Girl Meets Billionaire

by Aubrey, Brenna

  And the phone chirped again. I tensed. He didn’t pull his mouth away from my neck, but damned if he didn’t pick that wretched thing up and look at it again. He sent off a quick reply and when he put it down, I locked my hand over his. “Turn it the fuck off,” I groaned as he sucked at my neck.

  “Are you willing to make it worth my while?” he breathed.

  His hands slid down my shoulders, slipping over my dress to cup my breasts, rubbing his palms over the ready nipples again and again until I wanted to scream with pent-up frustration.

  I moaned, my eyes squeezing tight, losing myself in the sensation. “Yes,” I murmured. His hands glided into my bodice, under my dress, and he rolled my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. My body glowed hot as if on fire. I arched my back against him. God, his hands were magic on my body.

  The fucking chime went off again. I stiffened and he hesitated. Would he pick it up again? It was almost nine o’clock on a Friday night, for God’s sake. Couldn’t it wait?

  He reached for the phone but instead of answering the text, he clicked the red button and the phone obediently powered down.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice gruff, husky.

  “I want you.”

  That seemed to cause something in him to snap because suddenly he flipped me in his arms and we were facing each other. I straddled him as his mouth pressed to mine in a ferocious kiss. His hand wandered up my skirt. Between kisses, his dark eyes glittered in the low light. “Oh, Emilia, I want you, too.”

  Our mouths came together again in tangled abandon and his hand caressed my inner thigh, higher and higher until it rested atop my panties. When he stroked me there, my mind seemed to unhinge for a moment and everything swirled around me.

  “Soaking wet,” he said in a hoarse voice and without another word, a finger hooked up over the hip of my underwear and he yanked. The delicate lace shredded and the panties were off. My level of arousal shot through the roof. I suddenly imagined him tearing off my dress in the same manner, laying me down underneath him on the sand—

  “Fuck. You are making it impossible to resist you,” he said.

  He lowered his head and his mouth landed on my nipple, suckling at it through the thin fabric of the dress before pulling it aside with growl and landing on bare skin. I arched into him again. The bulge of his erection pressed against my thigh and his hand was beginning to do wicked things to me.

  His thumb stroked softly against the most sensitive parts of my flesh. I couldn’t breathe for the longest moment, everything in me tensing.

  “Deep breaths, Emilia, enjoy this.”

  And I did breathe in deeply as he increased the pressure against the bundle of nerves, each touch sending shocks of pure pleasure to every corner of my awareness. My head crushed against his shoulder and I let out a long, low moan. His mouth descended on my neck. “I’m going to make you come.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. And it wouldn’t be long, as far as I could tell.

  And he stopped rubbing just long enough to slip a finger inside of me. First tentatively, and then deeper. Then he slid it in and out while I gasped in the rhythm his hand had set.

  I was so close. So close. And delirious with pleasure as I was, I hardly had time to realize where his hand was or whether or not I should be embarrassed or self-conscious. “I’m going to come,” I finally said.

  He did not reply, speeding up the rhythm of his touch. It was just enough to push me up and over the top. I threw my head back and gasped, feeling the convulsions of release wash over me like raindrops in a high desert storm.

  But he continued stroking and stroking against my too-sensitive flesh. “I’m going to do it again. And you are going to say my name. And if you don’t, I’ll keep doing it until you do.”

  The pleasure was so intense it almost hurt. I tried to push him away. “No, it’s too much.”

  “You’re going to come and my name is going to be on your lips,” he uttered fiercely against my ear. “Come on, Emilia.”

  And it was building again and Lord, I couldn’t believe it but I wanted it so badly—again. I never knew it could happen again so fast.

  But I was still resisting him and his hand, my body stiffening. He pressed his mouth to my ear. “Surrender to me,” he commanded as he entered me once again, his finger sliding into me—and then there were two fingers and I fell slack against him, deciding, ultimately, to allow myself to go where he would take me.

