The CEO's Fantasy (The Billionaire Bachelors Series) (7 page)

“Is that what you were doing on the other side of the door, Sara? Were you thinking of me doing this?”

Dean pushed one finger inside her, growling at the tight heat. “Did you come without me while I was driving myself crazy imagining you naked?”

“Yes!” she cried. “But it was nothing like this. It’s never been this. Do that again. Please.”

“Never?” He wasn’t sure what madness came over him—her admission that she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her, was aroused by his sexual fantasies about her, her erotic confession… Whatever it was, it had him sliding off the seat and whirling her around until her beautiful luscious ass was turned in his direction and her breasts were pressed against the leather.

He pushed her skirt up to her waist and groaned at the sight revealed to him. “So beautiful, Sara. Such a luscious fucking handful.” He tugged the silk roughly to the side and cupped her sex, bending over her to murmur in her ear. “You’ve never imagined this?”

He thrust one finger, then two, back into her wet pussy, pushing his thumb between the cheeks of her ass as he reveled in her moans. His finesse had disappeared. His mind was lost. But he could tell she liked it. Could feel how hot it was making her. “Have I taken you from behind? In any of your fantasies did I fill this ass with my cock? Did you like it?”

“Yes.” She was sobbing, tilting her hips higher and spreading her legs helplessly, begging for more. “Yes, I liked it.
God
, yes.”

He watched her reaction with a male satisfaction that should have shamed him. He could take her now, do anything he wanted to her willing body and she would ask for more. “I like
this
, Sara. How ready you are for me. How sweet and greedy your pussy is around my fingers. You like hearing that, don’t you, Sara? You’re getting wetter.”

He swore when he felt her hand grip his shaft.

“Yes. I want…” She pressed her cheek against the seat and licked her lips. “I want you to come with me.”

He was right. She wanted to kill him. And he obviously wanted to die. “It wouldn’t be the first time, sweet Sara. I’ve come for you before. On your back, in your pussy, your sweet mouth and between those beautiful breasts.”

She groaned, her grip tightening on him as her sex clenched down on his fingers. “But this time is for you.” He quickened his thrusts, pushing his fingers deep, stretching her as he thought about how good she would feel around his cock. How addictive. “Before I let you go and you slip into your bed without me, I want to hear you scream my name.”

“Oh God.
Oh God
.” Sara’s hand released him and clawed at the seat as he fucked her with his fingers. The music beat around them, matching the pace of the blood pounding in his ears. The desire pumping through his veins as he watched his fingers disappear inside her tight sex, watched her delicious ass jiggle as she pumped her hips helplessly.

His mouth watered.

“Dean, Sara. Say it.”

“Dean, I’m…
Dean!
” she screamed. “
Yes
.
Oh God, Dean I’m coming!
”

He could feel it, the powerful contractions around his fingers as she found her orgasm. He pulled out, gripping her hips and lifting her easily until she was kneeling on the seat again. Then he spread her legs and lowered his head.

“What are you—Oh my God!”

He felt her trembling in his grasp and knew she was calling out to him, but once he’d gotten his taste he couldn’t stop. Sweet and rich and
Sara
on his tongue. She instantly became his new drug and he knew he would never get enough. He pressed his open lips against her and licked her clit, loving how she instinctively opened for him. No holding back.

He’d always enjoyed the taste and feel of a woman’s pussy. Loved the delicate folds and the heat, the feel of silken thighs against his cheek and the sounds a woman only made when she came in his mouth. But Sara’s taste? Sara’s sounds? Sara’s pink lips and red, tender clit… He growled and thrust his tongue deeper, wanting inside. More. He wanted more.

“Oh my fucking…
oh God!
Where did you learn—
Yes
. Please, Dean, don’t stop. Like…yes, like that. Oh God, I’m going to come again!”

Yes. In his mouth. Down his fucking throat. Again and again.

Come for me
, he pleaded silently, his hands between her thighs and lifting her knees off the seat so she couldn’t escape when she seemed to be trying to move away.

