Page 15 of The English Billionaire's Obsession

“How strange. I seem to remember you being pretty bloody enthusiastic when we kissed.”

“You imagined that,” I lie.

He laughs again, clearly not believing me, and I like that. I like he can see through my bull crap.

“Yeah, sure I did.”

“I guess if you’ve got as much kissing experience as you have, it’s easy to tell, right?”

He looks at me with that indulgent smirk and then offers a slight eye roll. It’s a surprisingly boyish expression on his grumpy, mature face—notold, but mature, a few lines to add to his handsomeness.

“Are you determined to piss me off?” he says, but with a jokey tone that tells me he’s notactuallypissed off.

No, miraculously, we’re able to banter and share some closeness.

“You won’t talk to me about anything else,” I tell him. “You won’t explain. So yeah, I’ll settle for annoying you, but please, don’t lie to me. We both know you’ve kissed more attractive women than me.”

“You’re too beautiful to have self-esteem this low.”

Another warm glow whelms within me, expanding so that pleasure shimmers through me, teasing at what might come when we get somewhere private. It should be the least of my concerns right now, at the bottom of the list, but it’s not. It’s at thetop, demanding that I find a way to kiss him again and take it further this time.

It’s this instinct deep inside, as if—okay, this isnutso—my womb is talking to me and telling me,“Hey, buddy, this is the one. This man is yours, and you are his. So just shut up and do whatever it takes to sleep with him.”I can’t listen to that voice, and anyway, that’s just plain craziness, thinking stuff like mywombis talking to me.

“It’s not about low self-esteem,” I tell him. “I actually like the way I look. I’ve got no issues with it, but let’s face it. I’m on the curvier side. I haven’t got sleek, long model legs. I’m not a movie star when it comes to the face, either, right? That’s all I’m saying. So, statistically, you’ve definitely kissed prettier people. That’s all.”

When he stops at a red light, he turns and leans over, his breath warm on my face.

“You’ve just explained why you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever kissed, touched, or been close to, but I don’t want to talk about other women. Just you, with your perfect curves, gorgeous thick legs, gorgeous smile, and cute American accent.”

I whimper when he leans in and presses his lips against mine, annoyed at myself for the noise. It’s as if I’m telling him he can do whatever he wants, treat me any way he likes—lie to me, get me involved with criminals—and I’ll always kiss him. I’ll always be addicted to the taste of his lips, the hunger in each movement of his tongue. The thing is, it’s true. The second I taste him, the arguments and the questions melt away… for now.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Thomas

It takes all my self-control not to slide my hand up her leg, especially when I feel her body responding—her whimper and the way she shivers, as if the pleasure is pulsing through her. Somehow, I manage to stop, leaning back and letting out a shuddering breath.

Only the fact that we’re in public enables me to stop. If we were in private, I’d savage her, tear off her clothes. I’d force my huge, hard dick into her young hole passionately, pumping until my seed rushes up my shaft and erupts inside her.

A baby… a future… But none of that can happen if I don’t keep her safe. There’s still that notion that won’t go away—the idea that she’ll do whatever I want simply because I’m a billionaire. She already mentioned my wealth when talking about me kissing other women.You’re a billionaire.Did I detect any excitement in her voice? Hunger? Eagerness?

It’s difficult to think past the burning in my chest, the heat of my heartbeat, and the stiffness in my cock. She’s so much sexier in person than she ever was in the video, with her smell, taste, and bloody hell, justher.

“We have to go,” I say, “but enough with the negative self-talk, all right? You’re beautiful, sexy, perfect. That’s all there is to it.”

She folds her hands in her lap, looking out the window as I continue driving. Her cheeks have turned a deep shade of red.

“Do you know what love bombing is?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, but she goes on anyway.

“It’s when somebody showers a person with gifts, compliments, and attention, in the beginning, to get them hooked, and then uses that to hold power over them. One of my friends had a boyfriend who was like that. None of us had any clue at first.”

“What’s your point?” I growl.

She looks at me, head lowered, but eyes on me, so she’s staring through her eyelashes. I alternate my gaze between her and the road, wishing I had a photo of her looking that way.

“All these compliments…”

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