Page 2 of Billionaire Book Boyfriend

For a long moment, I just stare out at the busy street with cars going back and forth from their destinations. Instead of thinking about my next big deal or the empire I’m building, my mind keeps drifting back to the book.

It’s not just the plot. It’s the emotions the book stirred in me. Sure, the story was predictable in places, but the way the author captured longing, fear, and the thrill of forbidden attraction hit a nerve. I hate to admit it, but there were moments where I actually... felt something.

The eroticism of the story is undeniable. I can’t shake the memory of that scene where Natalie finds herself alone with the mysterious stranger in the nightclub. The tension between them is palpable as they dance, their bodies inches apart, the music thumping around them. They feel the heat radiating off each other. When he leans in, whispering something so intimate in her ear that it sends a shiver down her spine, I remember holding my breath, caught up in the electricity of their connection. It’s like the author laid out all the raw desires and unspoken fantasies that hit a little too close to home, things that have been sitting just under the surface of my own life.

That’s what really bothers me. It’s as if the words on the page are pulling at the corners of my carefully constructed walls, daring me to feel more than I ever intended.

I’m getting soft,I think, shaking my head. A man like me doesn’t have time for emotions, for fleeting flings or heartache. I thrive on control, on keeping my feelings under lock and key. It’s how I’ve built my empire from the ground up—by staying sharp, disciplined, and focused.

But damn it if that book hasn’t chipped away at my defenses.

I pace the room, restless. I glance back at the book lying on the armchair, half-tempted to dive back in. What will happen next?Will Natalie give in to her desires, or will she make the “right” choice and walk away?

“Stop thinking about it. There are much more important things going on,” I mutter to myself, snatching my phone off the table and scrolling through missed messages. A few urgent business matters await my attention, but my mind isn’t focused enough to deal with them now. Not when Natalie’s dilemma is gnawing at me.

I set the phone down again, the pull of the story becoming too strong to resist.

“Fine,” I say to myself, giving in to the need to read more. “One more chapter. Then, I’ll know how ridiculous it is to spend time reading books like this.”

However, I don’t just read one more chapter. Page after page pulls me in deeper, until I lose track of time completely. Hours later, I find myself still seated in the armchair, the clock now pushing well past midnight. The book is nearly finished, and I’m on edge, my chest tight with anticipation.

I know this is crazy, but how did it get to this point? How did a simple, silly romance novel wrap me so thoroughly in its web? My jaw tightens as I flip the final few pages, half hoping for a resolution and half dreading the inevitable end.

Natalie has a life-altering decision to make, and I find myself silently rooting for her. I want her to take the risk, to embrace the fiery, unpredictable man who has turned her world upside down. I know it’s foolish. Real life isn’t that simple. My last crush taught me as much. But something in me wants to believe, ifonly for a moment, that the passion displayed in this novel can overcome all objections.

When the final chapter comes to a close, I’m left staring at the last page, my breath unsteady. My fingers drum against the cover as I try to process the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve just experienced. I hadn’t expected to feel so... raw.

In those last moments, Natalie chooses to take a leap of faith, abandoning her safe, predictable life for a chance with Ethan, whose desire for her is palpable. He’s been on her the entire story with a level of intensity that shows his commitment. The way he looks at her, with that mix of hunger and admiration, hits different, like it’s pulling up feelings I’ve buried for a long time. I can see the tension in every word he says and every touch. When he pulls her close, promising her endless passion and excitement, it’s like a reflection of everything I once wanted to give a woman.

As I read those final lines, where Ethan gets what he wants—Natalie giving into her feelings for him—I get caught up in the moment. That kind of desire, that raw, no-holds-barred love, is something I haven't even thought about in forever. This book stirred up something in me I thought was long gone—a little spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could feel that kind of passion again. That wild, reckless kind of love where you just throw caution to the wind.

A chuckle escapes my lips. This is absurd. The great Drake King, the man who vowed to never let anything personal interfere with his business or his heart again, has just been taken for a ride by a romance novel.

I toss the book onto the coffee table and stand, rubbing my temples. I take a quick mental note that I’m not that man anymore. I don’t get swept up in emotions, and I certainly don’t waste time on things like love stories.

But even as I tell myself that, a nagging thought lingers at the back of my mind. Maybe—just maybe—there’s something brewing deep inside of me. A reignited light I thought would never shine again. Something about letting go, about feeling without overthinking. About risking it all for something that could burn as brightly as it could hurt.

I stare down at the book one last time before heading upstairs to the shower. I can’t help but respect the author who knows how to craft a story that brings out emotions in the reader, even someone like me who thinks romance books are absurd.

With each step toward my bedroom, the story’s characters still linger in my mind. I’m a man who thrives on logic, control, and certainty. But tonight, something feels different—something I’m not ready to confront. I can’t shake the images of Natalie and Ethan from my thoughts; their chemistry, their desire, and the way they dealt with their fears and vulnerabilities resonate with me more than I’d like to admit.

Stepping into the hot spray of water, I let it wash over my skin, hoping to clear my head. The heat of the shower soothes my tense muscles, but as I run my hands over my chest and down my abdomen, the images I formed of Natalie from the novel keep flooding back—the raw intimacy, the unapologetic passion.

My hand moves lower, almost instinctively, as I imagine Natalie in the shower with me, ready to give in to my every desire. The steamy scenes from the book play out in my mind, driving me to a new height of desire. I can’t explain what’s happening to me. I have never felt like this after watching any movies or after any books I’ve read.

I’m led by pure lust as my grip tightens, and I stroke myself slowly. The memory of the characters’ tangled bodies stir something deep within me. Every touch heightened by the water pouring over my skin, I let myself get lost in the sensations, my thoughts amped as I find myself deeper in the fantasy the book has created in my mind.

The control I usually hold so tightly slips away as I imagine what it would feel like to let go completely, to give in to something I can’t rationalize or predict. My breath quickens as the tension in my body builds, my thoughts a tangle of the scenes from the book and my own hunger. The heat from the water and the pressure of my hand push me closer to the edge until I finally release, the pent-up tension flooding out of me and washing down the drain.

Gritting my teeth, I lean against the cool tile, my heart pounding in my chest. What in the hell just happened? The control I pride myself on is slipping, and it isn’t just physical. The book has awakened something deeper, something raw and unchecked inside me.

Shutting off the water, I step out of the shower. The cool air hits my skin as I grab a towel. I can’t deny it any longer. This book, this feeling, whatever it is; it’s messing with my head in a way nothing ever has before.

As I dry off, I catch my reflection in the mirror, jaw clenched, eyes dark with something I can't even put into words. This isn't just about reading some story anymore. Somehow, I feel like I’ve gotten pulled into everything it stood for, like I’m part of what that story embodied.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I head to bed, my mind still racing. Tomorrow, I’ll have to figure out what to do with this energy. Will I act on it or try to forget it ever overwhelmed me? Those are the questions eating at me, down to my very soul.

That book, those emotions, have awakened something inside me, and whether I’m ready or not, I have to face it.

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