Black Tie Billionaire. Naima Simone

Long legs, powerful thighs... Good God, she’d felt him, but seeing him... Like the rest of him, his erection was proud, beautiful. Perfect.

      As if of their own volition, her arms lifted, beckoning him to her. He tore open the foil square and sheathed himself then came to her, moving the cell phone to the floor next to them. His hard body covered hers, and a sigh escaped her at the contact. For a second, she couldn’t smother the sense of never having felt so cherished, so protected.

      “Ready, moonbeam?” he murmured, raising off her slightly. Grasping her hand in his, he brought it between their bodies. As he’d done earlier, he wrapped her fingers around his thick length. “Show me,” he ordered, planting his palms on either side of her head, granting her control.

      Even if she harbored the smallest seed of doubt about this illicit encounter in the dark—which she didn’t—his gesture would’ve eradicated it. Her chest tightened, her heart thudding against her rib cage. But her hand was steady as she guided him to her entrance. Shifting her palm to his taut behind, she pushed as she lifted her hips, taking him inside. Fully. Widening her thighs, she didn’t stop until he was buried within her.

      She gasped, a ripple rocking her body. God, he was everywhere. Over her, around her, inside her. So deep inside her. The weight and length of him stretched her, burned her, and she flexed against him, her flesh struggling to accommodate the sweet invasion.

      His eyes closed, and he bowed his head, pressing his forehead to hers, his breath pulsing over her lips. Tension vibrated through him, strained the muscles in his arms, stilled his large frame. Long moments later, he lifted his head, and the effort to hold back was etched onto his features.

      “Gideon,” she whispered, waiting until he lifted his ridiculously dense lashes to meet her eyes. “Let go.”

      As if those two words sliced through the last threads of his restraint, he groaned and lost it.

      On the tail of another of those sexy snarls, he dragged his erection free, lighting up nerve endings like an airport runway, before snapping his hips and thrusting back inside her. Driving her breath from her lungs and a wail of pleasure from her throat.

      Oh God. She wasn’t going to survive this.

      Pleasure inundated her as he plunged into her body. Over and over, relentlessly. He hooked an arm under her leg, tugging it higher and impossibly wider. With a choked cry, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on, a willing sacrifice to his possession. He rode her, wild and untethered, giving her no quarter. Not that she asked for any. She loved it. Every roll of his hips, every slap of flesh against flesh, every rake of his teeth over her shoulder.

      In his arms, under his body, she transformed into a sexual creature who lived, breathed for him, for the ecstasy only he could give.

      Electric pulses crackled down her back, sizzling at the base of her spine. Every thrust intensified the sensation. When he slid a hand between them and rubbed her, an avalanche of pleasure rushed toward her, burying her, stealing her consciousness. But not before Gideon stiffened above her, his deep, tortured groan echoing in her ear, rumbling against her chest.

      “Camille,” he whispered, and it sounded like a benediction, a prayer.

      And as she tightened her arms around him before sinking under, she foolishly wished to be his answer.