New York Billionaires Series

He kisses me with startling intensity then, bruising my lips with the force. I savor the taste of him, the strength of his body against mine. Every nerve ending feels electrocuted by his touch. “God, I want you,” he murmurs.

My hands dig into his shirt. “I want you too.”

“We’re taking the stairs this time.” His hand slips down to mine and then we’re walking, taking stairs devoid of people. We shouldn’t walk like this in public, but the idea of pulling my hand out of his feels akin to losing a limb.

We’re not going far. He pushes open the door to the twenty-fourth floor and we walk down rows of identical hotel doors.

Tristan unlocks the door at the end. “My suite,” he says.

A quick glance back at the corridor tells me what I already know. Nobody’s watching. There’s no one to see us, to see me, no one to spread rumors. I step inside, and he closes the door behind me.

His hands smooth up my arms, strong and sure. “You walked out onto a rooftop terrace.”

I lean against him. “I did.”

“You’re worth a bit of fear.”

Tristan’s chuckle sends shivers over my skin. “What a compliment, Frederica.” His hands slip down, over the sleeves of his jacket, tracing my bare skin beneath.

I tip my head back against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he murmurs, his hand sliding inside his suit jacket to rest on my stomach. His thumb brushes over the underside of my breast.

“Yes,” I say. “It has.”

Another hoarse chuckle, and then his lips brush over my exposed neck. “You’re right. And every night since I was at your apartment, I’ve thought of how you felt against me.”

My eyes slide closed. “Tristan…”

“What are the rules?”This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“The rules, sweetheart?” He smooths his suit jacket off my shoulders and it drops to the floor between us.

Unable to bear it any longer, I turn to him. “You told me about the rules at the Gilded Room. What about tonight?”

Tristan tips my head back, running a thumb over my lower lip. “No rules,” he murmurs. His kiss is powerful in its slowness. Deliberate and methodical. The need from the stairwell is still there, but it’s leashed now. Held in careful check but brimming beneath the surface.

Tristan walks us backwards until my knees hit the edge of the hotel bed. He lifts his head, hands gripping my waist. “Freddie…”

“I know,” I tell him, pulling his head back down. Because I do. The need is crawling beneath my skin, an itch that’s bone deep. “Come here…”

He groans against my lips. I’m lifted up and then I’m horizontal, all in one smooth motion, and Tristan never stops kissing me. His hand slides beneath the hem of my dress and finds the back of my knee. Notches it around his hip.

Stretched out like this, even fully clothed, our bodies align like they’re meant for one another. Like it’s all they’ve ever been meant for.

His hips roll once. Twice. Even through the fabric, the feel of him against me is enough to send an ache through my body.

“Off,” I tell him, my hands moving across the expanse of his chest. I need to touch his skin. Tristan sits back on his knees and tears the shirt off in one smooth motion, not bothering with the buttons. His chest rises and falls with the force of his breathing. A smattering of hair dances across his chest.

“Freddie,” he says hoarsely, hands digging into my thighs. “I need you too much to go slow.”

I reach for the zipper on the side of my dress. “You think I’d let you go slow?”

A savage grin crosses his face and then he’s there, tugging the sheath off me. The fabric snags at my breasts. I wiggle to help it slide down and he growls, eyes tracking the movement.

His hands linger at my ankles, over the straps that keep my heels in place. “These stay on.”

I nod, stretched out on the bed in front of him. “Anything.”

The way he watches me is my undoing. There’s nothing he could ask of me now that I’d say no to, nothing I wouldn’t seek to satisfy. His want fuels mine, and mine enflames his, a cycle I can’t wait to lose myself in.

Tristan trails kisses down my neck, my collarbone, the sharpness of his stubble grazing the swells of my breasts. He buries his face between them with a growl, hands reaching for the bra clasp. I arch my back and sigh with relief when it comes undone.

Tristan lifts himself up on one arm, eyes on my chest as he peels the bra off me. Freed, my breasts rise and fall with my breath, my nipples hard.

“I’ve missed these, Freddie.”

My breathless laughter is cut off as he dips his head, sucking one of my nipples into his mouth. Every aching pull spreads liquid fire through me. He shifts between my legs, the hard length of him pressing against me once more.

“Tristan…” I beg, burying my hand in his thick hair.

He switches, taking my other nipple in his mouth. But he hears me, because his hand dives beneath the waistband of my panties.

My breath turns shaky as he cups me, fingers parting, stroking. I roll my hips against his hand in the search for more friction. He doesn’t give it to me. No, he pulls my panties clean off instead, tossing them to the side.

Once again, I’m spread out naked in front of him in a hotel room while he’s half-dressed.

But this time, he’s not wasting any time playing. Tristan undoes his zipper and the swollen length of him springs free.

“I’m so hard for you, you have no idea.” He opens his wallet, fishing out a foil wrapper. “Do you know how many nights I’ve gotten off just thinking about our night together at the Gilded Room?”

I shake my head, the image his words elicit making my throat dry. “Tell me.”

He rolls the condom on with a low groan. A line of hair runs up to his navel, muscles tensed beneath still-tan skin. “So many. I’ve been hard and cursing myself for leaving as early as I did that night,” he says. “For not taking the time to fuck you more than once. Thinking that if I had, I wouldn’t crave you like I do.”

I sit up, reaching for his arms, the rock-hard muscles shifting underneath my hands. “It wouldn’t have been enough,” I say. “Once, twice. I would have wanted you again.”

He takes my mouth in agreement. It’s a kiss to devour. A kiss to seal.

A kiss to claim.

He grips my thighs and pushes them apart, settling between my legs. Thank God for high hotel beds and tall men, because the angle is perfect. He grips my hips and uses them as leverage, burying himself inside me with one strong thrust.

I gasp at the sudden sensation, but it’s drowned by Tristan’s hoarse groan. His eyes drift closed in pained bliss as he pauses, buried to the hilt.

“Tristan,” I murmur.

He grins and looks at me, because he knows exactly what he’s doing by denying us both movement. But two can play this game.