The Bad Boy Billionaire: What a Girl Wants (7 page)

He wanted me. I could see it in his eyes. I might have felt dirty and damaged, but to this man I was still beautiful. And as my fingers roamed over my abdomen, my breasts and all over, I had to note that I felt the same. Perhaps I felt
more
because I appreciated every little touch. And it wasn’t just a little touch; I was taking myself back.

“I would touch you with my hands . . . my mouth . . . taking the center of your breasts in my mouth. Teasing you with my tongue . . .”

My fingertips made slow circles of ever-increasing pressure around the center of my breasts until my nipples were stiff peaks and suddenly more sensitive. I inhaled sharply.

“Yes,” he hissed as my fingertips traced along the swell of my breasts to find the pink peak in the center. I knew it was right because I felt a spark of electricity rocket through me. Duke gave me more instructions: “Circle slowly. Yes. Like that.”

I couldn’t help it, but I moaned. Because I knew what that felt like and I could imagine it so well that it
almost
felt real. Almost. I needed, I wanted the real thing.

“God I want to feel you . . .” Duke groaned. His hands were clasped hard together and I could see him struggling slightly against the silk tie.

I bit back the words “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare say the words,” he growled, reading my mind. “This is about you. And it’s turning me on.”

I glanced down. He was aroused. That only turned me on more.

“I want you to touch me,” I whispered as my fingers toyed with the knot I’d made in the silk tie. “But I’m not ready yet.” I started to loosen the knot. “I want you to touch yourself. If you want.”

He reached out for me as the tie fell slack onto the bed, but then he stopped himself. There was nothing holding him back now, other than his self-restraint.

“Where do you want to touch me?”

“Your stomach. My mouth. Kisses.”

I imagined his head, with the dark unruly hair, bent over my belly pressing his mouth there. He’d be so close to my breasts. He’d go lower, too. I knew how all of this felt because we had done it before. Any trepidation I felt about being touched was starting to pale beside the fiery hot need I was starting to feel all over.

I touched my belly. It wasn’t as flat as most models. But it was lovely all the same.

“And then what?” I asked, my own voice sounding rough now.

“You tell me,” he said. I lowered my gaze to his hands, around his cock. My own hands went lower, past my belly, down a little further.

“Lower?”

“Lower.”

The pressure building inside of me. My temperature was surely rising. I felt the heat building, scorching away all the bad memories, leaving nothing but desire in its place. I knew how hot this fire could blaze and what would happen as the pressure intensified to the point of explosion.

There was no turning back now.

“Close your eyes,” I told him.

“Yes ma’am,” he growled.

“You can’t yes ma’am me at a time like this,” I protested, eyes opening to see him on his knees before me.

“Yes, Miss Sparks,” he murmured.

He was so close, and he could just reach out and touch me or just
have
me. But he didn’t because he loved me and wanted me to feel pleasure on my own terms. I felt another surge of desire.

“That’s more like it,” I murmured.

“Where are your fingers, Jane?” His voice was lower now, rougher now. He sounded positively tortured. But I was in a state of bliss.

“I can’t say.” But I touched myself around where Sam had tried to violate me. I knew just where to stroke and tease. Every little touch made me feel hot and electric.

“Slow circles,” Duke murmured. “Use a light touch. Feather light. So light you can hardly feel it. Just how you like it.”

“Yes,” I gasped. That was just how I liked it.

He groaned. “How does it feel? Please, tell me how it feels.”

That was desire in his voice. I cracked my eyes open, glancing at him in a heavy-lidded haze of pleasure and self-discovery. Everything about him was dark and hard and tense. He
desired
me and this—my own pleasure—was arousing to him.

“Tempting,” I said. “And wet. I feel wet.”

He groaned and said, “Keep going, Jane. Please.”

As if he had to ask.

I kept going with the light circles around this magical place of insane feeling not because he asked but because something instinctive compelled me to keep going.

“I want to kiss you there,” he said. “I want to taste you. I want to tease you until you just can’t help but cry out.”

He wanted these things, and I did too. But it was only my hands on my body. My fingers were bringing me closer and closer to the brink.

