Page 148 of The Billionaires

Outside, the night air smells wonderful, and the full moon illuminates the estate beautifully, making this walk a joy despite the late hour. Colossus does his business pretty quickly—no doubt eager to return to bed. I pick him up and carry him to Bruce’s bedroom, where I open the doors as carefully as I can.

Hmm.

There’s a light inside.

I gingerly step in, only to gape at the source.

Bruce is playing my Switch… in bed.

“The Witcher 3?” I blurt.

He grunts in the affirmative.

“Do you like it so far?”

He gives another grunt.

I guess he didn’t want to be awakened again, so he decided to kill the time by gaming—which is exactly what I would have done.

Without saying another word, I deposit Colossus and skedaddle.

Once in my own room, I shamelessly head for my box of sex toys, as I can see only one way to get any shuteye at this point: a visit to my bat cave.

No. Bat cave makes me think of Batman, and his name is Bruce—and that’s not who I want in my head for this. I’d better think about someone else, like the computer-generated Witcher.

Yeah.

That’s the ticket. With this in mind, I proceed to ménage à moi.

CHAPTER 17

BRUCE

Why is this fucking game so fucking addictive?

Forcing myself to power down the console, I lie on my back and think about what happened earlier.

One second, I was inside Lilly in a dream; the next, there she was.

Why the hell did I have that dream? And why did she look so magnificent standing there when I woke up?

It must’ve been that stupid suspension bridge effect messing with my mind again. The barking startled me awake, and then there she was. That must be it because I don’t like any other explanations for the way my body reacted.

Turning onto my left side, I grasp my pillow and hope for sleep.

Nope.

Maybe I’ll have better luck on the right side?

It’s even worse.

After tossing and turning for what feels like an hour, I decide that it’s time for one of two home remedies that help me sleep: a snack or jerking off.

A snack seems like the better option as it’s not likely to make me think of Lilly again—which would be counterproductive if the goal is to clear her from my mind.

Tossing on my robe, I head for the fridge. I’m not surprised when I hear the pitter-patter of small, fluffy feet behind me. Colossus never misses a chance to go to the kitchen—not since he’s figured out that that’s where his treats reside.

As we approach the kitchen, he runs ahead of me, which is odd.

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