Stranded With a Billionaire by Jessica Clare

clit in slow, teasing circles that made her orgasm seem to last forever. Her entire body was quivering when she finally came down, and she noticed her nails had made half-moons into his shoulder. “Oh,” she breathed, removing her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
    He leaned in and kissed her, hard and possessive. “About what?”
    “Y-your shoulder,” she said, bewildered. “I’m hurting you.”
    “You’re not hurting me, Brontë,” he said, and kissed her hungrily again, making the flames lick through her belly once more. With his hand, he dragged her arms back around his neck and then flexed his hips, surging forward until his cock rested against her naked pussy, and rubbed there. He was incredibly hard and thick, and she made a low whimper at the feel of him through his boxers. “I want you to keep touching me. I don’t care if you claw up my back.” He tugged at her lower lip with his teeth and then whispered against her mouth, “I like your reactions. They feel real to me.”
    Another laugh bubbled up in her throat, and she wrapped her arms around his neck again. “I’m not very good at faking these things. Sorry to disappoint you.”
    “Not disappointed,” he said, rocking his hips against hers in a slow, circular motion that made her entire body follow the movement, her legs sliding back around his hips again. “And I know you weren’t faking.”
    That masculine smugness in his voice made her curious. “Exactly how do you know that?”
    He pressed a thumb to her clit, and she cried out, her nails cutting in to his shoulders again. “Because of that.” He slid a finger lower and circled around her opening, then ever so slowly pushed into her, causing her to gasp in reaction. “And that,” he murmured. “If I had a finger sunk deep inside you when you came, you’d clenched all around me, wouldn’t you? Milk my finger like you would my cock.”
    She bit her lip and wiggled her hips a bit, too shy to answer.
    “You’re sweet, and you’re smart, and sexy, and so very real, Brontë. That’s what I like about you.” He leaned in and gave her another light kiss, his fingers leaving her pussy, and she nearly cried out with disappointment.
    “I like you too, Logan,” she said softly, her hands moving over his arms and chest, caressing his skin. “I want to touch you.”
    “I want to fuck you,” he murmured against her mouth, and she gasped at his directness. “I promise I’ll pull out.”
    She nodded, and gasped with surprise when his tongue thrust into her mouth, even as he shifted and she felt the head of his cock fit up against the slick opening of her sex.
    Logan Hawkings definitely wasn’t one to mince words. He told her what he wanted and went after it. Brontë realized this an instant before he thrust deep, and she whimpered at the sting of unused muscles as he seated himself deep inside her.
    He tensed over her. “Virgin?”
    She shook her head. “Just been a while, that’s all. Give me a moment.”
    He leaned in and kissed her again, his tongue dancing over hers in a way that felt incredibly decadent with his sex buried in her own. When she nudged her hips slightly, he swung his, rocking the two of them in a slow, circular motion that made Brontë instantly aware of every muscle in his body—and hers.
    “Oh . . . do that again,” she breathed, holding on to him tightly.
    Logan did, repeating the motion and exaggerating it for her benefit. It was a subtle roll of his hips, but he pressed forward and pushed enough that it rocked her body with his, and the slow roll of their hips brushed him against her clit, sending sensations pinging through her. She moaned again, her heels digging into his buttocks, encouraging him.
    He was not a man who needed much encouragement. This time, when he thrust, he surged deep inside her, rocking her entire body on the blanket and causing her to cry out with pleasure. She clung to him as he began a hard, steady thrusting, pushing deep and hard