Page 80 of Pucking Billionaire

“Yeah.”

Sophia narrows her eyes. “How come you didn’t tell me that they taste bad? Or that their coloring is a warning of that fact? Those are the only things I knew about ladybugs before today.”

I shrug. “I’ve only tasted one ladybug thus far, and she was delicious.”

Predictably, her face reddens to a shade not that different from a ladybug’s bright hue. I guess it might be too much to tell her another truth: regardless of her coloring, she need not worry about predators ever again—not while I’m still breathing.

She slurps her macchiato. “So… what are we doing today?”

“How about we try the surfing simulator after this?” I offer, keeping a poker face to hide the fact that her “we” makes me want to pump my fist in the air.

She cocks her head. “You surf?”

“No, but I’m a quick learner.”

Turns out, Sophia is a much quicker learner than I am—at least if we go by the number of times each of us wipes out on the simulator. In my defense, half of my falls happened because I got distracted by staring at her in her bathing suit.

“You ice skate so well I thought you’d be good at balancing activities in general,” she says while we’re waiting in line to ride again.

She’s referring to the somersault I accidentally performed during wipeout number fifty-seven.

“I’m sure I could master surfing if I wanted to,” I say with a confidence I don’t quite feel.

She shakes her head. “I’d stick with hockey if I were you. It’s what you’re good at.”

I lean in to whisper into her ear, “Are you sure you can’t think of something else that I’m good at?”

Just as I intended, Sophia blushes once again.

For the next few days, we’re inseparable. Together, we go cage-diving with sharks, take history tours, ride an electric tram, and go snorkeling. During meals and when commuting to those excursions, we learn more about one another—and no matter how much I learn about her, it’s never enough.

Of course, the highlight of each day happens in my suite, where we thoroughly explore each other’s bodies, learning what the other likes and dislikes. Oh, and I’m not keeping score or anything, but I’m positive that I’ve made Sophia come three times for each of my orgasms.

When we reach Jamaica, we nearly break our necks climbing a six-hundred-foot waterfall. Afterward, one of the tour guides offers to sell us some weed.

“Can we?” Sophia looks at me pleadingly.

“Why?” I narrow my eyes at the guide. “We can’t take it on the ship.”

The guide grins her overly toothy smile. “I could just sell you a couple of joints that you can smoke before you head back.”

I frown. “I don’t do drugs.”

“We’ve already had this conversation,” Sophia says. “You drink, and alcohol is a drug.”

“How about just one joint?” the guide suggests.

Sophia fishes out a soaking-wet bill from her pocket. “Will this cover it?”

Eyes shining with avarice, the guide snatches the bill away before I can see what denomination it is. “This will do,” she says. “And—for my new favorite customer—here’s a bonus.” She pulls a cheap plastic lighter out of her purse and gives it to Sophia along with the joint. “I’d recommend you go smoke it over there.” She points to a spot near the water. “The view is nice, and I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Sophia elbows me challengingly. “Will you go with me, or are you too afraid of contact high?”

“I’ll go,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean I approve of this.”

“Noted,” Sophia says, and under her breath, she mutters something that sounds like “narc.”

When we get to the secluded corner, I have to admit that the view here is nice… at least until Sophia lights up her joint and blows out a cloud of smoke that obscures said view.

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