The Billionaire's Intern Read online

  He could hear her breathing, fast and fractured, and he wanted to push her even harder, pressing his mouth to the base of her throat. At the same time, he reached down between her thighs, pulling the front of her silky panties to one side.

  She stiffened, her breath catching, and he allowed himself one touch, sliding his fingers through the folds of her pussy. She was wet and slick and hot, her whole body going rigid as he found the hard bud of her clit, brushing it with his thumb.

  He watched her profile, watched her pale skin flush deep red and her eyes go wide. So she did blush when he touched her and what a pretty color it was, too.

  It made her look so beautiful. Like a statute slowly coming to life.

  Her teeth sank into her full bottom lip and he couldn’t resist the urge to linger, stroke her clit a little harder, wanting her to make a sound. See how else he could affect her.

  “You like that?” he murmured leaning in against her, inhaling so her scent filled his head. “You like my finger on your clit?

  She gave a frantic nod, her breathing raw and harsh, hips pressing against his hand, trying to chase the friction.

  He wanted to stand here all day touching her like this, having her at his mercy. But the pressure was building inside him and if he didn’t get inside her right now, he was going to fucking explode.

  Taking his hand from between her thighs, he flicked open the button on his pants and pulled down his zipper, grabbing his cock. Then he pushed between her thighs, guiding himself into all that softness and thrusting hard.

  Her mouth opened in a soundless gasp, her body arching against the door, her eyes closing tightly as heat engulfed him. Jesus, so much fucking heat. She was tight and slick, her pussy gripping him like a fist, and a growl escaped him, the pleasure almost blinding.

  He could feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest, smell that erotic scent of hers, and she was trembling hard, which made the satisfaction unwinding inside him all the more intense.

  He ran his hand down her thigh and slid it behind her knee, lifting her leg up high around his waist, angling her hips against the door so he could push deeper.

  Again her breathing caught, a sharp sound in the silence of the room.

  Lorenzo bent his head, licking the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt that lingered there and it only made him hungrier. Visions started to unroll behind his eyes, of her spread-eagled on his desk, utterly naked, and him sitting in his chair with his face buried between her legs, tasting her, pushing his tongue deep inside her. Making her have to bite her own lip bloody in her desire to obey him by not making a sound.

  He didn’t pause to examine why he wanted that, or question himself as to why it was so important; he just wanted it.

  Licking his way up her neck, he finally turned her head back so she was facing him again. “Open your eyes, Kira,” he ordered, not caring how rough his own voice was. “I want you to look at me while I’m fucking you.”

  Her lashes trembled and slowly they lifted. Her eyes were the color of the deep ocean, the currents in them as dark and complex as the sea itself. Desire glowed there, a hunger he recognized because he felt it, too. And other things: pain and grief and desperation.

  You recognize those. They’re familiar.

  Yes, he knew. And maybe he should have denied it, but he didn’t. He just kept staring into her eyes as he drew his hips back and thrust hard, shoving her back against the door. Again. And again.

  Her gaze didn’t waver, didn’t flicker. She stared back at him like she was drowning and only he could save her. Every thrust made her breathing hitch until she started giving sharp, hard pants, her hips lifting, trying to match the movement of his.

  The heat between them was incredible.

  Pleasure drew tighter, like a massive fist slowly closing, and he moved harder, faster. Slamming her into the door over and over, not caring who heard them, not caring about anything but the slick heat of her pussy and the darkening blue of her eyes.

  She began to shake, her teeth sinking so hard into her bottom lip, he saw blood.

  Satisfaction was its own dark kind of pleasure. “Good girl,” he whispered. “You can have a reward.” And he put his hand over her mouth. “Scream into my hand if you need to.”

  Then he moved even harder, even faster, changing the angle of his thrusts so he was hitting her clit, driving into her over and over again, until her head went back against the door, her eyes almost black, the heat of her frantic breathing against his palm. She said nothing, but she didn’t need to. He could read the look in her eyes.

  “Yes,” he growled. “Yes, you can fucking come.”

  Instantly her body convulsed, her pussy squeezing his cock like a vise, her head back against the door, her neck arching. He kept his hand over her mouth, muffling the hoarse scream that escaped her, not even flinching as her teeth closed hard on his palm. The pain was an electric shock that went straight to his cock and he was thrusting hard and wild, out of control and desperate. And at the last moment, he took his hand away from her mouth and covered it with his own, growling as the climax roared up from the base of his spine and exploded in his head.

  He was mindless for long moments afterward, his mouth motionless on hers, listening to the sounds of their frantic breathing start to even out. He could feel the wet heat of her pussy gripping him tight and the pressure of her thigh wrapped around his waist. His other hand was resting at the base of her throat, her pulse beating fast against his palm.

  He didn’t think of anything at all for another good minute.

  Then it all came flooding back. Who she was. Who he was. What they were doing. Where they were doing it . . .

  You fucked your intern up against your office door. You asshole.

