Earl Power: A Modern Aristocracy Billionaire Romance (Endowed Book 2) Page 10

  “No.”

  How can I be when all I think of is you?

  She offers me a tentative smile. “Well, I appreciate you siding with me against Letty. I was nearly tempted there for a second.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be good for you, “I growl. “Wouldn’t be your scene. Take my word for it.”

  She cocks her head. “And what would be good for me, Seb? What would be my scene?”

  I scrape my chair back, rise, and walk slowly over to her side of the table. Not taking my eyes off her face, I pull out the chair beside her and sit down on it. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t shrink back or give any indication that I’m unwelcome. I want to tell her I want her to stay, to not leave me, and that I believe she may be feeling something too, unless I’m horribly mistaken.

  But the words don’t come. For several moments neither of us speaks.

  “I’m not … trying to tell you what to do,” I say.

  She laughs bitterly. “That’s usually a preface to someone doing exactly that. I’m waiting for the massive ‘but’ here.”

  “All right.” I huff out a breath. How I long to touch her, to put my hands on her face, to express my feelings with actions, not words. “Let me tell you what you mean to me and then you tell can me what you want.”

  Panic flashes in her eyes. “Seb, don’t do this. It’s pointless, don’t you see? I’m leaving. You’ve got your life, I’ve got mine.”

  “Working and sleeping?”

  She frowns. “Yes. Good enough for me.”

  “That’s what you want?”

  “Yes. No. I—I don’t know!”

  “Do you have someone?”

  “I have a good life, Seb. I’m busy.”

  “Answer the question.”

  Her brown eyes glint in defiance. “No, there’s nobody. Unless you count Dave and Mike.” She shrugs and gives me a weak smile. “I know they’re old, but Dave’s nice, and Mike’s not the worst boss in the world.”

  She must have written off her no-good family or she’d have mentioned them by now. Hayley’s over here with us for the long term, stolen away from her. Mara’s coping strategy is to work so hard she doesn’t get to dwell on what she’s missing.

  I want to show her what she’s missing out on—the fullness of life that would come with someone caring for her, hearing her, loving her as much as she deserves. If she’d only give me a chance. And give herself a chance. I know her better than she thinks.

  There’s a clatter in the corridor.

  “They’re coming back,” she says, relief audible in her voice.

  “Yes.” I rise and head for the door before my siblings and Liv can open it first and ruin the moment for me.

  Fine. I can wait.

  Tomorrow Mara and I will be alone in the castle.

  13

  MARA

  I DON'T KNOW WHY I feel like this. My heart’s thundering as I sit in my favorite spot on the wide windowsill, gazing down at the flock of geese gathering by the edge of the duck pond. Ken, Liv, and Letty drove off in the Bentley at the crack of dawn and I’ve been sitting here ever since, thinking about life, the universe, and everything.

  I can’t believe Seb just let them all drive off like that. He knows Liv and Ken are into each other. Has he just given up on her? Am I the consolation prize?

  My heart leaps when a smart rap comes on the door, even though I’m expecting it. I’m a bundle of nerves. Lack of sleep isn’t helping.

  “Come in,” I say, my voice pathetically breathy.

  The door swings open and Seb walks right in. I sit transfixed by his long stride, his way of owning the room. I suppose it’s his house, his privilege, but he does the unapologetic, masterful thing better than his brothers. Better than anyone I know.

  He comes to the window and stands there, looking out at the garden, one arm resting up against the wall. His hair is more unruly than normal. Shadows under his eyes suggest he hasn’t slept much either. His black shirt, though, is as impeccable as ever.

  I’m determined to take control of this conversation, despite his bursting in like this, because I’ve had enough of him abusing the element of surprise.

  “I have something to show you,” I say, business-like, swinging my feet down to the ground and strutting away from him, towards my writing desk.

  He turns slowly to face me, a wary look crossing his features. “What would that be?”

