Found (Not Quite a Billionaire Book 3) by Rosalind James Page A

“Hemi.”
    I smiled inside, but I didn’t answer her. Instead, I held the back of her neck a little harder, then trailed my lips across her cheek to her ear and felt her start to tremble. I took my time nibbling on the lobe, then moved to her throat. When I began to kiss her there, she was already moaning, and we’d barely started. And when I did it better, when I took a gentle bite at the spot where her neck met her shoulder and then kissed and bit my slow way back up, she started to squirm.
    I couldn’t feel the silky skin of her legs under my hands, though, and I needed to. I needed to wind her up, to make it good for her, to make it last, and to do that? I needed her legs. I sat up, got both hands under her stretchy white top, and pulled the leggings down, taking her socks with them.
    “Oh, yeh,” I said when my hands were running up her calves, pushing her knees gently apart. “That’s better.” My hands drifted over her thighs, and she sucked in a breath and held it.
    “How badly do you need an orgasm, sweetheart?” I asked her. My thumbs were moving higher, then higher still. They were nearly there, and she was whimpering.
    “So . . .” she managed to say. “So badly. Hemi. Please.”
    “Open your eyes,” I told her. Her head was back, her eyes closed, her mouth open. I watched her lids fluttering open, and I smiled.
    “Normally,” I said, “I’d tease you more first. Normally, I’d make you wait. I’d make you beg. But I think, tonight . . . you’ve missed me too much.”
    When I shoved her top up to her waist and exposed the pink thong with the black lace overlay, the one I’d bought her in Paris, I thought I was the one who’d missed her too much. I got my hands under the straps and pulled the tiny scrap of material down her legs, and she said, “Ah . . .” and started to close her eyes again.
    “No,” I said. “Watch me.” And she did. She watched while I pulled her hips to the edge of the couch, and while I sank to my knees in front of her. And she watched while I did what I’d promised. I had a hand on each knee, and I was positioning her for me, and then I was opening her with one hand while I explored her with the other. Not one bit quickly. She might be embarrassed, but I didn’t care. She was mine, and I needed to see her, and touch her, and taste her, and feel her. Absolutely everywhere.
    She’d changed here, too. She was pinker, softer, fuller. More delicious, more swollen, and if I’d thought Hope was responsive before? Now, I could hardly hold her down. I’d barely begun to kiss her, to suck her into my mouth, and she was already writhing, calling out. I could feel her back arching, and her hands were in my hair, hanging on desperately. And when I slipped a careful finger inside her, then another one, and found the spot? I thought she was going to explode.
    It felt like seconds. I knew it wasn’t nearly long enough before she was bucking, moaning, and calling my name. She was coming into my mouth, then climbing again, over and over. And all I could do was keep going. All I could give her was more.

    Hope

    He’d promised me he wouldn’t be rough, and he wasn’t. He wasn’t one bit rough, and he didn’t make me work for it. He just gave it to me again and again like he didn’t know what “done” was, like all he wanted was to take my pleasure into his mouth, and then to give me more. He showed me exactly why he was the only man who could ever satisfy me. And when I was limp and shaking, wrung out and used up, he stood, picked me up, carried me into the bedroom, laid me down on the bed, turned on the light beside it, and stood over me like the conquering warrior he was.
    “I’m going to fuck you so carefully tonight,” he told me, and I shuddered again. I was so satisfied, but I wasn’t one bit done. I was still so aroused, in fact, that my entire body felt like one aching need. “I’m going to get you where I want you, and then I’m going to make you come