Billionaire With a Twist 2

by Lila Monroe

  Hunter squeezed my hand. “That was very brave.”

  I shrugged again, my eyes misting. “Didn’t feel very brave. Just like I needed to breathe.”

  “I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you.”

  “I’m probably exaggerating,” I said automatically. “I mean, it’s not so bad. Other people have it worse. Paige has always been great, she never got spoiled like some people who get that kind of treatment. And my parents do love me, I know they do. It’s just…Paige is the daughter my mom always wanted, and I was the extra. And then I didn’t even do her the courtesy of being a back-up in case they lost the first one, I had to be my own person. All full of unsightly ambition and bad pop culture references and profanity and shit.”

  He laughed softly and nudged his horse closer. He let go of my hand, but only to wrap his arm around my shoulder.

  He didn’t say a word, and neither did I, and we didn’t have to. I had never felt such unspoken closeness, such intimacy before. In that moment, it didn’t matter that because of my work and my principles, we couldn’t really be together. In that moment, we were more together than I had ever been with another human being.

  It was probably the most perfect moment of my life, which meant Hunter should have, by all established patterns, ruined it. But he didn’t.

  My horse did instead.

  Or rather the rabbit that darted out from between the bushes and spooked my horse did.

  “Shit!” I shrieked as my mount unexpectedly bolted. “Ah fuck fuck shit!”

  We’d been having a capital M Moment, dammit!

  But as is probably already clear, my horse had absolutely no respect for emotional turnaround points, and kept running like a demon. I gave up trying to make it understand that the rabbit was not going to kill it, in favor of holding on for my life and making sure the mare didn’t run into a tree.

  “Ally!”

  It was Hunter, catching up to us as we came along the river, where my terrified, whinnying horse reared away from the water and began to run parallel to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t completely forgotten the rabbit by now; she was so scared that it didn’t matter what had caused it, every new sight was a thing to be frightened of.

  Hunter extended his hand, gripping his reins tightly with the other. “Jump to me!”

  I took a few seconds out of my busy schedule of holding on for dear life to gape at him in disbelief. I shouted back, “Are you shitting me?”

  “Trust me, Ally!”

  And somehow, looking into those golden brown eyes, even across that yawning gap, even above those thundering hooves—

  I did.

  “Okay!” I scrambled onto my feet in an awkward crouch and braced myself, getting ready to jump.

  And I think that, in a perfect world, I really might have actually made the leap right into Hunter’s arms.

  But then my horse bucked.

  I sailed through the air, everything seeming to slow down as though we were passing through water, a random thought seeming to take forever to reach completion: The stablehand had said this was the jewel of the crown, was that a secret horse whisperer phrase for oh God, oh God, bunnies, the scourge of the world?

  And then, splash!

  I sank beneath the water like a stone, automatically sucking in a breath that turned out to be completely water, before bobbing up again midcurrent, coughing muddy liquid and gasping at the cold. I was completely drenched. I didn’t seem to be hurt, but all my limbs felt like they’d been turned into rubber. I spat something out that I had accidentally swallowed—a tadpole.

  At that point it was laugh or cry, so I laughed until the tears ran down my face.

  “Ally!” Hunter’s panicked voice came from up and to the left. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, unable to stop laughing long enough to choke out more than: “Fine! Only bruised my dignity!”

  Actually, I’d probably done more than that to it, but some people—I was thinking most prominently of my mother here—would claim that I murdered my dignity years ago, so I wasn’t too fussed about inflicting any post-mortem injuries.

  Hunter slid from his horse’s back in one fluid motion, quickly tying the reins to the trees before sidling up to my own mount—now placidly chomping watercress in the shallows like the traitor she was— I was going to have words with Homer about his recommendation—and tied her up nearby as well.

  The whole process didn’t take very long, but I savored every second of it. You see, a branch must have torn his shirt as he went barreling after me like a knight in shining armor, because a considerable swath of it was torn away. And as he leapt around so urgently, lots of very interesting…scenery…was on view.

  Scenery that gave me certain…ideas.

  While he still wasn’t looking, I pulled my soaked blouse and bra over my head, tossing them onto a nearby tree trunk. My jeans and panties were the next to go, my cold fingers trembling on the metal button, the waterlogged denim protesting as I tried to peel it away before giving up. I let the current carry away my socks.

  The cool water felt deliciously naughty on my bare skin, lapping against my breasts and swirling around my thighs. I dove beneath it again, the cold shocking and then fading away, and then surfaced, laughing out loud in delight.

  Hunter turned and saw me. For a second, his jaw dropped so low a gator could’ve crawled inside.

  Then that shocked look melted slowly into a wicked grin, wide and languorous and feral, like a jungle cat. He sauntered down to the riverside, a sway in his hips as he pulled his shirt up over his head, abs and pecs and biceps rippling in a mouth-watering display.

  I would have given him a wolf whistle, but my mouth had just gone terribly dry.

  His pants followed, sliding off those well-formed hips and down his muscular legs, pulling his socks and shoes with them.

  I licked my lips.

