Loving the Secret Billionaire

by Adriana Anders

  Bad idea.

  But none of that stopped me from wanting more.

  7

  Veronica

  * * *

  I was headed home from a fundraiser a week later when my phone buzzed in my pocket. The bus chose that moment to turn the corner, so I ignored the phone and ran. Or tottered, rather, since the height of my heels seemed to be in direct correlation with the amounts individuals donated. And tonight was a big money night. The biggest of the entire campaign, which meant four-inch stilettos and a dress so long I’d have to swing the skirt over my shoulder just to go up the steps. The fancier the digs, the bigger the donors, the higher the heels, and the farther the houses were from a bus stop, without fail.

  I nodded at the driver, huffed to a seat by the rear exit and sank down with a sigh before pulling out my phone with excitement. It had to be Zach. He texted me every evening now, although I hadn’t seen him since that night. He’d invited me back for dinner, but my campaign team had organized one meet and greet after another and, considering that I was the candidate, popping out to see my—whatever he was—wasn’t exactly feasible.

  And the texting was good. It was safe.

  Things were heating up with Rylie, too. I mean, he still had signs in two-thirds of the city’s yards and businesses, but with the help of my extra teams of canvassers and a new wave of bigger donations—including one massive one from a company I’d never heard of, my name was getting out there.

  I looked at my phone.

  You’re famous.

  What?

  Today’s article. The journalist seems to like you.

  Oh. O’Neal’s one of my best friends. It’s an Op-Ed.

  Preschool Teacher Takes on Local Establishment. I like it. David against Goliath.

  I smiled and tapped.

  Nothing so sexy as that.

  I beg to differ.

  Those words had my face heating in the near-empty bus. What was it about him that got my pulse rocking so hard? We’d talked every day since that dinner, but there’d been no sexting or anything.

  Where are you?

  Headed home from a dinner.

  On the bus?

  Yeah

  I knew he didn’t like that, but we’d had the argument where he’d try to order a car for me and that wasn’t something I’d let him do.

  What are you wearing?

  My breath left my body in a rush. Oh. So maybe we were going there. I glanced behind me at the three people sitting in the back. One guy stared out the window, a young woman looked asleep, and the third was an old woman, knitting.

  A red dress I had to buy for this fancy party tonight.

  What does it feel like?

  And just like that, I was wet, remembering the way he’d explored me. I ran a hand down my thigh.

  It’s that thick silk. A little rough and the fabric’s stiff. No idea what it’s called.

  Dupioni?

  How the hell do you know that?

  Just looked it up.

  I couldn’t get over how fast he worked on his phone or his watch or whatever. He did things with mind-boggling speed.

  Wow.

  When will I see you?

  I huffed out another nervous breath. Nervous because I could see him, in theory, tonight. Right now. There was nothing on the schedule for tomorrow but some letters to sign. I glanced out the window at the passing houses. If I got off in two stops and backtracked to 10th Avenue, I could stop by the drug store and grab the uptown bus and…

  Very bad idea, my mind insisted, but my hands didn’t listen.

  You busy now?

  I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered that the pause before his answer was about ten seconds longer than for Dupi-whatever silk.

  Let me send you a car.

  I’m on the bus. Be there in 20

  I’d once dated a man for five months before having sex with him, but if Zach Hubler broached the subject at all tonight, I would jump him, no questions asked.

  I almost fell getting off, of course, and then realized I should have gone home to change and maybe—definitely—accepted a car ride from him, but it was too late.

  I got a couple side-eyes and one long, sleazy smile in the drugstore, especially when I plunked the pack of condoms on the counter. But whatever. Forget them. I was being responsible.

  The next bus took forever to show up, so I sat on the bench, in the dark, in my too-expensive dress, too-tiny purse, and too-high heels, carrying a pack of condoms in a plastic bag, feeling beyond nervous. When it finally arrived, I climbed on, plunked into a seat and bit my nails all the way to his neighborhood.

  Every drop of anticipation had morphed into anxiety or something so that, when I pulled off the shoes to walk the last two blocks, the words bad idea echoed with every step, and I was close to turning around.

  Halfway up the driveway, though, I spotted the house. Even in the dark, I could see that it had been cleaned up and fixed. It no longer looked like the haunted place where an ax-murderer might hunker down, but instead had the look of…

  Holy shit. How had I not noticed how huge it was?

  I scanned the front. It was one of those big, clapboard farmhouses that keep getting eaten by urban sprawl. The yard had been cleaned up and trimmed and mowed and, suddenly, it wasn’t a yard anymore but more like one of those fancy gardens you’d see in a magazine. To the side, where I didn’t remember there being a building at all, a garage stood, a perfect match to the main house, with its neat black trim.

