Page 70 of Dial B for Billionaire

Her answer is to throw one leg over my hips, straddling me in one smooth motion. The sheet falls away, revealing her naked body in the pale light.

“Layla.” My hands find her waist automatically. “We should probably talk about?—”

She rolls her hips, and my words die in my throat.

“Talking is overrated,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss my neck. “I prefer action.”

“I noticed that about you.” My grip tightens as she continues her slow torture. “Very goal-oriented.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her teeth graze my pulse point. “And right now, my goal is to make you forget every responsible thought in that brilliant head.”

“Mission accomplished.”

She laughs, the sound vibrating through both our bodies. “I've barely started.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise.” She sits up, hands braced on my chest. “Unless you have objections?”

I flip us in one motion, pinning her beneath me. Her surprised laugh turns into a gasp as I press against her.

“No objections,” I say roughly. “But if we're doing this, we're doing it my way.”

“Control freak.”

“You love it.”

“Maybe.” Her legs wrap around my waist. “Prove it.”

Twenty minutes later, we're both breathless and tangled in sheets that will definitely need changing. Layla'sface is buried in my neck, her body still trembling with aftershocks.

“OK,” she pants. “You proved it.”

I laugh, surprising myself. When's the last time I laughed in bed? “Glad you approve.”

“I've lost count of how many times you've made me come in the last twelve hours.” She props herself up on one elbow.

“I can send you the spreadsheet report later.”

“Please don’t. I just want this to be…easy. No counting.”

I pull her close and nuzzle into her neck, kissing her gently behind her ear. “To be honest with you, I’ve lost count too.”

We laugh and grin at each other like idiots. This should feel strange. Banter and comfort don’t always come this easy. Instead, it feels like something clicking into place.

My phone buzzes again. Then again.

“You should probably get that,” Layla says, though her hand sliding down my stomach suggests otherwise.

“Probably.” I don't move.

Another buzz. This time hers joins in.

“OK, the universe is being very clear,” she sighs, rolling away to grab her phone from the nightstand. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Seven missed calls from my assistant.” She sits up, sheet clutched to her chest. “And twelve texts. Mostly variations of 'where are you' and 'your father is calling everyone looking for you.'”

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