Page 53 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

Fuck, I think she’s dreaming.

My hand lingers, tempted to give her the pleasure she’s chasing in her sleep, but I force myself to pull back. My cock throbs in protest. I would like nothing more than to make Everly come, but not like this. When I bring her to ecstasy, I want her eager and begging me never to stop.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop her from getting herself off. After all, I am her husband, and it’s my job to give her what she needs.

Everly repositions herself to get extra friction. It’s hot as hell watching her get herself off. She lifts her head to pepper kisses along my neck, her breath skating across my skin. It takes every ounce of restraint not to kiss her back when she squeezes my thigh with her legs.

“Oh, god,” she cries as she tips over the edge. The dampness on her shorts proves her orgasm wasn’t only in her dreams.

A sigh of contentment escapes her lips as she nuzzles her head in the crook of my neck. Within seconds, her breathing evens out, and she falls back into a peaceful slumber.

I’m not so lucky. My cock is still rock-hard, begging for release. I close my eyes, doing my best to ignore it. I don’t want to risk waking Everly if I get up to relieve myself.

At least now I know she wants me, even if she hasn’t yet come to terms with it yet. Here’s to hoping her mind catches up withher subconscious soon because I’d like nothing more than to show her how much I want her.

14

EVERLY

One Week Later

IT’S A SUNNY MORNING, THEperfect day for a jog. I’m eager for some semblance of my old routine.

I dress in a pair of black workout shorts and a hot-pink tank top and pull my hair into a high ponytail. When I step out of the bathroom, I stop in my tracks.

Cash is sitting on the edge of the bed, the brim of his ball cap covering his eyes, tying his running shoe. I’m surprised to see him since he usually goes on long runs before I wake up.

He glances up when he hears me approach and smiles. “Good morning, wifey.”

“Morning,” I say.

The truth is, despite my better judgment, I’m warming up to the nickname, maybe more than I should.

As promised, he’s had a home-cooked meal on the table waiting for me every night when I get home from work. After dinner, I work at the kitchen island, catching up on things I couldn’t finish at the office, while Cash watches a movie with headphones. I appreciate his thoughtful gesture, allowing me to work without interruption.

Since we got back to London, I’ve slept better than I have in years. It’s purely coincidental that I’m sleeping next to Cash, or at least that’s what I prefer to believe. I’m plagued with dreams of being wrapped in his arms, my thigh draped across his hips, his arms holding me tightly.

Last week, my dream turned sexual. Cash held me close as he whispered my name in my ear. With gentle hands, he stroked my body, caressing me. I arched toward him, loving the hot touch of him on my skin. I pressed kisses along his neck, desperate for him to make me come. He plunged his fingers inside my pussy, and I rode his hand as he drove me to an orgasm. It felt so real, but when I woke up, Cash’s side of the bed was cold and empty.

Most mornings since, he’s been gone before I’m up. This strikes me as odd, given that he seems the type who would sleep in.

“Are you going somewhere?” I ask.

“Yeah, out for a jog,” Cash answers as he ties his other shoe. “Want to join me? Looks like you had the same idea?” He motions toward my workout clothes.

“Um…”

Normally, I prefer to run alone and instinctively want to decline his offer, but he must sense my hesitation.

“It’s just a jog, Ev. You don’t have to worry about me asking you to marry me or anything too serious,” he says, flashing me a boyish grin.

Why does the reminder that we’re married make butterflies take flight in my stomach? I highly doubt spending more time with him will help curb my attraction to him.

I’m not prepared when I glance over to see him standing up, giving me a full view of his bare chest—his sculpted six-pack on display.

I have to channel all my focus into appearing unaffected by his striking physique. I’ve gone years without having a visceral reaction to a man, and then Cash comes along and every time I see him without his shirt on, I’m like a bitch in heat.

One run together can’t hurt, right?

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