  He ran his fingers around the hem of his black boxers, and I glared at him for being a tease.

  He just grinned back, insouciant and devil-may-care, before stripping away that last garment and sauntering into the water with me.

  The look on his face when he felt the cold was priceless, and I burst into giggles.

  He frowned with all the offended dignity of a lion. “Come on! It’s cold!”

  “It’s hilarious,” I informed him between chortles.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s asking for a punishment.”

  “Oh yeah?” I could feel my nipples hardening, and not just from the water’s temperature. “And who’s going to punish me?”

  He growled and dove toward me, but when I feinted away he gave pursuit, and soon we were gamboling in the dancing shadows of an overhanging willow. He grabbed for me but our slick skin was slippery and I twisted in his grip, rubbing myself against him before I slipped away. Our arms and legs intertwined, slid apart, the heat of our bodies like a heady elixir, intoxicating, leaving us both hungry for more.

  Finally he ran me aground in the shallows and pinned me against the red clay bank, his thick cock hard against my stomach as I wrapped my legs around him. I wanted to wrap my arms around those powerful shoulders as well, but he took my wrists in his left hand, trapping them above my head, holding me fast underneath his weight, helpless beneath him, open to him, spread and wet and ready to be taken hard and fast. I was keening against the slick skin of his shoulder, arching my back as I ground my pussy against his leg, needing him to slide lower, to thrust his long thick cock into me.

  “Hunter,” I panted, desperate.

  But he only teased, his firm thigh pressing between my legs with sweet insistency, the pressure just right but not enough, it would never be enough until he was inside me, claiming me, taking me…

  “Hunter…” And now it was a moan.

  I rocked desperately against him, and he slid just a little lower, not low enough, until I thought I would explode, that wicked grin on his face as his lips found my neck, as his teeth sank possessively into my shoulder—<
br />
  “Hunter!”

  He swept me up in his arms then, carried me up to the bank and laid me down on a soft bed of grass. I whimpered in protest at the momentary separation of my skin from his, and then in delight as his body covered mine once more.

  His hot, avid mouth found mine, licking at my lips until I opened them and let him in. His hands stroked, cupped, and squeezed my breasts until I was writhing beneath him once more. One hand began to trace spirals around the dip just above my hip as his teeth and tongue found my nipples, licking and laving and laying down a path, lower and lower, down between my thighs…

  There were reasons we shouldn’t be doing this. Reasons, at least, we should be taking this slow. I knew there were reasons.

  I just couldn’t for the life of me recall what they were.

  “Oh, oh, yes, yes, please…” I whispered.

  By the time his mouth made its way below my stomach, I was done with teasing and so was Hunter. I arched upward and he complied with my demand, burying his face in me with a moan of delight. His talented tongue—oh, how could I ever have fooled myself into thinking I could forget that tongue—delved deep inside me, stroking all my secret places as his nose nudged against me, as I clenched around him, as his fingers joined his tongue, one, and then two, crooking, searching for that spot—

  He touched it, and I groaned, seeing stars.

  I collapsed against the riverbank, expecting him to raise himself back up and finally fuck me senseless.

  What he did instead was stand.

  I looked up, confused. We weren’t done yet; he was still hard, as ready as I was.

  He offered me his hand, and a saucy grin. “Come on. I know a much better place to finish this up.”

  NINE

  So it turns out that the amount of time it takes you to have the world’s best orgasm is also the amount of time it takes for your average Southern stream current to wash away the clothes you abandoned on top of a tree trunk.

  Fortunately, Hunter was a true gentleman, and let me have his boxers and ripped shirt, while he only kept his jeans. Our state of half-dress felt sexy and mischievous, and we nudged each other and shot sly secretive glances as we darted between the shadows on our way back, almost collapsing against each other with giggles each time a twig broke beneath our feet or we made a mad dash across open ground unseen—and that was half the fun, that half-collapse, that collision of barely hidden bodies humming and revving and eager to go.

  Each time we brushed against each other the temptation reared its head anew, threatened to detain us in multiple rendezvouses behind trees, our lips eager for each other and for our skin. Only the threat of poison ivy in places that really don’t bear mentioning kept us going.

  When the door of my cabin slammed behind us and we were finally home free, Hunter lunged for me, growling like a hungry jaguar. I giggled and danced out of his grasp, adding a little sashay to my hips as I darted to the other side of the bed.

  Hunter growled his disapproval.

  “Nuh-uh, mister,” I said, shaking my finger at him. “We’re both covered in mud and grass and God knows what else. I’m not getting that all over the nice clean sheets.”

  He stalked closer, a panther on the prowl. “I don’t mind getting a little dirty.”

  My legs turned to jelly underneath me, and I had to clench my thighs tight to keep from coming then and there.

  “Yeah, but think of the maids,” I said with my best wide-eyed innocent look. “I’m going to shower.”

  Hunter pouted.

  I paused, halfway through pulling off my borrowed shirt on the way to the bathroom.

  “Care to join me?”

  If the Guinness Book of World Records had an entry for fastest disappearance of pout, Hunter would have won in a heartbeat.

