Page 60 of The Bossy Billionaire

“Lucy.” I smile as I take a few steps to the back of the shop.

“What’s going on?” I ask with a sly smile, my heart rate elevated as I continue to the steps, hiding myself in the shadows of the history section at the far end of the shop away from windows, out of view of the front door. I feel like I am playing hooky from school. I have hardly ever closed the shop early. I have never left a stock delivery unopened, and I certainly have never had sex during business hours. But with the look on Huxley’s face, that is exactly what is going to happen.

“What’s going on? What’s going on? Baby, you just gave me the best blow job of my entire life in the back of the car. Now I want to hear you scream my name so loudly the people in this neighborhood go running,” he warns as his body gets closer, my back hitting the shelf of biographies.

He throws off his suit jacket and stalks toward me, pushing me against the shelf. His mouth is on mine in an instant. As his hips brush against me, I can already feel him hard again against my stomach. He places his palms against the books on either side of my head, caging me in. This is so hot. He just had me, yet he can’t get enough. Of me. I have never felt this wanted. Never felt that I would ever matter so much to someone that they would pounce on me the minute we get inside.

He grabs my skirt and pushes it down and as he does, my hands land on his waist, grabbing at his belt. Our moves are so ferocious, you would think the car ride took the edge off, but we are more heightened than we have ever been.

“If this is what you are like after being apart for a week, what is it going to be like when it is longer?” I say as his pants fall to the floor, meeting my skirt, and he makes quick work of throwing my top over my head and across the room.

“We won’t know, because I am never leaving you this long again,” he growls as his lips crash back into mine. His hands feel like they are everywhere as our underwear fall and my bra is unclasped.

“Huxley…” I breathe, feeling out of control. When we are like this, I don’t feel my leg at all. My anxiety about my health, my shop, my life all dissipates. My focus is only on him. On us.

“I’ve got you… I’ve got you,” he pants against my lips before he kisses me again as his hands find my bare hips and he lifts me up, pushing me back against the books some more. The shelf is solid, but the books on display start to rock a bit under the movement.

“I need you…” The passion I have for this man is only equal to the burning feeling I get in my chest every time I think of him.

“I’m here,” he grits out as my legs circle his waist, and he slams into me, my body hitting the shelf behind me as I grip on to his shoulders. The air leaves my lungs momentarily as he pulls out and slams back in, and it feels so good.

“Put your hands up, grip on to the shelf,” he demands, and my hands fling out immediately to either side of my head to grab the shelf as he asked. My legs are wrapped around his waist, my hands splayed out like a starfish, and his hand trails up my chest, resting on my neck.

“More… More…” I don’t recognize my own voice as I push my head back, his hand tightening around my neck slightly, his other holding my ass as his body slams into me over and over. His grip on my body is tight, my fingers clawing at the shelf from how good he feels.

“God, I could fuck you like this every day for the rest of my life and still not be sated,” he growls, his lips coming to my jaw and then my mouth, where he licks and sucks, biting my lip, his grip burning my skin. The books move behind us, and I hear a few fall to the floor. We are covered, no one can see us, but I have never done this before. Never been with a man in my shop. I will never be able to come to this section again without thinking of this moment.

“Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” My body bounces against him as he thrusts into me. I have no control, and I am not sure he does either as the two of us pound against the bookshelves, merely steps into my front door, not even making it upstairs.

“Never… Fuck, Luce.” His jaw tight, his eyes sear into mine as we stare at each other, and I start to quiver.

“Huxe…” I choke out his name as my body heats. I can’t take it. I can’t hold on.

“Come. Now.” And I do. My hips grind as my fingers dig into the shelf. I scream so loud I know my neighbors can hear. The banging against my shelf increases as Huxley chases his release.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m coming…” he growls, almost a roar, his muscles tightening, his hold on me unyielding until we are still, panting. Our bodies are covered with a sheen of sweat as he drops his head to my chest. His hold on me doesn’t waver as he kisses my neck softly, his lips featherlight as they move up my jaw to my lips.

“You okay?” he asks me quietly as I wrap my hands around his shoulders, his hand leaving my neck as he now holds me around the waist.

“Better than okay. Although I think my biography section may need to be tidied up,” I breathe out, peeking over his shoulder at the books that now are scattered on the floor.

I pant, still trying to catch my breath, my breasts pushing against his naked chest, my back against the shelf. My legs are still tightly wrapped around his waist as his large hands rub up and down my naked body from my knees, up my waist, and back again.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs, lie in bed for a bit,” he murmurs, keeping me to him as he walks us as one to my rickety staircase and up to my apartment. We leave behind our clothes, the books on the floor, and the entire shop, and he walks straight to my bedroom, placing me on the bed softly. He covers us both with the blankets as the small bedroom window shows nothing but drizzle and gray clouds outside, winter now not far away.

We lie together sleepily. Both naked, facing each other, his hand runs lazy circles over my hips as I trace his jaw with my fingers.

“When are you going back to New York?” I ask the question that burns inside of me. I really want him to say never. But I know that will never happen.

“Hmmmm, I’m not sure I want to leave this time, Luce,” he says honestly, and my breath catches in my throat. I watch him take a big breath. “I might stay here with you all night, but I should head back in the morning. I have a few meetings.” He looks at me like he doesn’t want to leave at all. We are a hair’s breadth apart, breathing the same air, our bodies curled into each other. There is nothing between us, not even clothes. I have never felt a connection so open and genuine before in my life.

“Have you thought any more about being the public face of Bloomers?” he asks, and aside from him, that has been the one thing I have been thinking about.

“That's all I think about,” I tell him honestly. “This week being back at the store, I have noticed things that I never saw before. My customers' faces as they light up when they see me. The small hugs from the senior citizens when I help them. The kids as they all run up to me and give me all their special artwork I display proudly in the kids’ section,” I say, smiling, loving every interaction.

“It is time for you to step into the light. Be the new face of Bloomers. I know that the fire, your brothers, the campaign, all this is a lot to take on. But what you can control is your business and how you run it. Stop hiding. You hide behind your glasses; you hide behind your baggy sweaters; you hide behind your parents’ legacy. When are you going to see that people come here for you? You are what makes Bloomer Books special. Your parents started it, but now people come for you. Not the free coffee, not the free books. They come because when they walk in this door, they are welcomed. When they see you, they feel at home. They are warm here, their children safe here. You read to them, make them feel a part of something. It’s time for you to step out of your cocoon and spread your beautiful butterfly wings. Stop hiding. You are beautiful inside and out. I can see it, now let the world see it too. It’s you. It’s always been you,” Huxley says, and my heart thuds. God, this man.

My voice gets caught in my throat for a beat, and I let his words sink in. “Maybe you are right,” I say to him, thinking about his words. I have been hiding. The glasses, the clothes, in this shop. I need to reimagine it all, step into this new confidence that he is building in me. I am a smart, successful, resilient businesswoman.

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