Page 56 of The Billionaire Experience

Billionaire. Funny. Could cook. Was considerate. Had a giant penis. Seemed unfair to other common men hoping to impress a woman.

On his next thrust, she tilted her hips to meet him. She crossed her ankles at his back, nudging his firm ass forward with her heels. Yes, yes. This was so much better than it would have been with a condom.

“Agree,” he said through a ragged exhale, and that’s when she wondered how much she’d said aloud.

It didn’t take long for her orgasm to crest. It was an incoming wave rolling toward shore content to take her out with it. Her fingertips on his shoulders, she dug in for purchase. Her pending release shimmered on the horizon. She hovered there, attempted to hold on to it, but lost the battle on a cry.

Nay. A shout.

His shout overlapped hers, and they clung to each other, rocking out the end of their shared orgasms. He gave her his weight, the damp, cool sweat on his chest hair tickling her breasts. He bit her earlobe before soothing it with a kiss. Then he whispered something she’d never ever forget.

“Best ever. Mark my words.”

She didn’t know if he meant it. She also didn’t care. Her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, she held on to both him and the compliment. “Don’t move.”

“Can’t.”

Her belly bumped his with a silent laugh.

He turned his head and caught her grin on a kiss, his mustache tickling her lips. “Probably should, though. Don’t want to crush you.”

“I could die here.” Who cared what happened outside of these four walls? Not her.

“Don’t die. We won’t be able to have a round two if you check out.”

“Good point,” she conceded.

They stared into each other’s eyes for a little too long, but she couldn’t stop herself. Neither, it seemed, could he. Their smiles endured as the seconds ticked by.

He slowly pulled out of her body in one long slide that had her missing him instantly. They shared a sigh that held as much longing as satisfaction. Then he sat back on his knees and ran a hand through his hair.

He gave her a sideways smirk, briefly shook his head, and then climbed off the bed. As he was padding toward the hallway, she rolled onto her side. “What was that headshake for?”

“You don’t miss anything, do you?” he asked, his hand on the doorframe.

“Not much.”

“I was thinking you should have been more insistent last night.”

“Oh, yeah?” She was grinning again.

“Yeah. That was a hell of a lot more fun than hanging a TV.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Reagan sipped her first cup of coffee while admiring Brody’s ass in a pair of perfectly fitted jeans. He was at the stove, preparing a Bromelet for each of them. She briefly remembered how she’d tested the firmness of that tush with her heels, and suppressed a shudder. Each part of him was better looking than the next.

He set their plates on the kitchen table, and she got her first look at his namesake breakfast. He’d folded bacon and melty cheese in between fluffy yellow eggs. “This looks incredible.”

She forked a bite into her mouth, unable to wait another second to taste it. The smell of bacon had been saturating the room for the last ten minutes.

After two consecutive bites of his own omelet, he said, “I’m more than a one-trick pony, but not by much. After the Italian place, I was a short-order cook at a diner for two weeks. This was the only recipe of theirs I perfected.”

She swiped her lips with a paper napkin. “It is perfect.”

“It’s the cheese. Smoked gouda.” His eyebrows jumped.

It’s the cook, she thought, but she didn’t say out loud. A girl should shield at least one of her cards.

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