  “You’re so tight,” he muttered. “So innocent.”

  And I was close again, biting into his jacket at the shoulder to keep from screaming. “Come for me, Emilia.”

  And it was so intense—so much more intense. The previous orgasm—as good as it was—was nothing to this one that was approaching like a monstrous wave from far offshore, about to crash down on the rocks. I could barely remember my own name, let alone his, as he pushed me toward a higher climax than I’d ever known.

  “Oh God,” I said.

  “I’m good but I’m not that good.”

  “Adam—” I panted.

  “Better,” he whispered. “Say it again.”

  “Please.”

  “Again, Emilia.”

  “Adam. Adam. Adam.” And just as I felt the crest of release take hold, he lowered his head and sank his teeth into my earlobe, the pleasure and small, sharp pain clashing with each other.

  I fell against his chest, panting. It was several minutes before I remembered where I was or even who I was. There was nothing but an aching, haunting bliss and the feel of his chest rising and falling under me—very quickly with each rushed breath. He was very turned on and I wondered why he’d done this in the first place—why he’d started this when he knew he wouldn’t be able to finish it for himself—at least not tonight.

  Or maybe he could. I stroked my hand along the rigid line of his erection, easily discernible from base to tip. He stayed my hand, hesitating.

  An almost involuntary groan escaped his lips. “No,” he breathed. “Tomorrow morning I’ll have the boat back. We’ll spend the afternoon out, have lunch, go swimming, make a day of it. You can stay the night there.”

  I looked at him, the question in my eyes.

  “I can wait, Emilia. You’re worth waiting for.”

  The kindness of those simple words took my breath away. You’re worth waiting for. It was so opposite of what I’d known from my only serious relationship—if a self-involved high-school boyfriend could even be considered serious. Zack had had no desire to wait. Had decided to force the issue when I told him I wasn’t ready. That wasn’t the answer he’d wanted, so he’d taken what he wanted anyway.

  I shivered against Adam and he pulled me to him. “Thank you,” I said, voice trembling with an emotion I couldn’t fully explain.

  When he turned on his phone shortly thereafter, there were four text messages and a missed call. Adam swore under his breath, but took the time to answer each one of them while I sat beside him, huddled under the blanket.

  His car took me home soon after. Restless yet depleted, I reclined against the leather bench in the backseat, mind wandering over the evening’s events. Hopefully things would come to a conclusion tomorrow. But that shard of desire came with a double edge—because it meant that tomorrow night together would be our last. And as much as his hands on me were driving me to new and undiscovered countries of pleasure, I suddenly realized how much I would miss him, beyond just his magic hands. His conversation, his boyish smile, his caring consideration, his keen perceptiveness, his clean, ocean smell. I tried my best to ignore the ache at the center of my chest that hadn’t gone away since he’d said that simple sentence, You’re worth waiting for.

  But I had to remind myself that a relationship with someone like Adam would be impossible. I would not allow myself to entertain that dream. On the outside, he seemed perfect. But on the inside, he was a man, just like all the rest of them. And they couldn’t be trusted.

  Once home, I checked my messages.
Alex had left two, demanding the chisme immediately. Heath had called, instructing me to call him the minute I got home. I glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight so I opted out of calling.

  Instead, I wandered the apartment—cleaned a few dishes, picked up my study guide and threw it down just as quickly. Going to bed didn’t even cross my thoughts. I knew it would only lead to hours of tossing and turning.

  I was too wound up by the thoughts of Adam’s hands and the delicious sensations they had awoken in me. Of the memory of his voice commanding me to come to climax, to say his name. Shivers slithered all through me at the memory.

  So I did what I always do when I couldn’t sleep. I logged on to the game to while away a few hours. Heath had not logged on, nor had my other two game buddies, Persephone or FallenOne. Fallen hadn’t been on since the last time we’d played together, three weeks before. An hour later, when I was about to log off, my in-game message screen flashed.

  *Magnus tells you, “Why are you still awake?”

