Page 270 of The Billionaires

Disturbing to Yoda, that moaning is.

To drown it out, I start the show.

It doesn’t help. During the first half of the first episode, Jane’s enjoyment of the wine and cheese keeps me in a constant state of arousal. Once the food is gone, I don’t get a break either. She scoots closer to me, close enough for me to smell her, and then she tucks her little feet under her shapely butt.

Oh, and did I mention how she moistens her lips whenever there’s kissing on the screen? Or how warm her dainty shoulder feels when it touches mine?

When I can’t take another minute of this, I pause the show. “It’s getting late.”

Still cuddled into me, Jane turns her head, and even her eyes look sexy—pupils dilated, lids heavy. “I do have to wake up early for my first day on the new job.”

“There you go,” I say, and before I do anything that I’d later regret, I leap to my feet—a mistake, Yoda-wise.

If Jane notices my tenting pants, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she wishes me a good night and walks away, her hips swaying maddeningly.

I count to four Mississippi, then run to my bedroom, where I vigorously scratch Yoda behind the ears.

CHAPTER 25

JANE

In historical romances, the heroines sometimes feel a throbbing in their wombs, which I always thought was a fanciful way to say “horny.” Tonight, on that couch, that is exactly what happened to me. That, and my breasts felt tender, and there was a gnawing emptiness in my core.

By the end of the first episode, I almost begged Adrian to GD me, but I obviously chickened out.

Still, there’s always tomorrow. Or the day after.

All I know is, Adrian seems like a man who knows what he’s doing in that department, and I’ve always dreamed of having an orgasm my first time, which is probably difficult because of the pain and discomfort usually associated with the act. I figure since I’ll already remember Adrian for the rest of my life as the man who gave me financial security, why not remember this extra factoid about him—that he was my deflowerer? I bet it will be a memory I’ll cherish.

The more I think about it, the less crazy the idea seems.

Equal parts excited and unsettled, I head to bed. Naturally, sleep doesn’t come. Between the new bed, the new job, and Adrian, I’m all but buzzing with adrenaline.

Which is why I have to self-administer three orgasms to have the slightest chance of shut-eye.

I skip like a kid on my commute to work, which consists of a five-minute walk, courtesy of my new domicile. If I were coming from Staten Island, it would be a two-hour ordeal involving a bus, a ferry, and a couple of trains.

To my shock, Mrs. Corsica smiles when she greets me. Granted, it’s only for a millisecond and with just the corners of her eyes, but still, a miracle.

She has me start with some boring red tape, but once I’m done, my first workday proceeds so wonderfully I almost want to pinch myself. Especially when she has me sort the historical romance collection that got me interested in this particular library in the first place.

As my workday draws to a close, I almost don’t want to leave.

When should I leave?

I wait until everyone else is gone before heading over to Mrs. Corsica’s office—where the door is currently ajar.

Mrs. Corsica is laser focused on her screen.

This is probably a bad time.

I turn to leave, but she clears her throat.

“Hi,” I say guiltily, turning around. “I was wondering if there was anything else I need to do?”

“No. You can go home. Good job.”

I don’t just go home—I float there, buoyed by that “good job.”

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