Harlow sank the rest of the way, letting out a long moan, and taking all of him.

Easton gripped her hips. “God, you feel good. Made for me.”

“Easton.” She started moving. She rode him, gaining speed.

He felt sparks of lightning shoot down his spine. “Yes, like that.” His voice sounded like gravel. “You’re killing me, baby.”

She moaned, moving faster and faster.

She was so hot, the way she took him deep. He felt how wet she was.

“Not going to last.” He found her clit and rubbed it.

She rocked wildly, her pussy clamping down on him. Then she splintered apart again.

Her climax triggered his.

Easton gripped her ass, thrusting up. His guttural roar filled the room and he exploded inside her. “Harlow!”

The room blurred, then came back into focus. Harlow was lying limp on top of him. Her sweat-dampened skin stuck to his, her breath puffed against his neck.

He stroked down her back. He was sure his legs wouldn’t work this time. “Harlow?”

A small, feminine murmur. She snuggled against him and he realized that she’d fallen asleep.

He grinned at the ceiling, stroking her skin. She’d fallen asleep with his cock still inside her.

Easton liked that. He liked it a lot.

Chapter Twelve

Mmm. Sleep slowly lifted, that warm, drowsy state where everything was good in the world and anything felt possible.

Harlow snuggled into the warm body beside her. God, he smelled good.

Wait.

She cracked one eye open. A naked, fast-asleep Easton came into focus. He was lying on his stomach, one arm bunched under the pillow, and the other one wrapped around her.

Oh, shit.

She sat up. She remembered everything, in perfect detail, of what they’d done to each other during the night.

She’d slept with her boss.

She’d slept with the billionaire who could, and regularly did, have anyone he wanted. And not just slept, had lots of amazing, spectacular sex.

“Harlow, you idiot,” she muttered.

She scrambled off the bed and winced. She was very tender between her legs. Then she looked up through the terrace doors and stopped.

Holy cow. The view was as stunning as she’d imagined. She watched a yacht heading across the Bay, its white sails bright against the dark-blue waters.

Then she turned back and her gaze snagged on Easton.

He was an even better view.

He was sprawled there, still sleeping. But even asleep, he looked powerful and in charge. His bronze skin was a stark contrast to the million-thread-count white sheets.

His back was uncovered, and her greedy gaze traveled over the muscular lines of it. The sheet only covered half of his fabulous ass. She saw red scratches on his skin and blushed. God, she’d left marks on him. Her mouth watered and she took one step back toward the bed.

No.