Page 42 of The Reluctant Billionaire
I watch as he slides his hands towards my waist and gets a grip of the hem of my top. Up he pulls it, up and over my head. I shake my hair out.
He grimaces as he eyes up the bra he gave me. ‘You can burn this,’ he says as he unhooks it. Those eyes darken as he slides it down my arms and sees my boobs come into view in the mirror.
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell him. ‘I plan to. I only wore it to make a point.’
‘Point made.’ He reaches around and cups me. The warmth and the friction of those big, rough hands palming my boobs is so divine I shiver.
Slowly, deliberately, he runs the calloused pads of his thumbs over my nipples. We both watch in fascination through the mirror as they stiffen even more under his touch. I suck in a breath through my teeth at the perfect abrasion, as well as what a compelling picture we make.
We’re both dark-haired.
Both olive-skinned.
Both topless.
Aide looks so fucking huge and commanding, and I look petite framed in his arms. Pliable. He may only be holding my boobs, but my entire body and soul are in his hands right now. Beside us, the water thunders against the floor of the shower.
‘Look at you,’ he groans in my ear. ‘Sofuckingbeautiful.’
‘Mmm,’ I manage, leaning back further against him and relishing the brush of his soft hair against the back of my arms.
‘What do you like?’ he asks gruffly, kissing along my jawline.
Clearly, I’ve already lost several IQ points, and the man hasn’t even brought me to orgasm yet. I tilt my head, offering him better access to my neck. ‘Huh?’
‘What kind of sex do you like?’ he clarifies. ‘Want to give you what you want.’
Oh.
I’m suddenly alert. Not only is he physical perfection, but he’s asking me for input up front? Perhaps he offers a menu of services? This man could definitely ace the gigolo thing if his billions turn to ashes.
‘Um,’ I say. I’m not backward about articulating my desires, but he’s caught me off guard.
He rolls my nipples between his fingers, and I grind my bum against his dick. ‘Come on. Don’t be shy.’ I detect a teasing note in his voice. Could Bedroom Aide beplayful?Curiouser and curiouser.
I meet his eyes in the mirror. ‘Put it this way. I’m sick of dating rich twats who can never undo their years of all-male public schools. I want a real man who’ll throw me down and give me a good seeing-to.’
He may be a rich twat, but I bet he can handle some throw-down.
He raises his eyebrows and smirks. I can tell I’ve surprised him. ‘I thought you’d want to take charge. You’re such a pain in the arse during the day.’
‘Hilarious,’ I say with as much archness as I can muster given the man is massaging my boobs. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I can give you a running commentary, but I’d much rather I didn’t have to. Think you can handle it?’
CHAPTER 18
Lotta
My little pep talk seems to galvanise him.
Maybe the phraserich twathit a nerve, because he backs away enough to spin me around in his arms.
‘Look at me,’ he growls. ‘Does anything about me tell you I can’t handle giving you exactly what you need?’
Oh my God.
No, it certainly does not.
‘No,’ I squeak, putting my palms on his chest as I look him over in all his shirtless glory.