  Lorenzo pulled out of her, ignoring the delicate shiver she gave as he did so, shoving himself away from her and the door. Then he realized something else. He hadn’t bothered with a condom.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Ice flooded through his veins, the heat that had been there before vanishing completely. Trying to suppress the shake in his hands, he turned his back on her, tucking himself away and jerking up his zipper. “We didn’t use a condom.” His voice was rough and far too ragged.

  “It’s okay.” She didn’t sound any better, which was some consolation. “My last injection was only a month ago.”

  It should have made him feel better, but it didn’t. He turned his head to the side. “Are you clean?”

  There were soft rustles behind him, the sound of fabric being put back to rights. He should turn around. He should at least help her, make sure she was okay. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt like something in him that he’d thought was hard as stone had cracked. And he didn’t know how to fix it.

  “Yes.” There was an edge in her voice. “Are you?”

  Look at her, you fucking coward.

  He steeled himself and swung around.

  She was standing against the door, leaning back on it as if she couldn’t bring herself to move away quite yet. Her hair was starting to come down from that bun on the top of her head, pale tendrils curling around her forehead and neck. Her skin was a deep rose, her eyes glowing, her lower lip full and covered in bite marks.

  He’d wanted to know what would she would look like if he touched her, if he got inside her, and now he knew.

  She looked incandescent.

  His cock twitched, wanting more.

  Jesus Christ.

  “Of course, I’m clean,” he snapped, furious with himself all over again and, irrationally, with her and her glowing beauty. “I’m not the one who by all accounts was screwing around in college.”

  She blinked as if he’d slapped her. Her mouth opened and then closed again, and she turned her head, looking away from him, folding her arms across her chest.

  That was uncalled for, asshole.

  Christ, he didn’t know what had gotten into him. Yes, he was definitely an asshole, but he wasn’t needlessly cru
el. He didn’t hurt women deliberately simply because he lost his temper.

  Like you’re not the kind of man who backs a woman up against a door, orders her to follow your rules, then puts a hand over her mouth so she can scream into it as you fuck her. Right?

  No. No. He wasn’t that kind of man, and sex didn’t usually entail any of that. He made sure his partner was happy and satisfied, but he didn’t lose himself to passion. He didn’t allow lust to cloud his judgment. He remained in control of himself at all times.

  After Katie, anything else wasn’t an option.

  But with Kira, he hadn’t thought; he’d simply followed his instincts and done exactly as he pleased. And what he pleased was apparently telling her what to do, talking dirty to her. Making her desperate and needy. Making her scream.

  And you want to do it again.

  Yes, and that’s why he was so fucking angry. Because he did want to do it again. But he’d promised himself once and once only in the hope that a quick fuck would satisfy his craving, deal to the need. Yet he could feel it inside him, the embers of desire burning slowly and steadily. All it would take was a single breath and they’d ignite again.

  “Well,” she said stiffly, determinedly not looking at him. “I guess it’s clear where I stand then. Can I go now, please? Or are we going to continue on with the ‘you’re such a slut’ conversation?”

  He stared at her, at the tense line of her jaw and the taut set of her shoulders. He’d hurt her. He’d offended her.

  For the first time since he’d lost Katie, he felt regret turn over inside him.

  She’d done exactly what he’d asked, stayed out of his sight. And not only had she done that, she hadn’t touched him or made a sound as he’d screwed her. Even when he’d been the one crossing the line, she’d been trying to do her best to do as she was told.

  And he’d repaid her by screwing her then dishing out some needless, pointless cruelty.

  He didn’t know what to do with that. An apology seemed ridiculous after what had happened between them and besides, he didn’t feel sorry about the sex, not at all. But he didn’t like that he’d hurt her, and the fact that her feelings were impinging on him didn’t make his temper any better.

  Nor did the fact that his body was already readying itself for another round.

  “I don’t care who you slept with in college,” he said roughly. “And no, you can’t go. I haven’t finished with you yet.”

  * * *

  Kira kept her gaze on the view out of the windows, her heart thumping hard behind her breastbone. She didn’t want to ask him what he meant by that, just like she didn’t want to feel the sudden leap of excitement that crowded in her throat at the rough words.

  She was still recovering from the effects of one intense, bone-melting orgasm, and what she did not want to deal with right now was her stupid, wildly swinging emotions.

  Jesus, he’d pushed her up against a door, screwing her senseless with people right outside. He’d told her not to come until he said, then he’d put her hand over her mouth and told her to scream into it. So she had. She’d come so hard she’d nearly blacked out.

  She’d never experienced pleasure like that, not with anyone. It was like he’d known exactly what to say to get her off, exactly what to do to push her higher. Exactly how to touch her. It was like he knew her body and what to do with it better than she did.

  None of the men she’d been with had ever bothered about her pleasure. All they’d cared about was themselves. They weren’t interested in her, not in any way, and she’d told herself that’s how she preferred it. That she didn’t want their attention anyway.

  Yet Lorenzo had watched her the whole time, touching her with such intense focus she’d nearly come on the spot from that alone. And when he’d ordered her to look at him . . . God, she’d found that completely overwhelming. It had made her feel vulnerable and yet at the same time she hadn’t been able to look away.