  Magnus. The one and only. I ran a command to find out Magnus’s class and level.

  /whois Magnus

  The game obediently told me: Magnus is a level 75 Fire Mage. Because of course he was a Fire Mage. Fire Mages were the most overtly powerful character class in the game. They had the element of fire at their command, could throw fireballs and command flame to dance on the heads of their enemies, or burn them slowly down with heat damage. I bit my lip, trying not to giggle at the irony—the thought of his hot hands still burned in my memory. How appropriate.

  *You tell Magnus, “A Fire Mage? Really? No wonder you have magic hands.”

  *Magnus tells you, “At your service.”

  *You tell Magnus, “It begs the question…what are *you* doing up so late? Working still?”

  *Magnus tells you, “Turn on your headset.”

  *You tell Magnus, “It doesn’t work right. Makes the game lag when I’m on voice.”

  *Magnus tells you, “How are you playing on that ancient rig of yours?”

  *You tell Magnus, “Don’t insult my Franken-puter, the trusty little box that could.”

  *Magnus tells you, “Get some sleep or you are going to be exhausted tomorrow. I want you well rested.”

  A thrill of anticipation sliced through me. Tomorrow would finally be the night.

  *You tell Magnus, “Bossy. I was just about to log off. Enough lag for tonight.”

  *Magnus tells you, “I’ll pick you up at 11 sharp.”

  I lay down with a nice, dry study book to lull me to sleep, trying hard to get my mind off of all that would happen the next day. It took an hour, but it finally worked.

  Chapter Eight

  Adam appeared at my door at exactly eleven a.m. Somehow I knew he’d be the type to be ultra-prompt, despite his tardiness at our first meeting. He wore khakis, white deck shoes and a casual button-down, short-sleeved shirt. And, of course, those same sexy designer shades.

  He had his ubiquitous cell phone in one hand and a cardboard box under his arm. I jerked open the door. “I’ll be right out. Wait here.” I said, leaving the door ajar to grab my toiletry bag from the bathroom.

  When I came back, he was standing in the middle of my studio, opening up the box. Of course.

  “Dude, what are you doing? The place is a mess. I told you to wait outside.”

  “Is it?” he said, sounding preoccupied. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  I swatted his hard arm with the back of my hand, stunned that it felt like smacking my knuckles against a rock. “Very funny. What the heck are you doing?”

  “Your rig is a piece of shit.”

  “Thank you,” I answered acerbically.

  “I had this lying around. Figured you could use a loaner.”

  He pulled out a sleek new laptop that immediately made my heart palpitate with toy-lust. It was ultrathin, made from a matte dark metal.

  “What…? What do you mean ‘loaner’?”

  He spoke slowly, as if to a toddler. “I mean that I lend it to you and you use it for a while and then you give it back to me when you no longer need it.”

  I made a face at him. As if I’d give that luscious thing back. Like, ever. He’d just opened it up and booted it. It was already loaded with everything. The palpitations turned into out-and-out fluttering. My God. It was a work of art. It was a gamer’s rig, fully tricked out with all the essentials and a seventeen-inch high-definition screen that was as clear as looking through a window.

  “This looks just like the notebook you were using in Holland.”

  “It’s close. Not quite as mighty. It’s my backup but I never use it.”

  Nevertheless, I noticed there was no log-in for him. He’d already reconfigured everything for me, even created an account. “What password did you set?”

  He shrugged. “Magnus rules. You can change it later, if you must.”

  I smirked. “Oh, I think I must.”

  The machine was gorgeous, and easily came with a several-thousand-dollar price tag. I knew I should refuse it. After all, if we were never going to see each other again after tonight, how would I even return it to him?

  So I asked him. “How would I get this back to you?”

  He paused and I couldn’t tell whether he had no answer for the question, didn’t wish to answer the question or hadn’t even heard the question. His fingers were flying over the sleek backlit keyboard.

