Page 10 of The Billionaire's Secret
His voice coils around me, slithers down into the crevasse between my lower lips, reaches deep inside, touching, stroking, molding to my contours—a living entity that wants and takes, that never stops, that will not be satisfied until I submit to him.Submit.
"Answer the bloody question." His tone rams through the jumbled quagmire of my mind, pulling me in, drawing me down, insisting that I focus my attention on that beautiful visage.
"You have one second to answer." He raises heavy-lidded eyelids; a flush of red suffuses his cheeks. So, he's not impervious to me either. This, whatever it is between us, affects him as well.
What does that mean? Can I use it to my advantage? Do I dare leverage it to get what I want from him?
I tip up my chin. "I… I don’t know." I swallow.
"Are you sure you want to find out?" He leans in close enough for his scent to overpower me. The heat from his big body slams into my chest. His breath sears my cheeks, and our noses bump. He drops his gaze to my mouth. I part my lips, close the remaining millimeters between us. The world tilts. He grabs my shoulder, applies enough pressure that I slip off the car seat and down onto the floor on my knees.
I glance up at him, "You have some nerve."
He smirks, widens his legs.
Don't look down. Don’t.I glance down at the bulge that tents his crotch, which is definitely considerably larger than what I'd noticed at the wedding. Saliva pools in my mouth. How big, how beautifully heavy he'd feel down my throat. What the hell am I thinking?
"I just buried my husband," I swallow.
"You didn't love him."
My jaw drops, "How dare you arrive at that assumption?"
"Am I wrong?" His gaze burns into me. A pulse beats at his temple. He peruses my features, "Tell me."
I shake my head.
His shoulders relax. Huh, does it mean anything to him that I had no feelings for Adam? That it was all a front to get me here? Why is it important to him that I didn't love another man?
I blink at him.
He lowers his chin, "Ask me to pull the car over and leave."
"Would you do it?" I frown.
"Nope," he chuckles, "but it sure was fun allowing you to think you had the option."
Anger twists my chest. Blood thuds at my temple. I raise my hand again.
He doesn’t take his gaze from my face. "Don't," he rasps.
One word. A softly spoken command. My belly quivers. The force of his personality seems to grow until it fills the space, pushes down on my shoulders, holds me in thrall of this strange connection between us. I lower my arm
"Good girl."
A flush burns my cheeks. Why does his praise mean the world to me? Why do I want to please him with every fiber in my being? This is unnatural. I frown.
"You think too much, Gigi." He touches his finger to my forehead.
"My name's Victoria," I retort.
"Gigi suits you better."
"Why is that?"
"Short for Good Girl." He presses his knuckles below my chin, "Also you look like a Gigi.” He turns my face up, "Definitely, Gigi."
I stare up at him. I've always hated my name. How the hell did he perceive that? My pulse begins to race.