“Jane, what do you feel? Tell me.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t stop.”

“You’re close. God, you’re close. Press harder now, Jane and
let go
.”

I pressed harder, groaning under the pressure of my touch and the pressure of something building inside of me. It wasn’t a bad pressure at all. It was lovely, like fireworks on a hot night and because he said to let go and I trusted him, I let go and then—

The force of it took my breath away. Vaguely, I heard him cry out too. There was
nice
and then there was pleasure so intense and overwhelming that it took my breath away, cleared my thoughts and ricocheted over every last inch of my body in the most exquisite way.

Chapter Six

W
HEN
I
OPENED
my eyes the next morning I saw that the rain had stopped and the sun was shining. Unfortunately, the power hadn’t come back on—which meant the heating hadn’t either. I burrowed down under the covers, and snuggled up against Duke for warmth. He wrapped his arms around me, held me close and we slept like that for a few more hours.

Yesterday morning I couldn’t have imagined enjoying this kind of intimacy, but last night I had reclaimed some of myself, and my desire, and I saw that I could trust Duke not to hurt me when I was vulnerable. So I savored the warmth of his embrace.

But eventually the sunshine won. I wanted to see the city after the storm.

Also, I wanted coffee.

After Duke and I managed to make coffee, we stood around the kitchen, leaning against the counters with our hands wrapped tightly around the steaming hot mugs.

“Up for an adventure today?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Venturing out into the world. See what survived Hurricane Geoffrey and if we can get any news.”

I smiled. “You just want to see if you can find cell service.”

“Is that so wrong?” Duke asked. He grinned and gave me puppy dog eyes that made it impossible to be annoyed with him.

“What’s a few flights of stairs?” I mused, thinking about the long walk down and back up to his penthouse apartment. I was used to a fourth floor walkup. At least we weren’t stranded on, say, the 50th floor.

“That’s my girl,” Duke said with a grin. “Let’s get dressed and go.”

My jeans had dried from my mad dash through the rain and fully clothed shower the other night. Under any other circumstances I would have thrown them away—after what happened I didn’t want to wear them again. But my desire to get out and see the city was stronger. I paired the jeans with my black patent ballet flats and one of Duke’s Project-TK T-Shirts and his Stanford sweatshirt that I had decided belonged to me now.

Then we ventured out, down numerous flights of stairs in utter darkness, with only the light of a candle to guide us. Once out on the street, we joined a crowd of people who had come out to see how the city had fared in the storm.

“It doesn’t look like the zombie apocalypse I was expecting,” Duke said as we strolled up the street. He sounded disappointed.

“Expecting, or hoping for?” I quipped. He just squeezed my hand.

The city was coming back to life. Wet green leaves had fallen from the trees and were plastered all over the sidewalk and streets. A few tree branches had fallen, but it seemed most of the trees in our neighborhood had been unscathed. It was so strange to see the streets devoid of traffic—and the cars that remained seemed to find it a challenge to negotiate intersections without working stoplights. Most of the stores and restaurants were still closed. The bodegas were doing a brisk business and one bar had actually opened, lit only by candle light, but packed with people.

“Let’s get a drink,” Duke suggested.

“It’s not even noon!” I protested.

“This is a special occasion,” Duke said. “And we’re not working today. Besides, I bet the bartender is full of information. Duke grabbed my hand and led me into the little dive.

A bunch of other people had the same idea—the bar was fairly crowded, considering that it was a weekday morning. But Duke was right—this was a special occasion. It’s not every day that the entire city had a day off, or that this town functioned without electricity. There was a lovely sense of camaraderie in the air—we had all weathered the storm together and we were all enjoying this strange moment before the city bounced back to normal.

We found two spots at the bar and squeezed in.

“What can I get you two?” The bartender was a big guy with tattooed arms and lots of piercings.

“I’ll have a beer,” Duke said. I winced, remembering the taste of beer from Sam. Then I shook my head, chasing the thoughts away. I would
not
let him take over my thoughts, all the time.

“A glass of white wine for me,” I said.

