Ignited & Unhinged (Billionaire Secret, Book One)(Billionaire Romance, New Adult Romance, College Romance) Read online

  It is.

  It really, really is.

  I am done denying my body. Denying what I feel. This is my time.

  I don’t get very far inside the door before Damon reaches for me.

  We are face to face again.

  “Do you know how hot you look in this dress?”

  He moves his right hand down my back, past my ass to my upper thigh. It comes back up to my ass, settling underneath the fabric of the dress.

  It’s hard to breathe.

  His other hand skims my collarbone until his fingers slowly maneuver the tiny strap off my shoulder. It hangs there exposing my flesh.

  Then he moves that hand down my body to find its place under my dress on the other ass cheek.

  Quickly he lifts me and secures my legs around his hips.

  He carries me across the room.

  When we are at the foot of the bed he sets me down so I am standing again.

  “What do you want, Giselle?” he asks, his voice low and raspy.

  I reach up to kiss him with everything that I have.

  I don’t want to speak. Partly because I’m not sure I can get a word out and partly because I am done talking—done thinking.

  He responds immediately. Moving the other strap off my shoulder, he peels off my dress.

  When it is pooled at my feet, he takes my hands and helps me step out of it while not breaking our kiss.

  He pulls away for a second and lets his eyes roam my body. They move from my bare breasts, the dress didn’t allow for a bra, to my stomach, down to my black lace thong.

  I am still wearing my black Louboutins.

  I don’t have time to feel self-conscious because after only a second his mouth is on me again, crushing me with a new urgency.

  I grab his shirt, pull it off, and press myself against him. The feeling of my breasts against his bare chest feels intimate.

  Real.

  This is happening.

  His upper body is better than I imagined, and his strength…so many new sensations…I don’t think I can get any more intoxicated.

  He wraps his arms around me and we fall backwards onto the bed.

  I reach to unbutton his jeans, after a couple of seconds he pushes my inexperienced fingers aside and helps the process along.

  I steal a glimpse at him between kisses.

  He is now wearing nothing but black boxer briefs that show off his defined abs and strong legs.

  He lets his body sink into me.

  His cock presses against my sex. There is only the lace and the thin fabric of his boxers.

  Oh wow.

  Why had I waited so long for this?

  He reaches down to massage me through the lace thong.

  “Mmm…” My body trembles at his touch.

  I think he’s grinning.

  Before the moan has left my body he moves the thong aside and inserts two fingers inside of me.

  “Ahhhh,” I let out. “That feels so good.”

  My voice is airy, not all there.

  I hear rather than see his answering smile, “Do you want more?”

  “Yes…please.”

  My instincts are starting to kick in. I reach down and grab his cock through the briefs.

  I want to feel him so I use my hands to pull them down until his erection springs free.

  He shifts his weight so he can take them off completely.

  My hand glides firmly down his shaft. He’s smooth and hard. It’s better than I expected.

  I’m a little fascinated with how he feels against my fingers.

  He groans. I smile.

  I like having this effect on him.

  This man wants me as much as I want him.

  “Fuck,” he breathes.

  His fingers move faster inside of me.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  It feels so good I can’t wait to feel him.

  As if reading my mind he pulls out and rips my thong off in an instant. My Louboutins follow.

  We are completely naked.

  Full skin on skin.

  And I am so ready for more.

  I hear him rip something open.

  Before I know it, he’s there…at my entrance.

  He lets me feel him first. He moves from my entrance, to my nub, and back.

  I am so on fire, I think I’m going to lose consciousness from a heat stroke.

  I want him to take me.

  I need him to take me.

  “Please…” I beg.

  I look at him.

  The string of lights reflect off his blue eyes.

  He stares back.

  Neither of us blink.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper.

  And just like that he thrusts into me.

  I feel a pinch and then my body melts into the bed.

  He moves slowly, not breaking eye contact.

  It’s so erotic. So intimate.

  His steady deliberate rhythm continues.

  There is only this moment.

  Only my body.

  Each push becomes more gratifying. More pleasurable as my body opens to him.

  I start to build and lose all sense of myself.

  I want him to pound me into the mattress.

  “Yes! Mmmmm. Fuck me!” I call out.

  The words sound far away, like they’re coming from someone else.

  But they’re not.

  They’re coming from me.

  “Shhh,” he responds, “you’re going to make me come.”

  He brings his mouth down on mine.

  Hard.

  These kisses are long and urgent.

  Barely stifled, primal sounds come from deep inside his chest.

  His thrusts become harder, deeper.

  He’s impaling me.

  His skin slaps against me as I start to rise higher, and higher into some unknown place where there is only sensation, only this man.

  I’ve never been so connected to every cell in my body.

  He fills me again and again—I think I’m going to pass out from sensory overload.

  “You like that?” his voice is low, he’s on the verge.

  “Yeah, give it to me,” I say, enjoying the dirty talk. It adds another layer to the experience.

