Page 31 of Seduced By the Billionaire
“I know. But I wish…” She threw her head back, a tiny whispered shriek emanating from her lips.
Mine, he thought. Mine. But only if she’d have him. Only if he could be hers, too.
And he was. Oh, god, he was.
He dragged his left hand over her spine to her ass, supporting her as he fucked her, pounding into that tight wet cunt for all he was worth.
“Suck on my nipples,” she hissed, leaning back in his arms, offering up her gorgeous, bouncing tits. “Hard.”
Holy shit. He lowered his face, massaging that sweet, puckered flesh with his tongue as he accelerated his pace. Then he sucked her nipple into his mouth as hard as he could.
She screamed, a sound of pure ecstasy. Oh, Beauty. Yes. When he sucked again, nipping the tip, she cried out more loudly—“Ronan, oh god, Ronan!”—and then she was shuddering, arching, her body a writhing mass of tight muscles.
They all released at once. The intense pulsing of her pussy around his dick drove him over the edge, but he did not slow his pace. He fucked her harder, the deep contractions of her cunt milking every drop from his body.
He stood there, locked inside her until the pulsing stopped. She wrapped her arms around him, their eyes on one another, their breath mingling between them in the sultry evening.
What were they going to do now? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he cared. He was drunk on this woman in a way that whiskey had never been able to accomplish.
He was lost.
He was hers.
Hopefully, she’d be his savior and not his downfall.
Chapter 14
Juliette
Juliette closed the motel room door and leaned the back of her head against it. The room felt more homey tonight… peaceful in a way it hadn’t in months past. Even the police scanner, with its steady blinking lights, the low hum of crackling voices, was somehow soothing.
Juliette sighed and flipped the lock, tossing the thought aside the same way she was kicking off her sneakers. She couldn’t stay here, and she knew it. Her night with the detective would make things more complicated, more dangerous—too risky. But for now, every inch of her skin was warm with the memory of his mouth.
They’d watched the sunset bleed across the sky from the hood of the car, him sitting behind her, gently stroking her arms, planting chaste kisses along her throat and shoulder until she’d asked him to drive her home. The longer she’d stayed, the more her brain tried to convince her that her future was here—with him. And she’d already made far too many mistakes.
Juliette slipped Jason’s cell from her back pocket.
Every cop she’d ever known would have asked for that damn phone, but Ronan hadn’t—she hadn’t offered. And she definitely hadn’t told him who her ex was.
But she had told him about her scar. That had been an egregious error. If Daniel ever found out… her mother would die far sooner than she should. Or worse. He could always do worse than death.
Her scar prickled—angry. So fucking stupid.
That was precisely the reason she needed to leave the city—why she’d told him he needed to go home tonight instead of watching the motel or, riskier, staying in her room. She’d already let her guard down too much.
Earlier today, she’d been pondering the notion that Ronan was a dirty cop. Then she’d gone to the morgue. She’d spilled her secrets anyway… because he told her she was pretty.
Beautiful, he’d said. Beautiful.
Her chest clenched. It was only a matter of time before she let her real name slip. And the second she did, she was fucked. She had faked her own death. She’d tried to frame a man for murder, lit his house on fire. And she was wanted for worse—for things she couldn’t even think about. No detective could ignore all of that, and under the current circumstances, her past crimes would look even more damning.
In the crime-fighting business, they’d call that “a pattern of behavior.” She was a deviant. The justice system believed that she belonged in jail.
Ronan would too.
Juliette glanced down at the dark cell phone, then climbed onto the bed, stretching up to slide it beneath a ceiling tile. Maybe she should just give it to Ronan. It was no good to her, and he clearly knew that she had it—keeping it just made her look more guilty.
At least if she turned it in, she could say she picked it up in a state of shock. It wouldn’t explain away her being in the morgue—Ronan clearly knew why she’d been there. But she also didn’t think he’d tell anyone else.
