Page 11 of Her Sun-Drenched Billionaire

I moaned softly, hips rocking into his hand. He kept teasing, two fingers sliding inside me while his palm ground against my clit, steady and relentless. The valley stretched endlessly beneath us, open and bright, and I felt exposed in the best way—held safe by him, seen only by the trees and sky.

He pulled his hand free only to shove my shorts and underwear down my thighs in one motion. I stepped out of them, kicking them aside. Cool air kissed my skin.

August dropped to his knees behind me, hands spreading my legs wider. Then his mouth was on me—hot, demanding, tongue licking from my entrance to my clit.

He devoured me from behind, no hesitation, sucking and lapping until I was gasping, gripping the railing hard. The pleasure built sharp and fast, his beard rasping deliciously against my thighs, his hands holding me open. I came with a broken cry, thighs shaking, waves crashing through me as he kept licking me through it.

Before I could catch my breath, he stood. His cock nudged my entrance, thick and ready, and he pushed in deep in one smooth thrust. I moaned loud at the stretch, the perfect fullness.

He started moving, fucking me with long, powerful strokes that pressed me harder against the railing. One hand stayed on my hip, the other braced beside mine. Every thrust drove him deeper, the angle hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes. The valley blurred in front of me, wind whispering across my skin, his body claiming mine right there in the open air.

My eyes drifted closed as his hand snaked around to find my clit again, fingers circling in tight, perfect rhythm with his thrusts. The pressure built again, hotter, deeper.

“August—” I gasped.

“Come with me,” he growled, voice strained.

We came together. Pleasure tore through me in pulsing waves as he buried himself deep and pulsed inside me, his groan mixing with my cry. Our voices echoed out over the valley, raw and unfiltered, carried on the morning breeze.

Afterward, we lay in the sheets with the morning light pouring in from every direction. The valley was bright below us, the canopy green and gold, the glass walls turning the whole bedroom into the thing he’d always wanted it to be—a house that floated above the world with love and laughter inside it.

I was tracing the ink on his shoulder, following the lines the way I’d done that first night. He watched my fingers move, his hand resting warm and heavy on my hip.

“Can I tell you something?” he said.

“You always can.”

“The night on the rooftop. When you were leaving that voicemail and I was standing by the fireplace with my drink.” His thumb moved against my hip. “You asked me later why I said yes, and I never answered.”

“I remember.”

“It wasn’t because of First Light. It wasn’t the mission or the gala or the cause.” He paused, and his jaw did the thing it always did—the slow shift, the thought turning over before he let it out. “It was because you sounded like I used to. Before the company, before the board decks, before I stopped looking at the dashboard. You sounded like someone who still knew why she was doing it.” His eyes found mine. “And I wanted to hear it again.”

The sun was on my hair and his hand was on my hip, and through the glass, I could see the whole valley spread out below us, bright and wide and full of morning.

“You hear it every day now,” I said.

“Yeah.” He pulled me closer. “I do.”