Page 62 of Resisting the Billionaire

“So your subconscious knew it even then? You never told me exactly what happened.”

“You were on top of me,” she murmurs, “then inside me. I could feel you. It was so real.” I pause in my painting, watching as her face transforms into that of a seductress, eyes going heavy-lidded, gaze filled with a remembered desire. I lean forward to hear her better as she continues in a low, hypnotic voice, “How warm your skin was, how it felt to be pressed into the mattress by you, how you looked at me…”

Is it the same way I’m looking at her now? Because there’s no way I can keep every bit of longing for her contained hearing her speak like this to me. “Are you sure you don’t flirt regularly? Because you seem like a pro.” Not that this is really flirting. More like… telling the unfiltered truth.

She gives a small smile, blushing prettily.

“What I want to know is what you did after waking up.”

“W-what?” Her eyes widen almost comically. Oh, I got her.

“That dream affected you, didn’t it?” If it was anything like the dreams I have about her, it had to have. “What did you do when you woke?”

Her gaze flicks rapidly over my face, her continued silence speaking volumes until the barest whisper emits from her. “I touched myself.”

I close my eyes, blocking out the sounds of shrieking kids, of their parent’s conversations, even of the ever present traffic just on the other side of the garden wall. Anything to concentrate further on her words. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I- I didn’t finish. I felt… guilty.”

I set the paintbrush down again, abandoning the nearly finished butterfly. “You never,everhave to feel guilty about that. I want you to do it. Do you know how many times I’ve jacked off to thoughts of you?”

I half expect her to recoil at my blunt statement, but she keeps her hand in mine, curling her fingers around my wrist. “You have?”

I nod, loving the sweet sting of her nails pressing into the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.

“What do you think about?” she asks, like she can’t help herself.

“You really want to know?”

She nods, an eager light in her gaze.

“You. Underneath me. Above me. On all fours. On your knees. Spread out wide for me to feast on. Take your pick.”

Her breaths speed up. “I shouldn’t have asked that, should I?”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t get the image of you doing those things out of my head now.”

“And do you like it?”

She swallows, closing her eyes as she nods once more.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re ready to cut the cake,” the woman from before says, approaching us. I suspect if I wasn’t here, she wouldn’t be so gracious.

Mackenzie nearly falls out of her seat as she startles, standing quickly, her chair tumbling behind her.

I move to steady her, but she’s already halfway toward her client, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. “Let’s go gather everyone, shall we?” she says brightly, no hint of our conversation on her face.

She motions for the woman to walk ahead of her and glances back once at me, her expression unreadable. I saw what was there earlier, though.

And I want it again.

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