Page 196 of The Billionaires

When we enter, the lights are on and Bruce isn’t there, but I spot something new.

A TV sticking out of the foot of the bed. Or maybe it’s not new? Maybe all Bruce needs to do is press a button and the TV slides out from somewhere.

Bruce steps out of his bathroom, wearing a robe. “We’re all set to watch the show. Assuming you still want to.”

Do I want some Netflix and chill? With him? Doesn’t my outfit answer that for me?

“What about this one?” I lift Colossus.

Bruce walks over and rubs his fur child’s belly. “How about we do some of that training we talked about?”

“You mean his reaction to kissing?” I ask, doing my best not to jump up and down in my excitement.

Bruce nods, grabs the puppy, and brings him to the bed.

Colossus plops down between Bruce’s legs and seems to pass out.

“Let’s see,” Bruce says, then grabs me and gives me a loud kiss that would knock my socks (and panties) off—if I were wearing any.

Upon hearing the smooch, Colossus turns to investigate but then lies back down.

“He’s tired,” I say with a grin. “I think we can use this to our advantage.”

With that, I kiss Bruce again.

We get a glance from the dog, but that’s it.

On the next kiss, Colossus doesn’t even bother getting up, so I take him to his bed.

“TV?” Bruce asks.

“Let’s makes sure he’s asleep,” I say and loudly kiss Bruce.

When the dog doesn’t react, Bruce kisses my neck, then my collarbone, and by the time he’s sucking my nipple, I forget all about TV.

The next day passes in a similar manner. I wake up in Bruce’s bed, he splits his day between work and his family, and I meet him in his room to watch The Witcher. Which is really just code for lots and lots of sex, as no TV gets watched. The only issue is that I still haven’t found a way to bring up the big question.

What exactly is going on with us?

Also, shouldn’t he bring it up at some point? Why is this on me? Or is this just a meaningless fling for him and not worthy of discussion?

I push the thought away, and we spend the following day the same way—except we do finally get to watch some fifteen minutes of The Witcher before Bruce fucks my brains out once again.

Still no discussion of anything.

Alrighty then.

The next day, I learn that his family is going to stay for another week—a week that starts off in much the same vein, with only sporadic watching of The Witcher and lots of orgasms for me. By now, I’ve had more orgasms with Bruce than in all of my previous relationships combined.

By day six, I’m mad at myself for not braving the conversation, but even madder at Bruce for not sparing me the need to do so.

I’m so pissed at him that I’m actually rehearsing the possible things I’ll say to him in chastisement as I walk with Colossus in the morning. Every other morning before today, I played out the different versions of the “what’s going on between us” talk instead, but making choices has never been my strong suit.

“Call me old-fashioned,” I’ll say to him as I start, “but isn’t it usually the guy’s responsibility to ask a woman out?”

No. Weak. I’ll need something punchier if I really want to go down that route. Maybe call him?—

“Hey,” a familiar voice says, bringing me out of my thoughts.

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