Free At His Warning: The Billionaire's Beck and Call, Part 8 by Delilah Fawkes Page B

fear and doubt in that moment, letting the feel
of his lips on mine wash away my worries. He believes in me...
    I
moaned, opening my mouth to him, my tongue exploring his languidly as the kiss
deepened. I was lost in a haze of sensuality when he pulled away.
    “Not
tonight.”
    I
leaned in, trying to capture his lips again, but he held me by my shoulders.
    “Why
not?”
    He
chuckled low in his throat. “You’re drunk.”
    “I
don’t care.”
    His
eyes flashed in warning. “I’m going to bring you some aspirin and a glass of
water. Take them and hydrate, then get some sleep. That’s not a request.”
    “But,
I-”
    I
closed my mouth at the look on his face. He would not be disobeyed, even though
I could tell by the tenting in his pants he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
I wanted nothing more than to reach over and stroke him through the fabric, to
unzip him slowly and reach in, wrapping my hand around his hard length.
Instead, I nodded, sighing. It would do no good. Chase Drake had made up his
mind.
    After
the water and the pills, he undressed me and lay down behind me, spooning me to
him.
    “You
know I want you, too, Isa,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear. “But I
won’t make love to you when you can’t properly consent.”
    I
snuggled back against him, his words making me feel desired. Protected.
    He
believed me. He took care of me. He held me close to him when I needed him by
my side.
    I
was safe in the arms of Mr. Drake.
    And
I knew I always would be.

 
    ***

 
    Morning
arrived, bringing with it a dull, thumping headache and a whole new batch of
problems.
    I
rolled over and rested my head on Mr. Drake’s chest, breathing in the delicious
mixture of his spiced cologne and the musky smell that was all him. I ran my
hand lightly through the sprinkling of hair over his pecs, listening to the
steady sound of his breathing. If I could have stayed in bed with him all day,
I would have, maybe watching old movies and ordering room service to ease my
hangover. But I knew we still had investors to please and tasks to accomplish.
I sighed with longing and pressed a kiss to his skin.
    Despite
the throbbing in my skull, I still wanted him, wanted to tease him and stroke
him before feeling him inside of me. I ran my hand lower, skimming over the
hard planes of his abdomen before sliding below the sheets.
    A
rough hand grabbed my wrist, Mr. Drake’s low laugh rumbling through his chest.
    “And
just what do you think you’re doing?”
    I
laughed, too, then touched my head and winced. Too loud. Mr. Drake pulled back
and smoothed my hair away from my face.
    “Headache?”
    I
nodded. “Mmm hmm.”
    “Aren’t
you supposed to use that as an excuse not to make love, Isa? You seem to be doing this all wrong.”
    I
stretched back on my pillow, letting the sheets fall off my full breasts. I
smiled as his eyes traveled downward, his pupils darkening.
    “But
what if making love will cure me? Isn’t it worth a try?”
    He
looked like he wanted to pounce on me, but then furrowed his brow. “I don’t
want to hurt you.”
    “Maybe
we could... go slow?” I pulled the sheet lower, letting the cotton slide down,
revealing the curves of my body.
    He
groaned as he watched, his hands soon wandering where his eyes had traveled.
His fingers grazed my sex, lightly playing over my folds as I gasped. Our lips
met as he stroked me softly, his tongue sliding across my teeth.
    “I
don’t usually do it like this,” he said. “But right now, I just want to make
you feel as good as possible.”
    I
grinned, thinking of his dungeon. No kidding .
    But
I groaned as he leaned down and kissed his way around each breast, stopping to
lap at each nipple until it tightened into a peak. I loved that he could be as
tender as he was rough, drawing pleasure out of me the way a master musician
draws beauty from his instrument.
    When
he entered me, it was slow and steady, his hips rocking forward and back,
letting me adjust as we began