  I’m surprised and yet not surprised by how easily it comes. I am a complete novice, but I had always been very verbal.

  My words, and his, heighten my arousal.

  “Come for me Elle,” he’s breathless. “Let yourself go.”

  His words are my undoing.

  My body contracts.

  I am flying.

  It’s like that first night, only the blinding light keeps going and going.

  I hear him say something incoherent and push into me one last time. And then he collapses.

  We are both panting. And sticky from the effort.

  I never liked being sweaty, but this in-the-throes-of-passion sticky is very satisfying.

  He brings his face to mine and kisses me deeply.

  Rolling onto his side, he looks at me.

  I stare at the ceiling trying to regain my breath.

  “Was that your first time?” he asks abruptly.

  He’s looking at me seriously, “Because it felt like your first time…but I wasn’t getting the virgin vibe from you.”

  I blush and move to cover my face with my arms, “Yes.”

  He moves them away so he can see me. And then waits for me to explain.

  I feel unmasked. More naked.

  “It was my first everything,” I start.

  “The other night, I’d never even really made out with anyone before that,” I admit.

  Shut up! That is way too much information.

  Now he’s going to think I’m going to fall in love with him or something.

  His expression is a mixture of confusion and something else, “Hey it isn’t a bad th
ing. In fact, you were really…uh…effective.”

  He looks earnest.

  “Seriously, you weren’t afraid of your body and you were very vocal. I liked it.” He grins widely.

  OK, I guess he is saying I was good? I hadn’t thought about being good or bad, just that I wanted him.

  “I mean it was total vanilla sex,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “and yet really, really hot.” He looks like admitting this fact surprises him.

  A thought occurs to me.

  I didn’t really know this man at all. Like not even his last name.

  The blood rises to my face.

  Geez Elle, isn’t that kind of slutty?

  No, no judgment I remind myself.

  I wanted something and I went out and got it. It was time to live for right now. For my pleasure.

  I still feel conflicted so I decide to find out more about this gorgeous person who had played such a key role in my fantasies.

  “Damon?”

  “Yeah?” he answers sleepily.

  “What’s your last name?”

  He looks over at me with a short laugh.

  “I thought you knew.”

  That was…strange.

  “Why would I know?” I blurt out.

  I hadn’t exactly been stalking him. I hadn’t, had I?

  Facebook didn’t count and I hadn’t been able to find him without his last name, anyway.

  “No, it’s just most people know my last name.”

  I can barely hear him.

  “Oh.”

  When he doesn’t say anything else, I persist. “Well…”

  “Well, what?” he answers drowsily.

  “Well, what is it?” Should I be getting nervous that he wasn’t giving me a straight answer?

  Was he related to the mob? Not that I would recognize any mob-esque names.

  “It’s Wright,” he finally admits, “and you’re Giselle. Giselle Roberts.”

  OK, why would I know that?

  Wait, how did he know my last name?

  Wright…something is clicking in place. This is the Ivy League. Could it be that Wright?

  I look around the room and realize how atypical this dorm actually is. With a sinking feeling I realize that, yes, yes it could be.

  “Wright…as in Wright Global, the financial firm?” I whisper hesitantly.

  It was one of the only firms that hadn’t been impacted by the recession. Analysts had explained that the founders had built the company ethically and with an eye towards diversification—not on the backs of the middle-class, or subprime loans.

  It had even served as a best practices model for the big banks in the aftermath.

  “Yup,” he was still barely there. “Although we’re much more than a financial firm.”

  “Holy crap…” I say under my breath.

  “What?” He opens his eyes.

  “Are you telling me that you are like filthy rich?” Eloquence was the furthest thing from my mind.

  He looks at me, amused. “Well not filthy, just stinkin’.”

  I stare at the ceiling in silence. When I don’t say anything else he sits up.

  “What’s the problem? Most people here are fairly wealthy—look where you are,” he waves an absent hand. “You’re probably reasonably well off.”

  I think about that for a second. My family is not rich, comfortable definitely, but not we can buy a 3,000 square foot Manhattan apartment at the drop of a hat kind of comfortable.

  Or in his case Manhattan block.

  OK. So Damon is a billionaire.

  I’m not sure why I feel so strongly. I don’t even know in what way I feel strongly. Good? Bad? Cheap?

  No, none of the above. Just surprised that my first time was with Damon Wright.

  Kind of made for a memorable story now that I think about it…and I couldn’t complain about the experience.

  I sit up. Hugging my knees to my chest, more relaxed.

  “Tell me more,” I prod.

  The crease between his eyes relaxes. He smiles, “What do you want to know?”

  “Are you a senior? What’s your major? Where did you grow-up?”

  He chuckles.

  “I’m a junior. Economics. San Francisco, Portland, New York.”

  He looks at me with a knowing smirk, “And you dear Elle are a freshman, undeclared, and grew up in Silicon Valley.”

