Nicolas Rainer, Chicago’s most sought-after billionaire bachelor, has finally decided what he wants, and that’s Bee Carter in his arms, forever. He shows up unannounced on her doorstep and kisses her until her toes curl and her body burns.
Nicolas wasn’t the sexy man Bee expected to see this morning. Hawke Masters, her tattooed former marine, is riding his customized chopper toward the condo building, anticipating an equally mind-meltingly erotic encounter.
Both men want her with a thrilling intensity. Neither her billionaire nor her biker wishes to share her affections. Is today the day Bee is forced to choose?
Sinful Rewards 5: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella
“You’re killing me, Belinda.” He cups my ass, lifting me off the floor, and he walks with me into my bedroom. “I have to touch all of you.”
“You forgot your T-shirt.” I wave my arm. He’s left it on the kitchen floor.
“Passion is messy, love.” Hawke kicks the door shut behind us and tosses me onto the center of the bed. I bounce. He yanks off his jeans, the buttons popping.
I gaze at him with open admiration, excitement unfurling low in my stomach. He kicks off his boots and strips naked in mere seconds, his cock fully erect, jutting from a base of neatly trimmed brown curls. He’s huge and aroused and mine, his scars attesting to his violent career, his savage nature.
The future is uncertain. We might have only tonight, this one moment. I spread my thighs in a clear invitation and he stalks toward me, his eyes darkening to a brilliant blue. The curtains are open and the storm continues to rage. All of my focus is on him, my tattooed biker, my tortured military man.
I reach out, wrap my fingers around his shaft, and he jerks. “Easy,” I coo, comforting him as I would comfort a wild beast. “Let me touch you.” I cup his balls, weighing them, rolling him in my hands. Hawke’s lips flatten and his eyelids lower as he stands straight and still beside the bed.
I pump him with one hand as I explore the cascade of defined flesh over his abdominal muscles, the indent of his hipbones, the power of his upper thighs, committing every scar, every inch of him to memory.
A dab of precum forms on his cock head. I look upward and our gazes meet. My intentions must reflect in my eyes because a strangled noise originates from deep in Hawke’s throat. I slowly extend my tongue and flick the tip over him, tasting his unique flavor. His cock bobs. His hands, held by his side, clench into massive fists.
It’s not enough. I lick my lips, savoring him, needing more. Hawke’s eyes widen, his gaze fixed on my mouth as I push my flesh over his, taking his cock head into my heat. I prod his slit, tease his rim, slap his shaft with the flat of my tongue.
“Fuck, love. You’re slaying me.” He shakes, beads of sweat pearling on his golden skin, adding sparkle and shine. Hawke doesn’t need clothing. His huge form is best displayed nude, covered only with the remnants of desire.
I suck on his cock head and then release him. “You’ll survive.” I repeat the words he often says to me and gently squeeze his balls.