  “That would be … this.” I open my laptop proudly. Yesterday evening I sketched out a 3D representation in my computer aided design program of how the Millhouse might look, fully renovated. Then I got obsessive, looking up photos, floor plans, anything I could find on the internet, trying to get the dimensions and the building materials exactly right. It took me half the night. It looks pretty amazing even if I do say so myself, especially with the added flora effects. By the time I was finished, I dreamt of living in the house myself.

  Without pausing to take stock of his reaction, I simply fly though all the views, same as I’d do with Mike, explaining the quantity and quality of re-surfacing work each façade would require. I’m bracing myself for criticism, but unlike Mike, Seb remains deathly silent as he looks over my shoulder. There’s a delicious tension rippling all up and down my spine just knowing he’s there behind me.

  “I know it’s small scale on this screen and you can’t see, but just to get an idea.” I finally turn around because his silence is starting to unnerve me.

  He’s looming over me with his hands resting on the back of my chair. With his hungry eyes consuming me, I don’t know what to do with myself. I clasp my hands together in my lap waiting for his response. Anything. I’m like a goddamn teenager around him.

  “Could you see yourself working on this project?” he asks.

  I give a polite laugh. “Seb, I’m going home—”

  “On Saturday. I know. But I mean longer term, coming back at regular intervals to oversee the construction.” He takes a step back, looks at my screen again, a muscle quivering in his cheek. “Because this,” he says in a lower voice, “is what I want.”

  Two thoughts vie for my attention. He thinks I’m good enough to lead this project. And he wants me to come back. This is different than him saying he doesn’t want me to go. Anyone can say that. This means more.

  It doesn’t smack quite so much of ‘consolation prize.’

  “Seb—I’m ... quite gratified,” I mutter, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. God, what a stupid word, gratified. I really have stayed here too long.

  “Cut the crap, Mara.”

  I swallow. “It’s not crap, I am gratified.”

  “Seize this opportunity.” His voice is stern but there’s an undercurrent of warmth there, like he knows what’s best for me even if I’m too obtuse to see it myself.

  “You make it sound like some kind of self-help program.”

  He swings the chair violently around so I’m facing him, looking up. Bathed in the light from behind, his face is thrown into shadow, making his features appear even more intense as he gazes down. I want to pierce through his air of melancholic superiority, make those sensuous lips quirk up in a rare smile, give him a release from the tension that’s all bottled up inside his powerful body.

  I want to undo this man.

  And kiss him. I would like to kiss him again. If he didn’t mind.

  What’s the freaking point, though? I’m going home. I have to go home.

  “How about it?” he asks. With his powerful, lean body looming over mine, my mind turns to hot, dark thoughts. I half turn and grasp the edge of the desk.

  “I’ll pay you,” he adds.

  “No,” I blurt. “This isn’t about money. My designs here—” I flap my hand at the screen— “were a labor of love.”

  “That’s why,” he implores. “You see it. I could summon twenty architects in my office by lunchtime but none would visualize it the way you do. They walk around the grounds like sheep, writing down my ideas but coming up with none of their
own. I’ve been down that road before. That’s why I want you on this project.”

  I bow my head. I’m not sure I can refuse this beautiful, dark-eyed man anything. And I do mean anything.

  “Mara, are you agreeing?” And there it is, that slow smile that lights up his face and reveals his teeth for a split second. The smile I would sell my soul for, if I haven’t already.

  I wrench my gaze away from his face, rise, and step away from him and the desk. But he’s faster, standing before me, holding out his arms either side of me, trapping me against the adjacent wall.

  My heart’s ready to explode. I want him so much, it hurts just to breathe. He moves in so there’s no air wasted between us. My gaze flickers over his face and settles on his Adam’s apple.

  “Mara.” My name escapes him like a sigh of anguish and then his hands are flat on the small of my back. I close my eyes to the sensation and sink my cheek into his chest because it feels like the most natural place in the world to be.

