Page 6 of The Damaged Billionaire

I move my free hand then, needing to touch her, and place it at the back of her head. Her hair is soft, just like it looks, and I wrap it in my fingers tight, pulling it at her scalp, needing her to know how much I want this. Want her. Her gaze flicks up to me, and I bite my lip so hard this time that I will probably make it bleed, because her eyes are like molten fire, the desire swirling in them evident. As my attention drifts lower, I see her nipples from behind her silky strands, hard and showing her arousal. I can’t wait to have my mouth on them.

“I’m going to come. Fuck, I am going to come so hard in your perfect fucking mouth,” I grit out, feeling my balls tighten, my muscles clenching, trying to hold out a little longer. My hips are thrusting, she is moaning, our hands are clenching each other tighter.

“Are you going to take me? Are you going to swallow me down?” I ask, almost panting. If she is not, I need to pull out now.

“Mm-hmmm,” she responds with a moan, her hand on my ass gripping me closer, leaving marks from her nails, no doubt, and she slides my dick so far down her throat, I almost see stars.

“Good girl. Such a good fucking girl. Jesus, I’m coming. I’m coming so fucking hard,” I growl out almost unintelligibly as I slam into her mouth, holding her hair in my hand. I roar to the room as my release flies through me at a speed I haven’t known before, and she takes it all, still sucking me down as I slow my pumps. Feeling my shoulders lower slightly, my eyes remain glued to her, and I watch her swallow as she pops off my length. Our hands are still gripped tight, her lips looking a little more red and pouty than before, some of her lipstick now coloring the base of my cock. My gaze doesn’t waver when it locks back on hers, and when she sits back on her heels, she makes this moment even better.

She fucking smiles.

“I like you feeding me,” she says playfully, and I see her perfect breasts rise and fall as she takes in some air.

“Good, because my appetite for you is growing,” I growl as I pull her up by our joined hands before I grab her around her ass and lift her up onto me. She laughs then, a carefree, relaxing laugh that has me grinning like a fool. She wraps her legs around me, her warm, wet core now pressed against my stomach, and I walk us to the bathroom, feeling lighter than I have in years. “Let’s have a shower because I want to get you filthy again. I want to spend the night making you come, and not only will I feed you seconds, but God, woman, we are going to have a midnight snack and a full buffet breakfast too.”

“Hmmm… I like the sound of that,” she says, burying her head into the crook of my neck, and I feel her tongue and lips nibble my skin, the feeling running down my body and making me warm all over. “Oh, but I have one request,” she says as we reach the bathroom, and I turn on the hot water, steam encasing the room immediately.

“What’s that?” I ask, knowing I would easily give her anything she asks for.

“No names. One night. My life is busy, and I don’t need strings.” She sounds almost shy as she says it, but she’s still confident in her delivery, and the mix is somehow unbelievably attractive.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t even remember your own name, darling.” I grin at her as she lifts her head to look me in the eye. She is the perfect woman, and for tonight, she is all mine. I’ll take whatever she wants to give me.

Stepping into the shower, our hands and eyes stay on nothing but each other.

We spend the night with our bodies in sync, palpable heat and desire in every touch. The way I felt with her, it was life-altering, mind-blowing. It created a longing inside me for more before we were even finished.

And that only made the cold bed beside me harder to fathom when I woke up in the morning alone. She left without saying goodbye, and for the first time ever, I don’t like it. Not one bit.

CHAPTER FIVE - WILLOW - SIX MONTHS LATER

The black-and-white kitten stares at me with sad blue eyes through the glass window at my back door. It's small, has a cute little face and shaggy hair, looking a little worse for wear. It knows what it’s doing. It did the same thing last night. We both know how this will end.

“Willow. You are the best at what you do, and with Harrison looking at moving into a bigger role in the future, then we really need to ensure everyone surrounding him has a great presence, strong leadership, and dependability,” my longtime friend, Beth, says over the phone. We met years ago through work and kept in touch on and off throughout the years, although, I haven’t seen her in a long time, as her life is so busy now that she is Maryland's First Lady.

“So are you concerned for Tennyson Rothschild or concerned for your governor’s reputation?” I ask Beth point-blank as I look through my kitchen cupboard to see if I still have that dry cat food I bought last month. If Beth wants my help, then I really need to know what exactly is prompting this situation.

“I love my brother. But I am going to be honest and say we are a little worried for him,” Harrison replies instead, and even though it is late, I get an image of him and Beth still sitting in his office with me on speakerphone.

“Well, if you want to be president one day, then your whole family really needs to be supportive and aware of the scrutiny that comes with such a position. In my experience, a lot of the time, votes are won or lost not only on the candidates’ behavior but also that of their families. Tell me more about your brother.”

My hand lands on the packet of cat food at the back of the cupboard. I pour a small amount into a plastic bowl I have for just this occasion. This is not the first stray cat to sit on my back porch. In fact, I’m starting to wonder if all the neighborhood strays have little cat meetings at the local park to discuss which house has the best food, knowing I will serve them each and every time.

Harrison clears his throat. “Tennyson is smart, successful, and the third eldest in our family. He is the CEO of Rothschild Construction, our construction firm. He and the team are responsible for many of the commercial buildings around Baltimore, and he also manages our international projects, currently working on some builds in Asia and other regions.” Harrison offers me the brief rundown of the man whom I know absolutely nothing about.

“So, what’s the problem?” I take everyone at face value, and so far, Tennyson sounds like a catch. But everyone has skeletons in their closet. Some are just better at hiding them than others.

“He is… somewhat…” Harrison struggles to find the words, and my body stills at the kitchen counter, mid-pour, waiting with anticipation.

“He is a party boy; the paparazzi follow him everywhere because they know he will give them a good story. And they’re unfortunately not always positive. He loves women, spends too much money, and we just need him and his reputation to be a little more… conservative.” Beth takes over, giving me more of a glimpse into the enigma that is Tennyson Rothschild.

“Black sheep?” I ask them as I grab the small bowl and walk over to my back door. The kitten sits in the same spot, its little tail flicking slightly, awaiting the feast it is about to get. I open the door slowly, trying not to startle it, then slide the bowl in front of it before I slowly close the door again. I think I will call this one Betty.

“Black what?” Harrison asks, sounding almost offended.

“Is he the black sheep of the family? You know, perfect family, perfect brothers, yet he is the one who always seems to find trouble, not as put together as the rest?” I have worked with that type a lot. My career in communications and brand management has varied over the years, but I have now fallen into the very niche area of reputational management. I am not even sure how that happened. One minute, I was doing publicity for the not-for-profit sector, being underpaid and undervalued. Not that I minded, since helping people is what I strive to do. The next minute, I was knee-deep in trying to dig a charity boss out of a whole lot of hot water he found himself in and he came out of it all relatively unharmed. My new skill set was then born, and I haven’t stopped since. Unsurprisingly, reputational management is an area of great need in the political capital of DC and my client list is long.

“Yes, I guess… but not always. I mean, he has always been on the edgier side, maybe a little tough and mysterious, but for the last six months or so, he has gotten worse,” Beth murmurs as I take a seat at my kitchen table and tap on my laptop, deciding to do a quick search on this Tennyson Rothschild. The Rothschild name is well known, although mainly in Baltimore. Here in DC, there are so many political personalities that I haven’t really ever had to focus on helping people in other cities too much.

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