Dating the Billionaire Boss

CHAPTER FIVE

His kiss was nothing like the first time.

There was no hesitation, no careful testing of boundaries. It was hungry, consuming, a raw claim on every part of her.

Emma’s hands slid up his chest, feeling the hard, steady thump of his heart beneath her palms. He felt hot, almost feverish, and she realized dimly he had been fighting this as hard as she had.

He broke the kiss just long enough to look at her. His pupils were wide, his breathing ragged.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and dark.

She swallowed, her lips tingling. “Say what?”

“That you want this.” His thumb stroked the corner of her mouth, coaxing. “I won’t take it if you don’t say it.”

She looked into his eyes—so fierce, so vulnerable beneath all that control—and felt her last doubt slip away.

“I want this,” she whispered. “I want you.”

The last thread of his restraint snapped.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, one hand tangling in her hair as the other gripped her hip and pulled her flush against him. The hard length of him pressed into her stomach, making her gasp against his mouth.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled.

Her reply dissolved in a shiver as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. She felt the sharp scrape of his teeth, the gentle sweep of his tongue, and her knees threatened to buckle.

He caught her around the waist before she could fall. Without breaking contact, he backed her toward the bedroom door.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said against her throat.

“I won’t,” she whispered.

A low sound vibrated in his chest, something halfway between a groan and a curse.

Then he was kissing her again, and she was lost.

---

The bedroom was all shadows and warm lamplight. He stopped just inside the doorway, his hands still on her hips, his gaze searching her face.

“I need you to be sure,” he said, voice rough. “Because once I have you, Emma, I won’t let you go.”

Her heart beat so hard it felt like it might break through her ribs.

“I’m sure.”

He kissed her softly then, almost reverently, as his hands moved to the buttons of her blouse. He worked them free one by one, his knuckles brushing her skin. By the time the fabric slipped from her shoulders, she was trembling.

He stepped back just enough to look at her. The heat in his gaze made her skin flush.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

She reached for him, needing to feel him closer, but he caught her wrists and pinned them lightly against the door. His mouth curved in a faint, wicked smile.

“Let me,” he said.

His hands moved over her—her throat, her shoulders, the curve of her waist—until she was shaking so badly she couldn’t stand. Every touch left a trail of fire beneath her skin.

When he finally lifted her onto the bed, she was too breathless to protest.

He unfastened his shirt and let it fall, revealing hard planes of muscle and ink she’d only glimpsed before. For a moment, he just looked at her, and she felt something shift—like he’d laid himself bare in a way he never had for anyone.

Then he came over her, and there was no more thinking. Only feeling.

The slide of his mouth against her throat.

The heat of his skin.

The deep, aching need she’d tried so hard to ignore.

When he finally pushed inside her, slow and careful, she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

His forehead pressed to hers, his voice a ragged whisper.

“Mine,” he breathed.

And in that moment, she knew she was.