Page 53 of Pucking Billionaire

Whatever it is, I doubt it was whole food or plant based.

“Geesh,” Sophia says. “It won’t bite.”

Gritting my teeth, I slip the panna cotta into my mouth.

Hmm. Interesting.

“Thoughts?” Sophia says.

Well, my first impression is that the texture reminds me of the silky smoothness of her pussy, but I’ve got a feeling that comparison isn’t going to be welcome. “It’s less sweet than I expected.”

“Right, and?”

“A ripe Ataulfo mango has a similar texture,” I say. “And if you like this, you’d like leechee nut and cherimoya.”

She blows out an exasperated breath. “I give up.” She finishes the rest of the panna cotta. Then, as if offhandedly, she asks me where she can get the fruit I mentioned.

“How about I tell you as I walk you to your suite?” I offer as I get to my feet.

Shit. I’m definitely not supposed to know she got herself a suite instead of a cabin, but I guess the idea of us walking together has distracted her enough that she doesn’t question my odd omniscience.

So, we walk and I talk, and it might be my imagination, but I catch her looking at my hand a few times, as though she is on the verge of holding it, like she did on the way from that bar to my bed.

Fuck me. I’m glad Sophia is facing forward and that I bought out all the surrounding suites. It’s made our chances of bumping into someone—and therefore someone seeing how hard I am—negligible.

“—and the season for leechee starts around May,” I say as we reach her door. “Just like with the others, you can find the best ones in Chinatown.”

When she notices that I’ve stopped by the correct door, she frowns, so I pretend to want to go further. She visibly relaxes and says, “Wait. This is my door.”

“Ah,” I say, feigning surprise. “I’m right next door.” I point at the suite that I carefully chose to occupy—one that I now think might be too close to hers for my sanity.

“Oh.” She frowns at this “coincidence.”

“I asked the agent for the suite with the most panoramic view,” I say. “He told me that that one was already booked, but that mine would be the next best thing.”

This seems to mollify her, or at least I assume that’s why she doesn’t look suspicious anymore.

In fact, I don’t understand her current expression. Or I do, but I must be mistaken.

The hooded eyes.

The parted lips.

The blush and the subtle flicker of her tongue wetting said lips.

My cock, already at attention, gives her a salute worthy of a five-star general.

“I guess I’d better head in,” she murmurs but doesn’t move.

I face her, which is a mistake because I get caught by the gravity exuded by her… and her delicious breasts. “Thank you for having dinner with me.”

“No problem,” she says breathily. “Strangely, I had a good time.”

“Me too. Except I don’t think there was anything strange about it.”

“Well, I’d better head in,” she says again… but still doesn’t move.

She moistens those lips one time too many, and something inside me snaps.

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