  And the whole thing was perfectly illuminated by outdoor lights, which I didn’t think had been there before. This place had more in common with tonight’s fundraiser venue than my crappy downtown apartment.

  Something flopped around in my belly. The man had money. Or resources or something.

  Who is he?

  Barefoot, I picked my way up the perfectly bricked front path, to the no-longer-sagging porch, and all the while my stomach worked itself into knots.

  The thing was, I wanted this guy more than I’d wanted anyone. Ever. But he also scared me. Not in a creepy way, but in a what-am-I-getting-myself-into way. There’d been a big sting in town, a few years back. This group of three or four people had rented a massive, fancy-ass house, which they’d used as the headquarters for their massive fake ID ring. When the cops had shown up, they’d found weapons and drugs and all sorts of illegal stuff.

  And I was worried. So much about Zach seemed…wrong. Not wrong, actually. Right, but off, or something. Like he’d put up a front that nobody could get through. Except for possibly me.

  I raised my hand to knock.

  8

  Zach

  * * *

  I turned on every single light in preparation for her arrival. And then turned a few off. Because, Jesus, everything I did right now was overkill. Offering rides, inviting her over, installing a wine fridge in the kitchen filled with rosé, because she told me it was her favorite.

  I rubbed a hand over my face and tried to remember if I’d forgotten anything. The wine she liked, those truffle potato chips she mentioned on the phone the other night—the ones she lusted after, but never bought cause they were seven bucks a bag. And, yeah, a big-ass box of condoms.

  My cock was hard just thinking about them. Christ, I’d been hard off and on all week. Just hearing her voice and getting those texts. But I wanted to feel her against me again. I wanted to suck in her female smell and taste her when she came. I palmed my dick and willed it to go down. We hadn’t agreed to sex tonight, and no way was I pushing her to do it if she wasn’t ready.

  Maybe I should go to the bathroom and make myself come. Just to take the edge off, because if I stayed like this, I’d be—

  A knock, louder than I was used to with the new knocker.

  Okay. Shit.

  I walked to the door, pulled it open and, goddamn, she smelled good. Already, from here, I got a whiff. A perfume, which she hadn’t worn the last time, but she was there behind it.

>   “Hey,” was all I could manage. Slick as hell.

  Something fell to the floor with a plastic bag rustle and she was in my arms. Soft. Real.

  Our mouths met, hard, lips opening fast, tongues meeting, devouring. Our teeth clashed, but even that felt good—right, like we needed to meet on all fronts to make this count.

  My shoulder jammed into something—the open door. I shut it and followed her as she stumbled back the two steps to lean on it.

  It was impossible to find a spot for my hands to settle. Behind her head, on her side, stroking down to squeeze her hip, then behind her, where I cupped her bottom. Her legs made their way around my waist, I pulled her up and…

  “Fuck, you feel good.”

  She made that long, low Mmmmm sound I’d been dreaming about all week. I wanted to record it, bottle it, keep it with me and add it to my daily soundtrack.

  “I love that sound.”

  Instead of asking what I meant, she tightened her arms around my shoulders and wound her fingers into my hair, pulling me in. There was no room between us now. My cock pressed right up against that hot, ready place.

  Like two parts of a well-oiled machine, we moved together, like we’d been doing this for years.

  I was hard and ready and I wanted her. I wanted this, now.

  “Is this good?”

  “It’s good,” she said, sounding out of breath and eager.

  “What should I…”

  Her hips moved against mine with a rhythm that suited me perfectly and, if I just pretended, I could imagine how much better this could be.

  “I want you in me.”

  I stilled, my breath the only sound in the room. Possibly the entire world.

  “I don’t…” Oh, God, don’t let me say anything stupid. I mean, I’d never done it, but I thought about it. All. The. Time. And I wanted it. With this woman. “I don’t know how to do this. Fuck.” I leaned back, loving the feel of our bodies entwined below the belt. Loving how it felt to carry her weight.

  “I guess this position isn’t too practical.” She let out a long, slow exhalation as her legs slid to the floor. One of her feet rustled the bag as it landed. “I bought condoms.”

  Those words ramped me right back up.

  “So you want this? It’s not just the heat of the moment talking?”

  “No. I mean, no, it’s not the heat of the moment.” She sounded breathy and excited. “I don’t usually… I’ve never… I’m not a big dirty talker. I’m not so…” She huffed out a self-deprecating sound, struggling for the right word.

  “Brazen?” I supplied, and she laughed.

  “Exactly. I usually skirt around the issue of sex. Until it just kind of happens.”

  Inside I’m a freaking caveman, thumping my chest. She wants me. Nobody else.