  #

  Despite our earlier impatience, once we got under the hot water spray we took our time, the shower becoming a sensual exploration of each other as our hands and washcloths wandered over the curves and planes of the other’s body.

  We took turns washing each other’s hair, and I reveled equally in the sensation of Hunter’s strong hands massaging my scalp and in the feel of his soft locks running through my fingers as he bent forward for my ministrations.

  When we were scrubbed and fresh and free of any excuse for further procrastination, Hunter turned me gently around and pulled me back toward his body until I was flush against him, trembling with desire. He leaned down to nibble my ear and I moaned, arching backward into him, grinding my ass against his cock.

  He chuckled, dark and dirty, and the puff of air against my wet skin made my lips quiver, my legs shake.

  His hand began trailing up my side, up and down and up and down and never quite reaching my breasts until I thought I might go crazy. I bit my lip and sighed, pressed myself back against his hardness until finally, oh God yes finally, his hand came up to cup my breast, his fingers taking my nipple between them, twisting it almost leisurely, the sensation slowly building, intoxicating, breath-taking—

  I couldn’t take another second.

  I turned in his arms before he could stop me and practically leapt onto him, my breasts crushed against his chest, my hands greedy for the touch of his wet skin and slick muscles. He barely steadied himself against the wall of the shower with one hand before he could fall, his strong arms trembling with desire as his other hand gripped my ass tight, pinning me to him. I met his eyes, dark and avid as I was sure my own were, and held his gaze as I slid down onto him.

  My eyelids fluttered, overwhelmed, as he filled me, stretching me to my very limit. My nails dug into his shoulders, and we both moaned. I pulled myself upward and slammed myself back down again, and this time Hunter was the one whose eyelids fluttered, each lash beaded with a tiny drop of water, and he made a deep gravelly sound of pure want in the back of his throat. That sound set a fire in my veins, and I knew that I had to get him to make that sound again and again, that I needed it, that I needed him—

  I rocked against him, and he thrust, our need making us clumsy and desperate but it didn’t even matter, all that mattered was him and me and the water cascading down our bodies and our bodies, oh God our bodies, moving together, the sensation of skin on skin and our gasps, and his cock so deep inside me, oh God, I lifted myself up and dropped myself onto his hard, perfect length again and moaned, oh God, no one had ever been so deep inside me—

  I licked the sliding droplets from the hollow of his throat and he snarled, his teeth sinking into my shoulder as he claimed me, his thrusts steady and rhythmic, relentless, and before I could hold back I came at the touch of his teeth, at the feel of him pounding into me even harder than before, the shockwaves rippling through my body as I groaned his name.

  “Ally,” he answered, but instead of slowing his rhythm he slammed his cock deeper, tighter, one, two, three more times, and I gasped as he pumped into me one last time, cursing under his breath, a sigh ghosting over my bare skin as the aftershocks of my desire trembled and ran through my suddenly loose and sleepy limbs.

  I slid down his warm body, my toes almost slipping on the wet shower floor until he steadied me, and then I leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, making a contented humming sound into my hair.

  He murmured, “We should have done this ages ago.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  TEN

  Unfortunately, time refused to stand still so we could repeat that experience as many times as I would’ve liked, namely, infinity. Unfortunately, I was also technically a responsible adult, and when you’re a responsible adult, people make you have responsibilities. It was the worst.

  On the bright side, having so much stuff to do made the following week just fly on by. Filming for the sizzle reel had finished, but the editing team was still working night and day to make that raw footage into art, and some days it seemed an hour couldn’t go by without me getting a text to make a judgment call on two
or three different cuts of the same material.

  I’d even flown down Sandra and two other artists she’d personally recommended to work on a new vintage-style label for the bottles, crates, and print ads. And speaking of print ads, I was working around the clock on the copy, running each of them past Hunter and wishing I had the kind of supportive work environment where I could have run them past my peers as well, without worrying that said peers would steal and/or sabotage them.

  I especially wished this since Hunter wasn’t currently the most available person for running copy past. No matter how much this ad campaign felt like the whole world to me, it was really just one small moving part of the machine that was Knox Liquors, and Hunter had to keep an eye on all of those pieces. This week, he was on the other side of the state touring a small town named Charter Peak, where he was hoping to erect another distillery—if the revenue generated by the ads proved sufficient.

  ‘Cause, you know, I needed that extra pressure.

  I missed him with a burning ache in my chest, and my nights were filled with dreams of his touches.

  I was doing my best to focus on the upside: without Hunter around looking all fine and smelling really nice and moving all sexy, it had been much easier to focus. I’d gotten a lot of work done.

  I paused and surveyed the work I had done. It was indeed quite a lot.

  Enough that I felt I deserved a reward.

  I called up the messages on my cell phone, and scrolled through the long list of sexts that we’d been sending each other every evening. Just reading Hunter’s words, carefully chosen and grammatically correct at first, then more and more fragmented as he got more excited, made my heart speed up, my nipples harden against the smooth silk of my brassiere.

  My finger hovered over the button as I considered what to send him next.