’t taken notice of before, blinked:

Enter Four-Digit Code To Deactivate Immobility.

What the heck?

Thinking fast, I punched in a few generic, easy-to-remember codes:
1234
… denied … 5678 … denied …
0000
… denied …
4321
… denied … .
1122
… denied …

Frustrated, I flicked up my middle finger at the monitor and hissed, “Beep, beep, beep, beep. Shut the fuck up!”

Then I tried again:
1111
… denied …
9876
… denied …
2233
… denied. When nothing worked, I grumbled to myself in defeat, “Who the hell puts a security lock on a frickin’ elevator?”

“Someone whose got something they want to keep. To secure.”

Unnerved by the voice, I flinched and spun around to find Trevillo behind me leaning against one of the two large columns serving as a dramatic entryway to the penthouse, arms folded across his chest, inscrutable eyes watching me.

Shit.

Bummed at being caught — because I
never, ever
got caught — I feigned indifference and stared back at him.

Dispassionate, he watched me long and hard. Suddenly, he slammed the side of his head against the column in a way I’m positive caused him pain. He seemed to be having some sort of internal battle.
But hitting your head against a wall?

His levels of intensity were just too much for me.

“Think we need to have that talk now,” he said, voice devoid of emotion. “If you don’t what I want, then I’ll let you go. I’m not gonna force you to stay.”

As he pushed away from the column, he took a step towards me — I think he meant to lift and carry me, which was habitual for him. But he abruptly turned on his heels and stalked off into the living area, prompting me to follow.

He was wearing a pair of gray
Emporio Armani
boxers, and I delighted in watching the rippling musculature of his broad back temporarily marked brutally with long, red scrapes from my fingernails. Surprisingly, I found them to be sexy as sin. I wanted to do it again.

Trevillo strode over to a large ivory sofa and sat down, dropping his forearms to his knees. When I sat down beside him, he turned impassive blue eyes to me. “Sit somewhere else, Krissan. I’m far too angry at you right now.”

He was angry yet looked so calm? I concluded in that moment this man was lethal. Anyone who could look
that
calm while angry was downright deleterious and shouldn’t be trusted.

Without a word of argument, I got up and moved to the sofa chair across from him.

Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his thighs and locked me into his gaze. “I had a nice, buttered-up, persuasive speech prepared to give you over well-done Eggs Florentine, fresh fruits, and steaming hot coffee. But fuck that. Since this is how you want to do things, then so be it. I’ll keep it short and spicy … or bitter … or however the fuck it ends up tasting to you.”

Pausing, his gaze dropped to my lips, then to my breasts, then further down, as though he were inspecting the product one last time before decidedly making a no-refund purchase. Then his eyes snapped back up to mine, and he nodded once, satisfied. “Trev
’s.
Yes. I want you to be Trev’s.
”

The way he said it with such finality, made it clear it wasn’t a proposal, but a demand. I wouldn’t, however, allow him to bully me. The tone he used was most likely one he kept reserved for closing business deals and intimidating others into doing what he wanted.

Not allowing my voice to waver, I asked him, “And what does being ‘Trev’s’ mean?”

His facial response implying my question was asinine, he raised a censorious brow. “It means,” he dragged out as if speaking to a dimwitted child, “you’ll be
mine
. Alone. In case you’re not too keen on the English language: an apostrophe S shows
ownership
. That simple. Most of all, it means you don’t try to sneak out of my fucking bed in the fucking morning while I’m fucking sleeping!”

As he spoke, his volume crested, and I tried not to flinch at his feebly restrained anger.

Instead, I shot up to my feet, because I wasn’t going to brook him talking to me like that. “N-
fucking
-O. Translation? No!!”

“I’ve told you not to swear,” he said as he, too, rose to his feet.

“You can’t keep telling me not to swear when
you
swear more than a drunken, perpetually-pissed-off pirate!” Standing my ground, I glowered up into his now icy blues. “Let me out.”

Trevillo leaned down to level his gaze with mine across the coffee table. “N-fucking-O. Translation? No.”

Eyes now narrowed, I accused, “You said you wouldn’t force me to stay.”

Voice lowering to a smooth, seductive tone, he ensured me, “And I’m not going to … ”

The air grew still, and the world grew quiet as we stared at each other, his eyes focusing on me like a wild animal keeping utterly still for those last few seconds right before it attack its prey. Something devious flitted across his face, making me craven.

Just as I was about to demand he let me out of the goddamn apartment, he lunged for me and flattened me across the coffee table faster than the devil’s wink, the decorative scented candles toppled off the table to the floor. “Not coerce, babe.
Coax
.”

Before I could even let out a squeal at the sudden attack, his tongue was in my mouth, punishing my tongue with his.

Of their own volition, my fingers twisted in his hair, forcing him deeper. Out of anger, I caught his tongue and bit hard on it, but all he did was groan with pleasure into the kiss and forced his thumbs through the thin cotton of my tee until it ripped.

Breaking the kiss, he used his big, brutal hands to fully rip the material in two, leaving the shredded pieces to fall open to my sides. One hand flat on my stomach, the other one grabbed the waistband of my shorts and dragged them down my legs. The man was frigging rabid. Sans prelude, his tongue began beating down on my bud with a relentless rhythm.

“Ohdeargod!” I cried.

He tossed my legs up over his shoulders, then brought his hands up and around to the center of my back. Pausing, he ordered, “Cross your ankles, Krissy, and hold on to my shoulders.”

Before I could register his command, I was being lifted up off the table, hoisted up high on his shoulders. My legs reflexively crossed at the ankles for balance, and my hands gripped his wide shoulders.

“Goddammit, I love how tiny you are,” he groaned into my wet, sensitive spot, lapping at me like a Labrador. “I can do anything with you.”

He walked with me, tongue in ceaseless motion, over to the floor-to-ceiling window and pushed me up against it. I was high — high in the goddamn air, with my back flat against the window, writhing on his shoulders, drowning in the intense pleasure his tongue was evoking.