Page 48 of Seduced By the Billionaire
The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, the intensity all-consuming.
“Fuck,” he said against her shoulder. “You’re so tight.”
He thrust his hips gently, every minute shift so overwhelming that her vision went black. She could feel his palms, though, pressing against her thighs, widening her legs as he rotated his hips. His left hand found her clit. His right moved to her pussy. Two fingers, then three slid inside her cunt, deeper, deeper, his dick still working in her backdoor.
“God, you feel incredible. Do you like that?”
“Yes. Oh, fuck. I love it.” Juliette shuddered, her head falling back against his shoulder. No more thoughts, no more worries, just his cock in her ass, his fingers flicking her clit, his knuckles working her G-spot.
“You’re beautiful,” he said against her neck. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. And I’m the luckiest man in the world to be fucking you right now.”
She could barely understand his words, let alone respond. Her brain was drowning in ecstasy, fierce pulses of pleasure ripping through her every time he drove his dick deeper into her ass, every time he thrust his fingers into her pussy. She was lost in a sea of raging sensations.
Juliette moaned, grunted, moaned again, then she heard a long, low sigh that she thought had come from her lips… but she couldn’t be sure. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, shivering on the edge of a precipice.
Ronan pinched her clit.
Her spine arched suddenly. She could not so much as gasp. Every muscle in her body had tightened—even her vocal cords twisted into a knot. Her vision went fully black. And then…
Release.
Stars exploded behind her eyes. Vibrant pulses shuddered through her body, blasts of sheer euphoria mingling with the throbbing contractions of orgasm.
Ronan did not slow his pace, did not stop fucking her ass, did not stop fingerfucking her cunt. He moaned, letting her body clench around him, but then he suddenly bucked harder, her breasts bouncing once, twice, three times.
“Come inside me,” she squealed in a voice she didn’t recognize. “Come deep inside my ass.”
Another grunt, then Ronan clutched her to him more tightly, pinching her clit hard enough to make her scream, setting off another burst of throbbing waves that cascaded clear to her toes. He slowed his pace when she collapsed against him, the back of her head on his shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, panting, shaking so badly that she didn’t trust herself to move. “I’ve never been better.” And she meant it.
For once in her life, she felt powerful—loved.
She didn’t regret a thing.
Chapter 22
Ronan
Her face was immobile in the dim moonlight, lips slightly parted. Peaceful—calm. Maybe even… happy?
He might be projecting, probably just hoping, but he liked that smoothness in her forehead, the relaxed set of her mouth. Just the idea that she trusted him enough to sleep in his presence was something he could cling to while he tried to catch a killer.
He knew she was trying to keep herself safe—that she believed her ex would know the moment she told him the guy’s name. She might be close there. If her ex was in technology, as she’d almost verified that he was, his system would alert him if anyone in law enforcement typed him into the database. The right hacker could watch a police database as easily as any other.
But this dickbag had yet to come up against a billionaire with a voting stake in O’Connor Media. They weren’t just televisions and radio and music—they had a significant technology arm, one that was more than able to secure electronic devices.
He’d screwed up there—royally. He’d had to get a new cell phone a week ago after an altercation with a suspect shattered the screen. He’d completely forgotten. And the fact that Charles hadn’t yet applied his particular brand of security to his new phone made his cell suspect. He should have remembered that.
But there was no way the killer knew who Ronan was—who he really was. Even a psycho wouldn’t try to blow up a billionaire’s home with a few coils of C-4.
With a final glance at Julie, Ronan headed for the seating area by the windows and booted up his laptop.
“A compass with shapes instead of directions” wasn’t incredibly specific, but he found the tattoo within twenty minutes in the federal prison database. He frowned as he read through the file. Eli Dawson hadn’t been locked up here in New York—he was from Ravenbrook, Nebraska, a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere, not three hours from where he’d served his time.
Ronan leaned back in the chair, brow furrowed. Was this the man Julie had seen, or was the tattoo not quite right? He’d ask her when she woke up. Dawson had been arrested for cocaine possession back home only ten days ago, so if he was their guy, he hadn’t been in New York long.
