Page 50 of The Billionaire Is Back

It is.

It is the most okay thing that has ever happened to my face. If this is what it would have been like if he’d actually kissed me when we were teenagers, then a lot of pastry-loving people in this town would have been out of luck. I would have followed him anywhere if he’d kissed me like this when I was a girl.

Good thing I know better now.

Inner sixteen-year-old me may be whimpering and trembling and succumbing to his very masculine passion because this is so much more than she’d ever allowed herself to imagine experiencing on these tan leather bucket seats.

But twenty-eight-year-old me has visualized a lot of very specific scenarios, and she has a few sexy tricks up her sleeve.

A tiny high-pitched song escapes from my throat as I suck on his tongue. I frantically nibble on his bottom lip, dipping in to kiss him deeply and then teasing him by pulling back when he wants more. I tug at his sweater, and he helps me pull it off over his head. Then I push him back into the driver’s seat,and with one swift motion, he slides the seat back so I have room to straddle him.

Whatever emotional turmoil brought us here has dissipated, turned into steam, and fogged up the windows.

Do grown-ups make out in cars in parking lots? I don’t know, but fuck it. It’s raining and this has been a crazy day and I need a happy ending to the sad story I’ve been telling myself about Grady ever since I was in high school.

I slide my hand up Grady’s thigh to feel how hard he is. He’s hard. Jesus, he’s hard. I glance up at him. His jaw is clenched, and he gives me this look, like,Now do you get it, Claire?

I want to. I want to get it. I start to unbuckle his belt, but he grabs my wrists and shakes his head, just once, definitively.

Not here,he says with his face.

Aw, come on,I say with the palm of my hand.

Not. Here.He repeats it with his grip on my wrists.

But I’m really good at it,I tell him with a pout.

Rain check,he insists with his flared nostrils.

Even though no one could possibly see inside unless they pointed a flashlight at us, he isa Forbes-listed billionaire, and I guess he draws the line at public hand jobs.

Fair enough.

I’m just the town baker—what do I care if I get caught riding a boy in a car?

I climb over the center console and lower myself onto his lap. The ceiling is low and these jeans are tight, but Ican still get ’er done. I bear down and rock back and forth. Not with the urgency of an inexperienced, sexed-up virgin—with the control of a fit, curvy woman who knows exactly what kind of effect she has on men and just found out that Grady Barber is not, in fact, the only man she’s ever met who’s immune to her charms.

But then I grind down on him because he’s so firm and my entire body is engorged and his hands are slowly sliding up the sides of my waist under my shirt, and holy shit, he’s hot. He’s gorgeous and sexy and he wants me and I want his hands and mouth on my everything right now. I start to lift up my Henley, but he pulls it back down to my waist.

I reach down between his legs again, but once again, he grabs my wrists. I dip down to lick him from his chin to his lips, capture his lower lip between my teeth, kiss him furiously, and try to unbutton his shirt. He grabs my wrists again and raises my arms up over my head, flattening my hands against the fabric headliner. He exhales warm breath over my covered nipple as his hands glide down the sides of me, and it sends shudders and warmth all through me. His fingertips flirt with my skin, skating across my belly, just under my shirt. Slow, soft circles and waves with a gentle touch that electrifies all my nerve endings.

I’m so used to being groped by men who are in a race against time, but this is something else entirely. It doesn’t feel like he’s exploring my body either. He’s just making me feel good. Reassuring me. Carefully acquainting himself with the landscape of my physical being, the way I lovingly inhale and gaze at and fondle a piece of freshlybaked bread before putting it into my mouth and savoring it. I’m not even naked, but I feel seen and so alive. Like I’m rising beneath his touch.

“Beautiful girl,” he whispers into my neck, his breath and lips and stubble grazing my skin, light as a feather. Never in my fantasies did I imagine Grady could bring me to the brink by breathing on me and delicately tracing figure eights on my skin. Then he reaches around to massage my butt with both hands, vigorously, releasing so much tension that I didn’t know I was holding there. My head drops back with a loud moan. What is he doing to me? I go limp and then tense up again, clenching and rocking against his hard length enough to make him groan.

“Claire…”

I go for his belt buckle again.

He grabs my wrists again, this time bending my arms and holding them behind my back. He bites the side of my boob and flicks at both erect nipples with the tip of his tongue, through the fabric of my shirt. My insides feel like they’re going to explode, and I think I’m losing my mind.

He lets go of my wrists, unbuttons and unzips my jeans.

I would do so many things to and with and for him, but if he wants to take care of me right now, then my body promises not to resist him for the rest of the night.

He hooks his fingers through the belt loops of my jeans. I grip the headrest behind him and raise my ass up so he can yank the waistband down to the tops of my thighs. He takes a moment to investigate my cottonpanties as he strokes the flesh of my round hips appreciatively. Kneading me like dough. It’s probably too dark for him to see the pastel cupcakes that are printed on my undies, but he seems to like them anyway. Then he slips a hand inside my bikini briefs, between my legs, and sucks in a breath when he feels how slippery it is down there. “Jesus.”

“I know.”

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