Page 84 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

The tinge of pain causes my release to barrel forward like a freight train, and I reach between us, moving my thumb in circles against Everly’s clit until she’s writhing beneath me, begging for her release.

“That’s it, beautiful, come for me,” I say.

She calls out my name as she chases euphoria, and I roar as unfiltered pleasure surges through me at the intoxicating sight of her unraveling beneath me. As we come crashing down together, she cries out.

“You’re a fucking vision, coming all over my dick, Ev.” I rest my head against her shoulder and carefully pull out of her, not wanting to cause her pain. I stifle another groan as I watch our mixed cum drip down her thigh.

“You’re only going to fuck me once?” she pouts, teasing me with a glint in her eye.

It’s adorable that she thinks I’m done with her. We won’t be stopping until we’re both boneless and sated.

“I’ll never be done with you, Ev,” I vow.

She is my wife in every sense of the word. There’s no chance I can let her go when the acquisition is finalized. I’ll have to do everything I can to show her this is real and that we belong together.

23

EVERLY

EVERY TIME I SEE CASH’Sshort hair, it almost brings me to tears. Not because I don’t like it—he’s sexy no matter the length of his hair—but because of what it represents.

He’s used it as a shield for all these years, and I’m honored that he would ask me to be part of his healing process. It serves as a reminder of his willingness and courage to step outside of his comfort zone.

His example has made me consider my situation with my dad. I’ve avoided a confrontation with him out of fear that I’ll lose my job, financial security, and any chance of having a working relationship. However, I’m learning that my happiness should come first, above all else. When the next opportunity presents itself, I won’t pass up the chance to stand my ground.

I’m yanked from my thoughts by the sound of the fire alarm.

“Oh no,” I shout, leaping from my chair. I rush to the oven and yank out the burned casserole, dropping it into the sink—dish and all. Plumes of smoke surround me as the alarm continues to blare.

Cash chooses this exact moment to come home, rushing into the kitchen with a startled look on his face. His eyes dart to me before jumping onto the kitchen island and turning off the smoke detector.

I sigh in relief when the apartment finally falls into silence. It’s a good thing his gym is on the floor below, or we’d have angry neighbors demanding to know what all the commotion was about.

“Ev, are you okay?” He climbs down and stalks toward me, gently cradling my face with his hands.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry,” I mutter, my face flushed with embarrassment. “I was baking a shepherd’s pie for dinner but burned it.”

He’s been so incredibly thoughtful since I moved in, and I wanted to do something special for him in return. I left work early to pick up a bake-at-home pie from a nearby restaurant, figuring it would be easy to prepare. The only problem is that I forgot to set a timer when I put it in the oven and got distracted.

“At least now we know the smoke detector works.” Cash offers me a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” I melt into his touch, inhaling the comforting scent of citrus, musk, and sandalwood.

Our domesticated marital bliss feels more real by the day, especially now that we’re having sex every chance we get. Something about our new intimacy has brought us closer despite the lingering doubts in the back of my mind.

I meant it when I told him that I trust him, but I can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop. In the past, whenever things started to look up, that’s when they fell apart.

I narrow my eyes at Cash when he laughs. “What’s so funny?” I frown.

“I’m not laughing at you, Ev. It’s just amusing how neither of us can cook worth shit.”

I tilt my head, my brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean? You’ve made dinner almost every night, and every dish tastes like it came out of Theo’s kitchen.”

He bites his lip, stifling another burst of laughter.

“Cash—”

He holds his finger out to stop me. “Hold that thought. I have something to show you.”

He leaves me in the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a canvas tote bag. From it, he takes out a tray of grilled lemon herb chicken, a container of roasted vegetables, a garden salad with a separate container of vinaigrette dressing, and two fruit tarts.

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