  But no matter how good it felt, that didn’t change the fact that what she’d done was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be giving in to her every emotion and doing what felt good, not anymore. It was something the old Kira would have done, and she wasn’t supposed to be that person anymore. She was supposed to be different.

  “Oh yes, you have.” She turned her head to meet his intense gray stare. “You’ve certainly finished with me.”

  Something shifted in his eyes and suddenly he was moving toward her like he had before, but she wasn’t going to let herself be pushed again, no matter who he was. She stood there with her arms folded across her chest, staring straight at him as he closed the distance between them. Not moving.

  He stopped right in front of her and the scent of him swamped her once more, sandalwood and male musk and sex. And her mouth went dry, her nipples pressing hard against her folded arms. His gaze was so fierce. It made her want to shield herself from the intensity and yet bask in it like a cat in a beam of sunlight.

  “Is that what you want?” he demanded. “Or are you just saying that because that’s what you think you should do?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I want. The right thing is—”

  His hand flashed out before she could finish, gripping her chin with inexorable strength and tilting her head back. “The right thing, Kira, is what I want, understand?”

  She shuddered, helpless against the sudden rise of desire that filled her. She didn’t know why all the manhandling he was doing was turning her on, but it did. “You’re my boss,” she said thickly, trying and failing to pull away from him. “You’re over ten years older than me, and you’re Dad’s friend. I can’t—”

  He lifted his thumb and gently but firmly placed it against her mouth, stopping her words entirely. “I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he said with a kind of cold arrogance that she found bizarrely reassuring. “And if I want to fuck you again, then I will. The real question, Kira, is whether you want me to do it.”

  Yes. God, yes.

  She swallowed, trying to ignore the need that pulsed inside her. The terrible, insatiable need that was suddenly awake, that wanted the heat of his gaze on her, his hands on her. The fire of him warming up the cold parts of her soul.

  “Screwing my boss is not what I came here to do,” she murmured against the press of his thumb, the desperation in her voice bleeding through no matter how hard she tried to stop it. “That’s what the old me would have done and that’s not who I am anymore. I’m trying to be . . .” But she couldn’t finish, because his thumb was pressing down again, closing her mouth, silencing her.

  “You’re trying to be good,” he said. “Yes, I know.”

  The flat statement sounded pathetic, and she tried to turn away from him, embarrassed all of a sudden. But he wouldn’t let her, gripping her firmly, staring down into her face as if he was looking for something.

  “If you want to be a good girl,” he said after a moment, “then how about you be a good girl for me.”

  There was no mistaking the slight emphasis on the words. And all she could think of was yes, that’s exactly what she wanted to be. A good girl for him. Hadn’t that been what she’d wanted the moment he’d showed her how a piece of paper could become a bird? And all the moments after whenever he visited, holding out a freshly folded crane for him to look at, see that she’d gotten it right? Though gradually it had become less about whether she’d done it right, than wanting him to smile at her and tell her she’d done well.

  She’d never managed to be good enough for her parents, that ship had long since sailed, but she had a chance to be good for him.

  He stared down at her, a slight crease between his straight, black brows. As if he was debating something. Then he said, “Saturday night. My place. I’ll send a car for you.” His thumb pressed lightly down on her lip, and she shivered again, trying to fight the urge to lick it, taste him. “You can spend the whole night showing me exactly how good you can be, hmm?”

  She should shake her head, refuse. Give him her re
signation. Tell him she couldn’t do it, that she’d changed, and part of that change was not giving into temptation again

  Why not? Aren’t you supposed to be gaining his trust? And isn’t this the best way to do it?

  The thought hit hard, jolting her.

  It was true. Her father had told her she needed to get an insight into what Lorenzo was working on or perhaps planning, and then forward that information to him and Cesare de Santis. And what better way to do that than with sex? In fact, given what had just happened between them, it seemed like sleeping with him again was the next logical step.

  Rationalization much?

  She ignored the thought, giving another jerky nod, shivering as the pressure of his thumb eased and he stroked it back and forth along her lip.

  “Tell me,” he said softly. “Give me the words, Kira.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was husky and breathless, but she didn’t care. “Yes, okay. I’ll come to your place on Saturday.”

  “And you’ll do whatever I want?”

  “Yes,” she repeated. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  His gaze burned into hers, a furious icy storm. “You’ll be mine for the night. Mine completely.”

  The words resonated inside her, echoing with an unfamiliar possessiveness her lonely soul drank up like a thirsty plant drinks up rain.

  Kira stared back and gave him the only answer she could. “Yes, I’ll be yours. Yours completely.”

  Then, because she still wasn’t in complete control of herself, she nipped the tip of his thumb, looking at him as the salty flavor of his skin burst on her tongue.

  A soft hiss escaped him, the silver in his eyes flaring in response. “You beautiful little bitch. Did I say you could do that?”

  Her breath caught at the soft menace in his tone, desire gathering tighter at the sound. Stupid to give in to the impulse, but a part of her wanted to keep pushing him and maybe punish him for that sleeping around comment he’d made. And maybe so she could see that amazing silver ignite in his eyes.

  She wanted the lightning. God, she wanted it.