Page 29 of My Fake Billionaire Damaged Boyfriend

“Like I said, Alek,” I sigh, switching courses, “I’ll see you around. Have a nice evening.”

He puffs his chest into the air and marches proudly down the sidewalk without another word. I don’t let it bother me in the slightest, Izzy brushing her cheek into my chest until he’s finally out of sight, but never out of mind.

“That was intense,” she mutters, “What were you two talking about before I got here?”

“Nothing at all, Kitten. Come on, I have somewhere for us to go tonight. You still have that sexy little leather outfit, right?”

She blushes and nods, “Of course, but I thought you said I look better in my pencil skirt and blouse.”

Opening the passenger door to my sports car, I catch a glimpse of her perfect curves as she slides into the seat, my mouth fighting the urge to salivate.

“Technically, Kitten, you look better innothing, but the pencil skirt isn’t bad.”

When I climb into the driver’s seat and take off, she asks meekly, “Why do I need that leather outfit anyway? Where exactly are we going? It’s just a Tuesday night.”

I scoff in my tone as I reply with, “Justa Tuesday night? Come on, Kitten. It’s much, much more than that.”

“Is it a holiday or something?” she asks, mostly speaking to herself, “Oh, is it your birthday? Happy fiftieth birthday, Dimitri.”

I scowl slightly, “Very cute, Kitten. I’m not that old, though. I’m only—what is it—eleven years older than you?”

“The rumor mill will work overtime wherever we’re going. I’ll look like a gold digger, and you a cradle robber.”

I bite back a laugh, something charming about her ability to banter right back at me without hesitation, “You know what, Kitten? I think you’re going to be sorry for these comments later. I have a fun night planned for us, and you are going to ruin it with all your ageism.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she sighs, “But seriously, where are we going?”

I don’t tell her. And I don’t intend on telling her, either.

Instead, I take her home and watch her shift through a million outfit combinations. That pretty and tight leather skirt is back in action, this time with a black top that hugs her body like a sculpture. She’s too damn good-looking to be walking around this world without wings.

Or without her body adorned in diamonds and rubies, an expensive and exquisite touch to a body so simply made, and wonderfully perfect.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

I glance up from my trance, picturing her body against my mattress, her hands on my headboard, and her legs parted for my needy cock. Looking at her simple makeup and her red lipstick, I picture the ring of red around another round object, my thoughts forcing me to cross my legs uncomfortably.

I wish now that she had some damn couch pillows, I could push into my lap.

“No, sorry, Kitten. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I’m ready to go, Dimitri. I’m going to take my purse, though, and bring the flash drive. With everything going on, I’m a little worried about leaving it laying around.”

“I can understand that, Kitten. But I assure you, you’re safe with me. If it helps you ease your mind, we’re going back to my club tonight.”

She seems to take well to that assurance. Something tells me she’s not used to such promises, let alone having them be kept after hearing it said to her. I brush aside the memories of her traumatic past, her rocky life leading to this moment, and I shove my phone into my pocket and walk her into the hallway.

She looks up at me with wide, brown eyes, like caramel oozing onto her dark eyelashes that only makes her look sweeter than before. She’s so innocent that it makes me want to do very bad things to her body, and very wonderful things to her mind.

“Come here,” I pant, pinning her in the elevator. She hiccups, probably wishing we took the stairs, but the opportunity was too good to pass up, “I need you, Kitten.”

The doors shut, and she moans through the kiss that I push onto her lips, the feeling of her skin so delicate and warm against my own. She holds my face lightly, but control is sort of my thing, so I take her wrists and pin them over her head, just enough to stretch her back off the wall so her breasts push into my chest.

“Dammit,” I grunt, the finality of the beeping elevator making my blood boil.

We exit the carriage, and she snickers a laugh, using her fingertips to scrape the messed-up lipstick off her skin and back onto her lips. She walks in front of me, taunting me, and I nearly bend her over the hood of my car when we get to the street.

I open her door but take the end of her skirt into my palm, pulling her back to me.

---