  I was just about to repeat myself when he said, without looking at me, “Just give it to Bowman. He can bring it down to the complex. I promised him a tour, anyway.”

  Shit, a tour of Draco Multimedia headquarters? Lucky bastard. “That asshole didn’t even tell me,” I grumped.

  He glanced at me. “You can have one, too.”

  Our gazes held and my heart pounded. That couldn’t be possible. If tonight we were going to—then I shouldn’t go anywhere near his workplace after that.

  I swallowed. He must have known what I was thinking. I think he was waiting for me to say something, maybe expecting me to back out of tonight. I straightened. I wasn’t going to back out. I couldn’t. So I just shook my head.

  He looked away, features clouded, but I couldn’t tell whether he was troubled or just preoccupied. I was starting to feel both—troubled about our inevitable farewell after this evening and preoccupied with how everything would go, finally, tonight.

  If things had gone according to plan, this would have been over with a week ago and by now, we’d be strangers once more. And before, I’d felt like that was absolutely the right thing to do, but now…It was weirdly illogical. I wanted to know all about him before we never saw each other again.

  Alex showed up just as we were descending the stairs to leave less than an hour later. When she looked up and saw Adam, her jaw dropped and her gaze shot to me, eyes rounding. Subtle she was not. I wondered how she’d managed to get over here so fast from her apartment in Fullerton once her mom had called to tell her he was here.

  I sighed and made introductions. “Good to meet you,” Alex smiled, leaning to shake his hand and bat her big eyes at him. “Mia’s told me so much about you!”

  My lips pursed. What a little liar. Adam smiled and shot a sidelong glance at me. I shrugged, throwing my hands up. “We gotta get going.”

  Alex watched us go and when I looked back, she waved her hand in front of her face to fan herself—a clear indication that she found him hot. Then she put her hand to her ear, mimicking holding a phone and mouthed an exaggerated Call me.

  We hit the road and I breathed a sigh of relief. That had been a close call. The more I kept Adam separated from my friends, the fewer awkward questions I’d have to answer later. When I glanced over at him, he had a grin on his face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’ve told her all about me, huh?”

  I looked away, cheeks heating. “She’s a hopeless liar,” I muttered.

  The day was truly beautiful. I was convinced there was no more gorgeous weather on thi
s planet than what we enjoyed in Southern California in May. The smells of the white jasmine bushes that were planted everywhere combined with the blossoms on the orange trees and imbued the air with a honey scent. It was too early for the June Gloom, where mornings were overcast until they burned off into hot afternoons. In May, every day was fresh, crystal clear and sunny.

  And in his convertible—a dark blue vintage 1950s Porsche—we zoomed down the freeway in the carpool lane, bypassing Saturday beach traffic.

  I’d bundled my long hair as best I could into a ponytail band, making a messy bun. Still errant strands of hair whipped around my face and into my eyes as I squinted through my cheapo drugstore sunglasses, tapping my foot in time with Depeche Mode’s “Pleasure Little Treasure” on the stereo. So he liked his music like he liked his cars—classics. I was beginning to realize that Adam was the rock star of computer geeks. And apparently a lot of the tech magazines agreed with me.

  Adam parked at a small underground garage a few blocks away from the bridge and we walked the rest of the way—he insisting on carrying my bag, which wasn’t heavy at all. I resisted at first, but he practically yanked it out of my hands.

  “Your mama raised a very nice boy,” I said and then immediately regretted my words when I saw his jaw tighten. How could I have forgotten? I stopped, placing a hand on his rock-hard bicep. “I’m so sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No worries, Emilia.” But those dark brows creased over his sunglass-veiled eyes.

  I cleared my throat, still feeling terrible. Taking a deep breath, I started walking again. I decided to ease the awkwardness by talking about a subject I hated as well. “No, I know how it feels whenever someone brings up my dad or asks me about him. I never had a dad. I don’t even know his name so I call him the Biological Sperm Donor because that’s all he is to me.”

  He glanced at me. “You were never curious to meet him?”