  I give in to desire. Because I can’t resist anymore and I don’t want to. My hands slide up around his neck, making his eyelids half close in pleasure. My thumbs glide over his temples, and slowly down his ears. His head cocks to one side, showing me he savors my every caress as something precious. I want to grasp his shaggy black hair and pull him down to me to plunder his mouth. He’s not initiating as he usually does, just letting my fingers explore.

  But then his grip tightens on my waist. “I’ve watched you long enough, and you’ve watched me.” His voice is raw as he whispers in my ear, “Now I need you.”

  Gently, probing, he sucks in my bottom lip, then explores my top lip with the tip of his tongue. His gentleness is as devastating as his forcefulness. I’m melting into a puddle of goo.

  I need you too, I think as his mouth fully takes mine. Our tongues meet, slide alongside each other, playing and teasing, until, in automatic obedience, I open wide for him. Somewhere, mid-kiss, Seb’s fingers slide under my t-shirt. I’m not wearing a bra. He moves his thumbs in a leisurely trail down the gulf between my breasts, then under them, outlining their shape, teasing the flesh until I’m begging him to move up those few tiny inches to my nipples. He can’t miss them—they’re jutting out like arrowheads. I raise my arms over my head, to entice him to pull off the t-shirt and have his way with me.

  He pulls up the shirt—and it does it very slowly, teasing my skin, inch by inch. All the while, he’s got this intense look like he’s concentrating on me, not only my perked-up tits, but on every facial expression I make. I feel like I’m bathing in the sunshine of his rapt attention.

  “Your turn,” I say, swinging my arms down and tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

  Then comes the moment I’ve been waiting for. He nimbly unbuttons his shirt and rips it off his shoulders in one sexy, flexing movement, revealing the hard, toned musculature I’ve long come to suspect. He’s not gym sculpted, just incredibly strong, especially around the shoulders and neck. His flat stomach is the product of a life of moderation rather than from working out. He’s truly beautiful. My groin clenches in happiness and the wetness spreads in my panties.

  His chest makes contact with my nipples, his hair and warm skin rubbing them the way I wanted his fingers to. I press hard against him, seeking friction. And he knows, because he kisses me deeply, forcing my head backwards, while his hands cover my breasts, stroking gently over the tips. I hum my appreciation into his mouth as he kneads my inflamed buds between his fingers, driving me into a state of white-hot need. Jolts of electricity make my pussy clench and I know I’m not going to hold out much longer.

  With a hand on my shoulder Seb presses me down into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. “Lie back, Mara.”

  I flop back where I’m sitting, my knees bent over the side. Still watching my face, he kneels in front of me and slowly unbuttons my jeans. He slides them down my thighs, over my knees, down my calves until they’re in a heap by my ankles. He pulls my stockinged feet out one by one, takes a minute to smooth his thumbs along the arches of my feet, and then positions himself between my knees. His eyes are so much in shadow I can’t see where exactly he’s looking but when he dips his dark head down between my legs I know what his intention is. My stomach clenches tight with anticipation. I’m on the verge of telling him he really doesn’t have to do this.

  But the words freeze in my mouth when his warm wet tongue makes contact with my clit. He presses and licks there and then he moves to my opening, darts in and out. He goes back to my clit and alternates like this as my breath quickens, and my pulse races. No man has done this for me before. I didn’t think it could ever be this good.

  My arms stretch outwards across the smooth satin sheets as I search for something to grip, to absorb the ecstatic tension. Every time he licks me my back arches all by itself, thrusting my pussy into his face. Soon my bucking body has a rhythm going that exactly matches the speed I want him to use when he thrusts inside of me. I’m telling him what I want, yet he’s totally in control.

  I’m begging him to end this torture and fill me with something big and massive to satisfy this unbearable yearning for him.

  Two fingers slide into me slickly, and he keeps pleasuring my clit. It gets me close, really close.

  “No, Seb, goddammit, I want you,” I say between gasps.

  He stills for a moment. Then he pulls his hands away. He doesn’t have to ask ‘are you sure’ or a million other useless things; he knows I fucking want this and he knows we don’t have time.

  And when he roots in his pocket for a condom I’m not in the least bit surprised.

