Read Online 3 BOOK BUNDLE: Flown By The Billionaire I, II, & III by Carla Davis - Free Book Online
Authors: Carla Davis
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he was capable of being gentle, and had allowed me control the
first time he entered me. However, there was something infinitely sexier about
this aggressive side of him. This time, we hadn’t made love; we’d fucked. And,
although that was something I’d thought I never wanted, I realized just how
mistaken I’d been.
“Are you okay?” he asked, one hand sweeping around my hip to
my belly and then creeping between my legs.
I giggled quietly, my head feeling much too heavy to lift.
“Better than okay,” I told him softly. “Much better.”
Chapter Four
W hen we landed in Paris
several hours later, we were both cleaned up, calmer, and looked, to all the
world, as if nothing had happened. Of course, it didn’t seem that way to the
two of us. I was incapable of keeping my eyes off him for long, and it seemed
he was suffering from a similar problem.
He gestured for me to exit the plane first and I found a car
waiting for us. Alex thanked the driver and took the keys from him, inviting me
to jump in the front passenger seat.
As he drove the twenty minutes or so to the hotel, he kept
one hand on my thigh, lazily drawing patterns with the pads of his fingers. “Do
you feel guilty now?” he asked out of nowhere.
“No,” I replied, without having to give the question much
thought.
“Honest?” he probed.
“Honest,” I confirmed, smiling at him. “It feels different
with you. I’m different with you,” I added, contemplatively.
“Good,” he grinned.
We stayed at La Tremoille, the most luxurious hotel I’d ever
set foot in. I felt somewhat out of place as we walked into the large,
high-ceilinged lobby. I felt even more out of place, when we were led to the
lavish one-bedroom suite, which was larger than the apartment I’d had in New
York. With light gray carpet throughout, there was a massive living room with
circular table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, three armchairs, a sofa, a
coffee table, and a massive flat-screen television above a fireplace.
Next door was a queen-size bed with blindingly white
bedding, yet another chair and, just in case, another television. Then, there
was the bathroom with corner tub, separate shower cubicle, and at least a dozen
big, fluffy red towels on two racks.
Once we’d been given the tour and Alex tipped the porter
who’d carried our bags, I stared at him with wide eyes.
“It’s nice, huh?” he asked, stroking a casual hand through
his mahogany hair.
“Uh, yeah,” I nodded. “It’s very nice.”
Standing near the door, he slipped his hands into his
pockets. “So, you hungry?”
I remained near the threshold of the bedroom, leaning
against the doorframe. “Not right now,” I responded.
“You want to see some of the city?” he suggested.
“Not right now,” I repeated.
“Okay,” he smiled. “Then what do you want to do right now?”
“Come here,” I requested, holding out my hand for him.
His grin broadened and for a moment, it looked as though he
might insist I come to him instead. However, the expression faded and he tugged
his hands free of his pants as he walked across the living room. When he was
within arm’s reach, he offered me his hand and I slipped my slender fingers
through his.
“I want you to not make me feel guilty again,” I whispered,
looking up at him with a small, hopeful smile.
Tilting his face down to mine, he cupped my cheek in his
free hand. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. Gently, he pressed his lips to
mine, before coaxing me slowly back into the bedroom.
It wasn’t long until we were both naked. I was on my back in
the middle of the large, soft bed and Alex was sliding between my parted
thighs. He entered me smoothly, his lips kissing me tenderly as he glided
forward until his hips struck mine.
It was not as frantic and bestial as our joining on the
plane. The heat of desperation had been tempered slightly, but there was
passion and intensity of a different kind. It was not the need to reach
first time he entered me. However, there was something infinitely sexier about
this aggressive side of him. This time, we hadn’t made love; we’d fucked. And,
although that was something I’d thought I never wanted, I realized just how
mistaken I’d been.
“Are you okay?” he asked, one hand sweeping around my hip to
my belly and then creeping between my legs.
I giggled quietly, my head feeling much too heavy to lift.
“Better than okay,” I told him softly. “Much better.”
Chapter Four
W hen we landed in Paris
several hours later, we were both cleaned up, calmer, and looked, to all the
world, as if nothing had happened. Of course, it didn’t seem that way to the
two of us. I was incapable of keeping my eyes off him for long, and it seemed
he was suffering from a similar problem.
He gestured for me to exit the plane first and I found a car
waiting for us. Alex thanked the driver and took the keys from him, inviting me
to jump in the front passenger seat.
As he drove the twenty minutes or so to the hotel, he kept
one hand on my thigh, lazily drawing patterns with the pads of his fingers. “Do
you feel guilty now?” he asked out of nowhere.
“No,” I replied, without having to give the question much
thought.
“Honest?” he probed.
“Honest,” I confirmed, smiling at him. “It feels different
with you. I’m different with you,” I added, contemplatively.
“Good,” he grinned.
We stayed at La Tremoille, the most luxurious hotel I’d ever
set foot in. I felt somewhat out of place as we walked into the large,
high-ceilinged lobby. I felt even more out of place, when we were led to the
lavish one-bedroom suite, which was larger than the apartment I’d had in New
York. With light gray carpet throughout, there was a massive living room with
circular table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, three armchairs, a sofa, a
coffee table, and a massive flat-screen television above a fireplace.
Next door was a queen-size bed with blindingly white
bedding, yet another chair and, just in case, another television. Then, there
was the bathroom with corner tub, separate shower cubicle, and at least a dozen
big, fluffy red towels on two racks.
Once we’d been given the tour and Alex tipped the porter
who’d carried our bags, I stared at him with wide eyes.
“It’s nice, huh?” he asked, stroking a casual hand through
his mahogany hair.
“Uh, yeah,” I nodded. “It’s very nice.”
Standing near the door, he slipped his hands into his
pockets. “So, you hungry?”
I remained near the threshold of the bedroom, leaning
against the doorframe. “Not right now,” I responded.
“You want to see some of the city?” he suggested.
“Not right now,” I repeated.
“Okay,” he smiled. “Then what do you want to do right now?”
“Come here,” I requested, holding out my hand for him.
His grin broadened and for a moment, it looked as though he
might insist I come to him instead. However, the expression faded and he tugged
his hands free of his pants as he walked across the living room. When he was
within arm’s reach, he offered me his hand and I slipped my slender fingers
through his.
“I want you to not make me feel guilty again,” I whispered,
looking up at him with a small, hopeful smile.
Tilting his face down to mine, he cupped my cheek in his
free hand. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. Gently, he pressed his lips to
mine, before coaxing me slowly back into the bedroom.
It wasn’t long until we were both naked. I was on my back in
the middle of the large, soft bed and Alex was sliding between my parted
thighs. He entered me smoothly, his lips kissing me tenderly as he glided
forward until his hips struck mine.
It was not as frantic and bestial as our joining on the
plane. The heat of desperation had been tempered slightly, but there was
passion and intensity of a different kind. It was not the need to reach
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