Page 105 of The Reluctant Billionaire
This is definitely the kind of reciprocity I can get behind.
I ride him shamelessly just like he told me to, taking and taking, so flooded with desire and so desperate for release that I can’t think of anything else except rubbing myself against his face until I get what I need. His ravenous grunts and the slick hardness of his cock in my hand tell me he’s taking too, that he’s every bit as into this as I am.
And when the heat sweeps through me, engulfing me, taking every sense prisoner, I take that, too. I allow it to splinter my consciousness into a million perfect shards as suns rise and set behind my eyelids. I cry out Aide’s name and am dimly aware of his muffled grunts of pleasure as I grip him harder and shudder my orgasm out above him.
As soon as the fog of blinding ecstasy begins to clear, I’m pulling away from the grip of his hands and sliding down his body so I can impale myself on his cock. I’m soaked from my arousal and Aide’s mouth, so when I position his crown right at my entrance and lower myself down, I yield to him more easily than usual.
Still, stuffing myself full of Aidan Fucking Duffy is no mean feat. I’m reminded once again that my boyfriend is a real man, a real handful, as I breathe my way down his length. He lies there, his face contorted with hunger, eyes heavy-lidded, hands running up my thighs in encouragement as he watches me fill myself up with him. And when I get him all the way and sit down heavily, we both moan.
This is where I belong.
This is where he belongs.
CHAPTER 40
Aide
‘So delicious,’ Lotta’s friend Nora says, holding up a huge strawberry and taking a bite out of it. She moans softly, causing her fiancé Theo to grunt out a strangledfuck’s sake, Belleand overtly reach under the table to adjust himself. Nora looks outraged, drops what’s left of the strawberry like it’s a hot coal, and slaps his hand away from his crotch.
I’ve spent one evening and about half an hour of breakfast with these two, but that’s been plenty of time for me to work out their dynamic, and it’s fucking hilarious.
As far as I can tell, they’re ridiculously hot for each other, but she tries gamely to maintain an air of propriety that he insists on blowing up. He calls her Belle, and she calls him Romeo.
Not confusing at all.
Lotta and I glance at each other. She rolls her eyes and smirks, and I grin and tug her in more tightly against my side.
This is the life.
I don’t know why the fuck I don’t do this kind of thing more often, but it’s something I suspect the hedonistic love of my life can help me with. Most of us are staying at this hotel in Ramatuelle, Villa Marie. That includes Noah and Honor, as Joshand Elle’s families have taken over Noah’s parents’ chateau for the weekend.
We’re sitting on a shady terrace overlooking the pretty pool. Just through the French doors are tables groaning with an excellent breakfast, and I’m slowly and methodically making my way through the spread. Lotta and I worked up an appetite with morning sex that quickly ramped up from sleepy to athletic, and I’m fucking starving.
I didn’t eat much last night, even though the food was incredible. I was too amped up from my mad dash to get here on time and too nervous about mustering up the courage to tell Lotts how I felt about her. Now I’m making up for lost time. I’ve had a massive bowl of fruit and yoghurt, shitloads of charcuterie, and probably an entire wheel of Camembert on what feels like a whole baguette. I’m now putting away an alarmingly large number of tiny pastries, but if I’m going to act like a self-indulgent bastard for a few nights, I may as well do it properly.
Last night was… unbelievable. Literally. I can’t believe how big her heart is. Can’t believe I bled myself dry and she accepted all of my shit.
Can’t believe she loves me.
I glance down at her, and she smiles up at me. Her sunglasses are dark, but I know that smile reaches her eyes. She strokes the hand I’ve got slung over her shoulder with her slender, ring-dotted fingers, and I silently vow to add two more rings to that collection in the not-too-distant future.
I fucking love seeing her like this. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, as usual, but her vibe is relaxed. Undone.
Just-fucked.
She’s in some kind of red halter-neck beach cover-up thingy over a tiny string bikini—also red—under which her fantastic tits sit freely. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, and she’s leaning into me like there’s nowhere she’d rather be.
I can deal with that.
‘Honor and I had an illicit lunch here,’ Noah says casually, draping an arm over the back of her chair. ‘Right after we—uh—got together.’
His wife raises a shapely eyebrow. ‘Got together? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?’
I chuckle along with everyone else, because I have clear memories of Noah recounting the whole sorry tale over whisky in the square one night. Honor’s husband was publicly cheating on her with his then-co-star and now-partner when my mate decided to try out his gallic charm on her and persuade her to ‘level the playing field’ (his preferred turn of phrase for how things went down).
‘Ancient history now, though, right?’ I say, stretching. As I do, I take the opportunity to drink more of the view in. I swear, the South of France is good for the soul. And not only is this place idyllic beyond belief, but I’m noticing that simply putting distance between me and London is helping me to put stuff into perspective.
I’ll never, ever abandon the community centre, or my friends, or my family. But it doesn’t hurt to examine my motives for helping out in the centre more closely and see what a healthy relationship with it looks like going forward. I allow myself a sigh of pleasure as I bury my nose in Lotta’s sweet-smelling, still-damp hair.