  How the hell did he know so much about me?

  “How did you…?”

  He stops me with a kiss.

  “Enough talking. Time for round two,” he manages between light kisses.

  Then he kisses me harder and the flames that had been temporarily sated begin to rise.

  Apparently, my body agreed with him.

  CHAPTER 7 Billionaire Secret: Propositions at Mickey’s

  I wake with a start.

  The string of lights are still on, casting their soft glow.

  Damon is asleep beside me, his arm draped across my stomach. He looks content. Peaceful. Like a male model sleeping.

  I look past him at the alarm clock on the nightstand between the bed and the window. 3:17AM.

  I’d been here for nearly five hours.

  My face splits into an involuntary schoolgirl grin as I remember last night.

  Rounds two and three.

  I move his arm carefully and stand.

  I stretch automatically, breathing life into my naked body.

  I’m exhausted, but I want to wake up in my own bed.

  My eyes survey the room. There are two doors on the same wall as the entry door.

  I try the first, a closet. The second middle door opens to a bathroom.

  Geez! He has an en suite in his dorm room?

  SE House was already considered to be one of the more plush Houses at The College, and The College had the most luxurious dorms of any of the Ivies, but this huge room with two walls full of beautiful leaded windows, a queen-sized bed, and now an en suite?

  The mirror reflects my naked torso from my belly button up.

  Do I look different?

  No.

  Do I feel different?

  Yes.

  I feel more…alive.

  I close my eyes and smile at all the experiences still to come.

  Ten minutes later I am dressed and back in my room at Winsor Hall.

  I had just removed my heels, when I hear my cell buzz.

  Lunch? -Damon

  How did he know my number?

  I smile like a girl with a secret. And then quickly examine my feelings.

  Am I pleased he wants to see me again?

  Yes.

  But I don’t want to feel too pleased. He was rich, gorgeous and probably a major player.

  Plus, I really, really don’t want to be one of those girls who falls in love with a guy just after having sex with him.

  I had no intention of limiting myself in any way—I was only two weeks into my freshman year of college, just getting started.

  Still…he was a mystery I wanted to solve, at least partially.

  And the thought of rounds four and five make my body sing.

  Sure. Time? -Elle

  He responds almost instantly.

  Mickey’s, 1PM

  I set my phone down and begin to undress.

  My body craves a shower, but I’m so exhausted. It would take forever to dry my hair. Energy I didn’t have.

  I would just have to sleep with wet hair and straighten it in the morning.

  Fifteen minutes later I’m in bed. Drifting to sleep, thinking of musty libraries and magic skylights.

  Mickey’s is an upscale diner known for its burgers and breakfast items.

  It is one of those mysterious places with a secret menu and a five star chef on the premises.

  No one knew why a college diner would have a world-renowned staff or why it worked so well, but it was supposed to be amazing.
/>   I was glad to try something new regardless of whatever happened with Damon.

  What a strange thought…no matter how the date went, I’d get a good meal?

  Maybe I was a little nervous.

  I arrive just on time.

  The floor is made of black and white checker tiles.

  The tables and booths are red.

  The walls are lined with black and white photographs of old sports teams from The College, some of them dating back to the late 19th Century.

  I scan the tables until I see him staring at me from a back booth.

  He makes no move to wave me over, he just stares at me intensely.

  Wow.

  He’s even better looking in daylight, which is saying a lot.

  He stands up to kiss me on the cheek.

  I slide in opposite him.

  He’s wearing a green short sleeved polo shirt and dark wash jeans. Even the casual, preppy look suited him.

  I feel like a Plain Jane in my dark skinny jeans, tall black boots, and magenta top.

  “So this is how you look in the morning.” He shoots me a wry smile.

  And then continues, “I wasn’t sure you would show up since you slipped out so stealthily last night.”

  “Was I stealthy? I clearly didn’t succeed in not waking you since you texted me ten minutes after I’d left.”

  “Your absence was noticed,” is all he says, before looking down to examine the menu.

  “This place has great food. You can’t go wrong. It’s one of my favorites,” he changes the subject quickly.

  “Well that’s good, because I’m starving,” I say under my breath.

  The menu is made of a leather folio with expensive linen paper. Something you would find at a fancy French restaurant, not a college diner.

  My stomach growls. Quickly, I find what I’m looking for so my eyes can get back to his face.

  “I think I’ll go with an omelet. I could have breakfast all day long,” I say closing the menu and setting it on the table.

  He mirrors my gesture, “Same here. That’s one of the reasons I like this place so much, you can get an omelet until they close at 3AM.”

  He lowers his face, but keeps his eyes on me. “An excellent way to fortify your body for…” his thumb grazes his lower lip suggestively, “…late night activities.”

  His eyes bore into mine.

  I feel his leg brush against my knee under the table.

  Slow and deliberate.

  The contact gives me butterflies.