Page 87 of The Grumpy Billionaire

He brushes a kiss over my neck, and I melt. “Nice to love.”

Another gentle kiss.

“But just FYI, this garment was destined for life as a torn zombie veil. So honestly…” I start undoing his pants. “And you’re losing these, mister.”

“Stella, Stella, Stella.” This in a voice suffused with adoration.

A smile takes over my entire face—I probably look goofy, but I can’t help it. I’m sinking into some very extreme happiness here in Hugo’s nest, and he’s saying my name over and over, and it makes me feel ten feet tall. Or ten feet long, being that I’m horizontal.

Even if there’s a life-sized Captain Kirk watching us from the corner, I want to live here in his bed.

I smooth my hands over his muscular shoulders, and I get this forbidden flash of us spending a weekend snuggled in the covers. We would read and play games and confess Chia-Pet-hiding-type secrets of yore, and of course make love.

Maybe order takeout. Hugo was always partial to anything with curry…

I give up on the pants because my arms are not four feet long. A rustle of fabric and the clink of a belt buckle tell me that he’s probably pulling them off the rest of the way. He falls to kissing me some more, like I’m the most precious being on the planet.

“Hey! Don’t forget—lurid. Tawdry.”

“You’re wearing a blindfold. I’m gonna fuck you soon. That’s lurid and tawdry.”

“No it’s not!” I say. “Here I am in your home, and you’re acting like I’m precious and you cherish me. All signs point to the opposite of lurid and tawdry.”

“I do cherish you. These things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Disagree,” I say.

He makes a sound that shows he disagrees with my disagreement.

“Okay,” I say, “get out your phone and look up tawdry and lurid.”

“Now?” he says.

“I was promised tawdry and lurid,” I remind him. “Look it up.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“We can go no further until we have this settled.”

He grumbles and shifts, and I know he’s getting his phone. Hugo is all about codes and promises and the letter of the law.

Silence.

I reach into the darkness and find his thigh. “Read it,” I say.

“Tawdry,” he says. “Cheap and tasteless.”

“Okay, then,” I say. “And lurid?”

“Horrible in fierceness or savagery. Marked by sensationalism.”

“Aha. Somebody refuses to follow orders.”

“It’s not how I feel, Stella. I won’t act like you’re just a warm body for my consumption. It’s you.”

It’s you.

And just like that, Lord help me, lurid and tawdry isn’t where I am, either.

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