“That’ll be fifteen bucks,” the bartender said. “Cash only. And those drinks will be warm.”

Duke and I exchanged concerned glances, not about the temperature of the drinks, but the cash to pay for them. I dug into my handbag and with fives, ones, and assorted change, spent the last of our money on booze.

“I’m Duke,” he said, extending in his hand.

“Frank,” the bartender replied. The two guys shook hands and then started talking.

“So is power out all over the city?” Duke asked.

“I heard that everything is in working order above 39th Street. Below that, no power.”

“Electricity might be the one thing that gets me to go above 14th Street,” Duke said, referring to his aversion to Midtown.

“Be prepared to walk if you head up there,” Frank said. “The subways are fucked and probably will be for some time. Cabs are hard to come by. And cash only. Everything is cash only.”

We all glanced at the pile of coins and crumpled dollar bills on the bar in front of us. The last of our money. I took a sip of warm white wine and wondered if Frank and random cab drivers wanted stock in Project-TK. Probably not.

“We’re stranded,” I said glumly. “We’ll be stuck without power for days, possibly weeks. Maybe months.”

That meant no hot water. No flushing toilets. No properly cooked meals. No phones, no computers, no contact with the rest of the world. It would be like living in the Regency era, but without fireplaces or servants. Ugh.

“We can walk uptown,” Duke said. “It’s only forty blocks.”

I glanced down at my shoes. Yes, I wore ballet flats. But their soles were paper thin and would probably be worn through by the time we hit 39th Street.

“These are probably not walking 40 blocks uptown.”

“Girls and their ridiculous footwear.”

“Hey, when I put these on I thought I was meeting an old friend for a quick drink at a bar near my apartment.”

“They’re cute,” Duke said, grinning. “You too.”

“That’s more like it,” I murmured, sipping my chardonnay.

“Any word on when the power will be back on down here?” I asked Frank.
How much longer until I can check on the first quarter of my book? How long until I can have a hot shower and a cooked meal? How much longer until life gets back to normal?

“There was an explosion at one of the power stations. Everything is really damaged. Definitely days. Maybe longer. We’re assured they’re working on it around the clock.”

“God bless those guys,” the guy to my left said. He was bald with thick black-rimmed glasses.

“Seriously. Them, and all the cops and firefighters,” a guy with a thick beard and flannel shirt chimed in. “They had a rough night and have more rough days ahead cleaning up after Geoffrey.”

“Any disasters?” Duke asked.

“The front of a building collapsed on Eighth Avenue,” the bald guy said. He pulled out his iPhone and showed me a picture he’d saved from Twitter before the power went out.

“Oh my God!” I gasped. “That’s right next to my building!”

“Good thing you were with me,” Duke said, leaning over and wrapping his arm around me as we looked at the picture of a building missing its front wall, leaving all the furniture within exposed as if in a doll house.

“Indeed,” I murmured, sipping my drink. I was so glad I didn’t have to weather the storm on my own. By storm I meant Geoffrey
and
Sam.

“How do you hear all this?” I asked.

“There are a few patches of cell reception along the river,” the bald guy said, and Frank agreed, adding, “that is, if you have any battery left.”

“Good to know,” Duke said. “God, I miss my iPhone. And the Internet.”

I imagined he missed them the way a smoker missed cigarettes. Or a junkie missed heroin. Or a teenage girl missed texting. I knew we would be walking over to the East River after these drinks to see if we could get service and check in with the rest of our friends. I had to let my mom know I was okay—she was probably freaking out. And I hoped Roxanna was safe as well.

Duke and the guys kept chatting but I tuned out their conversation and soaked up the atmosphere. This was, perhaps, what a tavern in the Regency era would have been like. This place had rough-hewn wood floors, tables, benches and a bar. But it was the light that made it seem like time gone by. No flickering fluorescents or bright bulbs. Just a mixture of daylight and candlelight. Everything seemed softer. I’d even say I felt like I was in an oil painting. I kept my eyes open and took in all in, taking advantage of this opportunity to experience life in a tavern without electricity, and planning to write about it later.