A Billionaire for Christmas(54)

Forget the sofa or the bedroom or any other damned part of his house. He was going to take her here.

He could barely look at Phoebe without coming apart at the seams. Young and strong and healthy, she was the epitome of womanhood. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder, partially veiling one raspberry nipple. “You’re beautiful, Phoebe.”

The raw sincerity in his strained voice must have told her that the time for games was over. Surprised pleasure warmed her eyes. “I’m glad you think so.” She licked her lips. “Do you plan on staying over there forever?”

“I don’t know,” he said in all seriousness. “The way I feel at the moment, I’m afraid I’ll take you like a madman.”

Her lips curved. “Is that a bad thing?”

“You tell me.” Galvanized at last into action by a yearning that could no longer be denied, he picked her up by the waist and sat her on the desk. Phoebe yelped when the cold surface made contact with her bottom, but she exhaled on a long, deep sigh as the sensation subsided.

He ripped at his zipper and freed his sex. He was as hard as the marble that surrounded them, but far hotter. Sheathing himself with fumbling hands, he stepped between her legs. “Prop your feet on the desk, honey.”

Phoebe’s cooperation was instant, though her eyes rounded when she realized what he was about to do.

He positioned himself at the opening of her moist pink sex and shoved, one strong thrust that took him all the way. He held her bottom for leverage and moved slowly in and out. Phoebe’s arms linked around his neck in a stranglehold. Her feet lost their purchase and instead, she linked her ankles behind his waist.

It would be embarrassing if she realized that his legs were trembling and his heart was doing weird flips and flops that had nothing to do with his recent health event. Phoebe made him forget everything he thought was important and forced him to concentrate on the two of them. Not from any devious machinations on her part, but because she was so damned cute and fun.

Even as he moved inside her, he was already wondering where they could make love next. Heat built in his groin, a monstrous, unstoppable force. “I’m gonna come,” he groaned.

She had barely made a sound. In sudden dismay, he leaned back so he could see her face. “Talk to me, Phoebe.” Reaching down, he rubbed gently at the swollen nub he’d been grazing again and again with the base of his sex. When his fingers made one last pass, Phoebe arched her back and cried out as she climaxed. Inside, her body squeezed him with flutters that threatened to take off the top of his head because the feeling was so intense.

With his muscles clenched from head to toe, he held back his own release so he could relish every moment of her shuddering finale. As she slumped limp in his embrace, he cursed and thrust wildly, emptying himself until he was wrung dry. With one last forceful thrust, he finished, but as he did, his forehead met the edge of the cabinet over Phoebe’s head with enough force to make him stagger backward.

“Hell…” His reverse momentum was halted by the large island in the center of the kitchen. He leaned there, dazed.

Phoebe slid to her feet. “Oh, Leo. You’re bleeding.” Her face turned red, and she burst out laughing. Mortification and remorse filled her eyes in addition to concern, but she apparently couldn’t control her mirth, despite the fact that he had been injured in battle.

Okay. So it was a little funny. His lips quirking, he put a hand to his forehead and winced when it came away streaked in red. “Would you please put some clothes on?” he said, trying not to notice the way her breasts bounced nicely when she laughed.

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Take them off. Put them on. You’re never satisfied.”

He looked down at his erection that was already preparing for duty. “Apparently not.” When she bent over to step into her underwear and pants, it was all he could do not to take her again.

Only the throbbing in his head held him back. When she was decent, he grimaced. “We’re going to a party tomorrow night. How am I going to explain this?”

Phoebe took his hand and led him toward the bedrooms. “Which one is yours?” she asked. When he pointed, she kept walking, all the way to his hedonistic bathroom. “We’ll put some antibiotic ointment on it between now and then. Plus, there’s always makeup.”

“Great. Just great.”

She opened the drawer he indicated and gathered the needed supplies. “Sit on the stool.”

He zipped himself back into his trousers, more to avoid temptation than from any real desire to be dressed. “Is this going to hurt?”

“Probably.”