More.

She reached back, tugging hard on his hair.

No.
He didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop. Not when he was finally here. Not now that he knew.

“Dean, wait, we’ve stopped.”

He lifted his mouth and licked his lips, already impatient for another taste. “I’m just getting started, Sara. You’re so wet and you taste so fucking good. You don’t want me to stop. I can tell. You want more.”

She tugged again, moaning at the expression on his face. “I mean the car. The car stopped. Roy could open the door any minute. See us like this. See you…down there.”

Dean heard something in her voice, felt her reaction, and his erection jerked in response. Jesus, she might be as bad as he was. As hungry. “You like the idea of being caught, Sara? Do you want me to stop or shall we let him find us?”

She blushed. “Not tonight.”

He gave himself a mental gut check, reminding his dick that this night was for her. He’d fucked up, and giving her the lead was the only way it would ever get what it needed. He nodded roughly. “Not tonight.”

With regret and as much restraint as he could manage, he pulled down her skirt and lifted his sweatpants, watching her struggle to calm her breathing as he chose one of the seats that lined the side to pull himself together. “Sara?”

He heard Roy opening the driver’s door, whistling under his breath.

“Yes?”

“Not tonight.” He tilted his head, his heart still thundering in his chest. “Tomorrow?”

“How do you feel about breakfast?” She smiled shyly, her face still pink from their ride and Dean felt something inside him crack open.

He hoped he could wait that long.

Someone was flinging rocks at her bedroom window. Sara sat up quickly, throwing the covers back and grabbing her head at the same time.

“No more whiskey,” she moaned softly. “I promise.”

Whiskey.

Warren.

Dean Warren with his face buried between her thighs. “Holy shit.”

She couldn’t blame that on the alcohol. She’d had enough to give her a headache, not enough to take away what few inhibitions she had around him. Dean had been the one to do that.

After
thoroughly putting his foot in it and making her second-guess her attraction to him, no less. The man was talented.

She stopped in the middle of her room and sighed, remembering everything he’d done. So very talented.

His initial suspicions about her motives had kept her up for hours after he walked her to her door. She’d let herself fantasize about him, heard every detail of his dating life from the gossip mill in her office, but she’d never stopped to think about what it was like for him. To be the one everyone talked about. The one who couldn’t make a move without drawing attention.

She knew about his father. That, when he was alive, he’d made work a nightmare for any woman who caught his eye. That he’d had more mistresses than houses and hadn’t tried to hide any of them from his wife and son.

Dean’s personal life was constantly being held up for comparison. Did the apple fall far from the tree? Was he going to backslide into his wicked college habits? Would he ever marry—and if he did, would it last?

She hadn’t deserved his doubt, but objectively, she understood it.

Was that because of his apology?

Sara shivered, thinking again about the things he’d done with his tongue. It had been one hell of an apology.

Ping!

Another small rock hit the glass, making her jump. “What the hell?”

She lifted the window and leaned out, her legs bent as she carefully kept her bare breasts out of view. What she saw made her wonder if she was still dreaming.

“Are you awake?”

“Are you kidding?”

Dean smiled as if he weren’t standing a few feet away from her first floor apartment with three men in white chef coats holding silver trays. As if he weren’t out of uniform again, in jeans and a faded black t-shirt with Henry’s band logo stretched across his broad chest this time. “Good morning, Ms. Charles. It
is
morning now, right? I sent Roy home a few hours ago so he could get some sleep, but these guys were kind enough to give me a ride. Hungry?”

She ducked lower. “I’m not sure yet. I’m not even
dressed
yet. I don’t think you and I have the same definition of morning.” She looked over her shoulder and sighed. “And I don’t think there’s enough room in my apartment for a party.”

Sara turned back in time to see Dean’s smile change. He licked his lips. “This isn’t formal, Sara. No need to get dressed on my account. Not for the breakfast I have in mind. Anyway, they’re just here to set the table. This will be a party of two.”

