Page 23 of The Billionaire's Secret
"You want to share it when you have it, but when you want it you don't have it." He rumbles, "What is it?"
His tone rams through the jumbled quagmire of my mind, pulling me in, drowning me down, insisting that I focus my attention on that beautiful visage.
His lips curl. He is laughing at me.
He knows exactly the picture he presents.
So damn arrogant. So confident.
Did he orchestrate this entire tableau for my benefit?Nah, why should he? Bet he has a mile-long queue of women outside the door ready to suck his every appendage.I chuckle.
His glare intensifies. "You have one second to answer."
"I… I don’t know." I swallow.
"A secret," he drawls. "That's the answer." His eyelids grow hooded. "What secrets are you hiding from me, I wonder?"
"None." I swallow.
"Everyone has secrets." He chuckles.
"Even you?"
"Especially me." His grin widens.
The wet sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room. I drop my gaze to where the woman kneels between his thighs. His forearms flex, he spreads his legs, yanks her head closer, then begins to use her mouth in earnest. Back-forth-back; her entire body shakes.
A gagging noise splits the rhythmic effect.
My head spins. My core clenches and I chafe my thighs wanting…Needing more. So much more.
His chest seems to expand further and further; his shoulders swell. His pale blue eyes glow with a strange inner light.
He lowers his chin, raises an eyebrow, and a snarl rips up my throat.
A heavy sensation stabs in my chest; my vision tunnels.I am not jealous. I am not.I don’t want him that way. Besideshe had…left me there on the couch, while he’d indulged himself?What a complete jerk.
My heart begins to race; adrenaline laces my blood. I raise the gun, aim it at Saint.
He stares back. His shoulders stiffens.
The woman between his legs glances around. I level the gun at her. She pales.
I wiggle the gun and she rises to her feet, only to glance at him. What the—? I have a weapon trained on her and she looks to him as if seeking permission?
Saint’s lips firm. "Leave."
My toes curl, my scalp prickles… and the hair on my forearms rises. Jesus, no man should have a voice like that. My arm shakes. The woman passes me, then bolts.
Silence descends. A beat, another.
I hold Saint’s gaze, tip up my chin.
Two can play this game. I will not be intimidated. Will not be coerced into breaking the silence. I stare down the barrel of my pistol, at the rat’s ass of a man in my cross hairs.
He relaxes into the chair. The soft material of his pants outlines the contours of his powerful thighs.Don't look there, don't.I glance at his crotch, which is unzipped. His dick arrows up. Is it thicker than what I remember it to be? Nah, that must be my imagination, surely—
"My face is up here," he drawls.