  “Came all prepared,” I remark as he shucks off his pants in a hurry and rips the package open with his teeth.

  “When we decide to make a baby, it’ll be planned,” comes his surprising answer.

  I put it down to the heat of the moment. Anyway, I’m too distracted by his erect cock to give a damn. He’s not just thick, he’s long, very long.

  “What is that longsword going to do to me?” I say aloud.

  “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” he says with a wicked grin, leaning over me, his hands on either side of my head. I slide my hands up his smooth, muscular arms, around his broad shoulders.

  And when that cock stretches its way into my pussy, nudging against walls I didn’t know were even there, I need to squeal several times before he’s settled in deep. He’s on top of me; it’s missionary, but I’m calling it missionary-plus because I’m so stretched for him that even the slightest movement is going to drive me over the edge.

  And when he moves, at first slowly, gently, then with more force, my brain swims in greedy pleasure at the sensation. Whenever he pauses, it’s like my world comes to an end.

  I clasp my hands over my head to let him know he can pump harder. He gets the message.

  “Ssss,” is the sound that comes out of my mouth.

  “Say it,” he says.

  “Seb,” I moan. He rewards me by pumping into me even faster, bringing me nearer to oblivion with every thrust. Sounds come out of my mouth that I’ve never made before. I’m barely aware of them; my sole focus is on his cock pounding my inner walls, filling me with a sense of sheer gratitude to be alive.

  My arms flail out of control and he pins them down with his hands as he thrusts harder into me, now going at a faster rhythm, the speed he needs. Our gazes lock. His utter dominance feels good, feels right.

  “Seb, how close are you?”

  “Pretty fucking close.”

  His balls rise and his body goes tight. He’s not joking

  I can’t hold it any longer. I let go, falling into the blissful orgasm, my muscles trembling and clenching around him for dear life, wringing out the pleasure in waves.

  And when he goes still, strains, jerks violently and lets out a low, animalistic growl of satisfaction against my throat, I cling to the moment for dear life. His head tilts back, veins pulsing in his neck for a moment of complete surrender as he rides hi
s orgasm out. Then his burning eyes meet mine, dark and stormy.

  “Don’t go,” he says. “Stay … with me.”

  “Seb,” I moan, squeezing tight as if I can keep us together by pussy-clenching power alone. “Don’t make post-coital demands like this. You know better than that. You know I have to go.”

  “The choice is still yours,” he insists.

  “No. I don’t feel that.”

  I’m too woozy to argue the details, to pick through the minutiae of my life that have led to this point. As I sink back onto the pillows, I watch as a wave of negative emotions crosses his face, which he tries to cover up by pulling me into him. It’s scary how tempted I am to throw it all away and do as he asks, but I’ve heard that fantastic sex can lead to some lousy decisions. I can’t afford to make lousy decisions.

  14

  SEB

  I’m woken to the sensation of a warm, round ass nestled against my cock. Fuck, that feels so good. How did my life suddenly get so perfect?

  Groggily, I peel open my eyes. Mara is laid out beautifully on the sheet, watching me with a relaxed smile on her face, the sunlight slanting in and precisely catching her hand resting on the curve of her hip. Now there’s a sight I could get used to.

  This is her bed, I realize with a start. I fell asleep in her room.

  Then a darker thought rolls over me, bursting the bubble of happiness. I won’t be able to get used to this. She’s leaving me.

  I don’t even know what time it is. And I’m rock hard. I get even harder as she rolls away, tugging the duvet playfully off my naked body.

  “Shouldn’t we be eating breakfast or something?” she asks, her hand on my thigh, her gaze directed at my erect cock.

  I clear my throat. “You … don’t eat breakfast.”

  “How observant of you, especially as you’re never even in the kitchen when I’m there. Do you have cameras spying on me?”

  She’s snaking down my body, her breasts hanging down, grazing my torso and abdomen, getting nearer my cock. That’s not a good place for her to go if she’s planning on doing anything any time soon, including holding a conversation.