Page 160 of Billion Dollar Mistake

“Maybe me if you’ll let me use it.”

I raise my brows at him. “You bought this for me, and you want to ask for permission.”

“Of course. I bought this, so you didn’t use that dingy fucking one.”

“Oh, so now who's jealous.”

“One hundred percent, baby. I don’t want anyone checking you out when you’re sexy and sweaty.”

I screw up my nose at the vision. “It’s not a sexy look.”

“I beg to differ. The flush on your cheeks and the sweat on your skin reminds me of when I fuck you. The spent look is hard not to want another round right after I just made you come.”

We stand face to face. I’ve looked over the incredible private gym and now I want him. I’ve been on edge all day.

I drop to my knees.

“Baby.”

“Shh, let me thank you,” I say as I reach out and grab his belt.

“I didn’t buy this for you to please me. Even though you on your knees makes me want to watch you gag trying to say thanks.”

There he is. My man. The one pre-accident that wasn’t scared to be rough.

“Please,” I beg as I unzip his pants.

He’s rock hard beneath his briefs. I can't get him out quick enough. His thick hard cock bobs and the precum that's glistening on the end makes me lick my lips. I bring him to my mouth and open.

He fucks my mouth the moment his cock hits the back of my throat and he doesn’t stop until I have tears running down my face and he’s coming so hard he spills out of my mouth.

Now that's what I missed.

Rough and unhinged Remy.

Epilogue

Nova

“I really wish you were coming with me,” I say over the phone to Jeremy.

I’m heading to Bentley's yacht for our end-of-year work celebration.

“Me too,” he replies.

I know I encouraged him to go to Chicago for a holiday party to celebrate the grand opening of the newest Lincoln hospital, so I can’t be down about it. He and Harvey collaborated on this venture and I’m happy he found his spark for work. I thought he was never going to return to full time after the accident, but with me returning to work he slowly realized work isn’t bad. He just had to find balance.

“Do you have your ugly Christmas sweater and mask on?” I ask, remembering when he first received the invitation with the dress code he complained and refused to go.

“Yes, and I look ridiculous,” he grumbles. And I can imagine him running his hands through his hair like he does when he’s frustrated.

I giggle. “I bet you don’t. Send me a picture.”

“Don’t laugh at me or I might change my mind about going.”

A beep alerts me to a new message, so I pull the phone away from my ear and open his picture.

He’s adorable. “Aw, you look cute.”

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