Page 87 of Pucking Billionaire

“Next time, scream my name.” I grab a handful of her hair—something that I’ve noticed seems to drive her crazy.

“Just fuck me,” she moans, her gaze on the mirror that reflects my fist in her hair. “Please!”

I love it when she begs for it. Beast-mode activated, I piston into her with everything I’ve got.

“Yes!” she cries. “Yes! Mason?—”

She comes so hard her tight walls squeeze Uber to the point where I can’t take it anymore. Grunting her name, I burst inside her with an orgasm so intense my vision blurs.

It takes us both a long minute to recover. Finally, I find the strength to get up, so I can clean us up. Afterward, I lie next to her and gather her into a hug against me.

“That was nice,” she murmurs sleepily. “And much better than an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

I don’t reply because I have a sudden dumb urge to tell her again that I love her. But I don’t. I’m a tiny bit less stoned, and I’ve learned my lesson.

Unless she acknowledges that she heard me and hints that the feeling is mutual, I’m going to keep quiet and simply do everything in my power to make her fall for me.

I’ll do whatever it takes.

Chapter 30

Sophia

“See,” I say to Mason as we brush our teeth together the next morning. “The nice thing about pot is the lack of hangover the next day.”

“I’m not so sure I agree.” He checks his still-slightly-bloodshot eyes in the mirror. “I’m craving a bagel with cream cheese and lox. I’ve never craved that in my life. I blame the drugs.”

Hmm. He was also craving salty fish yesterday. “It’s possible it’s not completely out of your system.”

Who knew a two-hundred-pound hockey player would have such a low tolerance? I mean, he was so stoned that he told me he loved me. Or rather, he told someone—probably some unnamed salty fish. Or maybe he meant to send a telepathic message to Flop the Dolphin. Either way, he didn’t mean it, I’m sure. It was just euphoria talking.

Hell, when I tried molly, I confessed my undying love to my new iPhone, so there’s that.

But what if he did mean it, if only on some subconscious level?

Could it be that he at least likes me?

No. I can’t go there. We agreed. What happens on the cruise stays on the cruise.

Besides, our fling, or whatever this is, is most likely about the team. As soon as we get back to NYC, he’ll go back to trying to get me to sell.

Ugh. Should I sell it to him? Given how our first meeting unfolded, I was dead set against it, but I can no longer hold onto my spite.

This is important to him. So important he’s pursued me into the open ocean. And he’s right: what do I know about running a team, even with Abigail’s help? But if I sell, will he disappear? Will the transaction sever whatever connection there is between us? Or will it?—

“Ready?” he asks.

Shit. I’ve been standing here, staring dumbly into the mirror.

With effort, I shake off my funk. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

It’s official. Mason is still stoned—how else to explain the fact that he just ate an actual doughnut?

Weirdly, I ate a piece of fruit myself.

“Seems like we’ve rubbed off on each other,” he says with a grin when I point this out.

Yeah, we have, and we rub against each other some more that evening, and the evening after that. In general, we spend all our time together over the next couple of days—and they’re the best days of my life.

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