She shook her head and started to close the window. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. You should come in before my landlord sees you and notifies the Times.”

A look in the mirror above her dresser had her groaning. Her face was flushed but devoid of makeup and a wrinkle from her pillow had ironed its way onto her cheek. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing and her hair was a bird’s nest. She started to put it in a bun then paused, thinking of what he’d said last night.

She settled for a loose, sloppy braid instead.

Racing into the tiny bathroom, she threw some water on her face and brushed her teeth, grabbing her bathrobe and wishing she had something sexier than purple and white floral print cotton.

He knocked and she took a calming breath before opening the door. It wouldn’t do to look too eager. “When I said breakfast, I didn’t mean you had to go to all this trouble. I was thinking coffee and maybe a croissant. An orange if I was feeling sassy.”

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again as he studied her. “You
are
sassy. If I’d known how good you look in the morning, I wouldn’t have brought company.”

She held the front of her robe together and stepped back, allowing him and his entourage into her small one-bedroom apartment. “The kitchen’s right through…well you can see it, can’t you? Sorry about the tight fit.” She laughed.

One of the men smiled back and nodded and she asked his name. His eyes widened.

Dean came up behind her and placed his hand on her back. “These are my friend Franco’s sous-chefs, Sara. He’s militant when it comes to silence and discretion. They don’t usually talk to their patrons.”

She tilted her chin, but kept her smile in place. “I’m militant about not letting strangers in my kitchen.” She turned to the man again. “My name is Sara.”

“Javier,” the man offered solemnly. “I think you will be pleased you let us in after you taste what Franco has prepared for you.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” she assured him, leaning against Dean’s warm hand, every inch of her aware of him.

He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Good morning, Sara.”

She turned, her hand lifting to his chest, unable to stop herself from touching him. If only to make sure he was real. “Good morning, Mr. Warren.”

“You have a cozy apartment.”

“I told you it was too small for a party, but thank you. I like it.” She did. It was about the size of a closet with a bedroom, but she didn’t need much space to make a home. She’d made her own coffee table out of an old door, and covered her secondhand couch in soft, sky-blue fabric, adding enough stuffing to the cushions to make it decadent. She was still hunting for the right bookshelves, so her books were in neat, decorative piles on the floor. It
was
cozy and the rent made it possible for her to add to her fun fund each month. “You haven’t even seen the bedroom.”

Sara knew the men were whirring around her kitchen, setting her small table and rifling through her silverware drawer…and she didn’t care. She was too focused on Dean, already aroused as she thought about everything they’d done. Everything she still wanted to do.

“Stop looking at me like that or I’m going to open that robe and have you for breakfast in front of Javier,” he murmured softly. “I’m too hungry to be teased.”

Her lips parted on a gasp. She could picture that too easily. Poor Javier and the men with him frozen by their training, forced to watch in silence as Dean laid her on the table and buried his tongue deep inside her until they were both completely satisfied and Franco’s meal was cold and forgotten.

His fingers traced the neckline of her robe, slipping beneath it to caress the slope of her breast. “Do you think I won’t do it? Believe I’m too civilized? Or are you daring me to try? Franco has entertainment at his restaurant that’s made these men difficult to shock, but I’m more than willing to take on the challenge. ”

Sara lowered her head, her heart racing and her curiosity getting the better of her. “What kind of entertainment?”

Dean removed his hand abruptly, swearing under his breath. “Tell Franco I owe him one,” he said to the men in a brusque, authoritative voice that gave her chills and they immediately stopped what they were doing, nodded and walked out of the kitchen.

Javier smiled at her again then disappeared, closing the door behind him. The instant it shut, Dean pulled her back into his arms and lowered his head to kiss her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as his wicked tongue scrambled her brains and made her thighs shake. His hand was already inside her robe, cupping her breast, thumb scraping across her nipple as his tongue sparred with hers.

She wasn’t prepared for this, already close to begging and he’d just started touching her. They would never have the conversation she wanted to at this rate.

Why did she care again?