  “What’s different here?”

  “Everything.” She pauses, maybe hesitant. “What’s different for you?”

  How could I explain this? The sensation of being around her, talking to her? The way she made me feel? Like my life existed outside these walls. Like I could do things I’d never imagined possible.

  I cleared my throat and tried for humor. “Don’t get out much. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “So you…go for the one person to visit you?”

  “No. No, I don’t mean that.” The door was hard and we were standing here and I wished we were someplace soft, where I could lean in and touch her face, feel her expression, not just hear it. “I mean, we were never super sociable, me and my granddad. But after he passed, I stopped going out as much. And then a couple years ago… All the sounds and people and smells. It was too much for my brain. Overwhelm or overload or something. I have friends. I mean, people do visit occasionally and I’ve got people online, but, this way, it’s on my terms.”

  She made a little I’m listening noise in her throat, which I assumed meant she wanted more. I forgot how much women needed to dissect things.

  “When you showed up, every bit of you sort of slotted in. Or made sense, or fit me, I guess. Like everything else is pain and dissonance and you walked in and you’re this perfect, sweet melody. You get that?”

  Her loud inhale should have told me what she was thinking, but I was clueless until she spoke.

  “Yeah, Zach.” The backs of her fingers made a raspy sound as she stroked my jaw.

  “Shoulda shaved.”

  “No.” The word was faint, almost whispered. With a smile, maybe. “No, this is perfect. You’re perfect.” She cupped my chin, leaned in, and whispered into my ear, “And I need you inside me. Tonight. Now.”

  With her musical laughter egging me on, I slung her over my shoulder, wanting to run up the stairs. Instead, I used restraint and walked.

  “Wait!” she giggled from where she hung against my back. “The condoms.”

  “Oh, I’ve got condoms.” I grabbed her ass hard in one hand and she let out a happy squeal. “We’ll come down if we use ’em all.”

  * * *

  Veronica

  * * *

  Yes. God, yes, he was doing it right.

  He hauled me up the steps like a fireman. Or a caveman. And I loved it.

  Down a dark hall, into a dark room, where he set me on the bed, opened a drawer and pulled out a box.

  It took a second or two for me to realize he wasn’t moving, but just stood beside me, box in hand, breathing hard.

  “You okay?”

  “You know how many times I’ve imagined this?” He gave a gruff little growl. “Fuck. Can’t believe I’ve never actually done what comes next. I want to make it good for you.”

  I was almost afraid to ask, “What do you picture or how do you…” I shook my head and scooted up the bed to his pillows. “What do you imagine?”

  “It’s surreal, I guess, now that I think about it.” I could make out his grin in the dark, so I relaxed a tiny bit. “There’s no clothing. I’m just naked. And hands come out.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It’s been your hands, the past few times.”

  Oh, I felt that in my belly. Following whatever instinct that was, I went to him, pried the condoms from his grasp, and put them on the bedside table, then stood on tip-toes, moved in close, and whispered against his ear. “Let’s get your shirt off.”

  He didn’t help me, really, besides shifting aside, nor did he get in my way as I unbuttoned the shirt, yanked it off, and threw it on the floor.

  I moved my hands to his waist and he stopped them with his. “Let’s do your dress,” he said, sending a trail of goose bumps from my neck down my arm, to my fingers where they touched his skin.

  “Okay.” I lifted my arms and waited for him to undress me.

  “Definitely Dupioni silk.”

  My giggle was abruptly cut off when he threw the dress over a chair and turned to rub his hand down my side and back up, his thumb brushing my breast.

  “Want me to get my bra?”

  “I hear they’re complicated,” he said with that wide, superhero smile. “If in doubt, just yank it up, right?”

  The memory of him doing that the other night shot straight to my pussy, making me clench hard.

  “Undoing them’s a pain in the ass.” I hardly recognized my voice, it was so tense.

  “Show me.”

  “All right.” And then, because he’d want to know, I told him. “I like it when you order me around a little. Like when you hauled me up the stairs.”

  His head tilted. “Yeah?”

  “It’s never been my thing, but you give good bossy.”

  “I’ll remember that.” And in a gruff tone, he said, “Your bra.”

  I grabbed his hand, ran it along the band to the back and he mirrored the move on the other side, where his hands met in the middle and unhooked it without a moment’s hesitation. No practice, my ass.

  His breath was gratifyingly shaky when he ran his hands around to my breasts. I couldn’t help the long, low moan that came out of my mouth. It was good. Every feather-light touch, every
pinch and exploration was as good as the other night. Better, maybe, because I knew what would come next.

  “Take off my pants.”

  Hands shaking, I pulled them down and paused waited. “Should I keep going?”

  “Everything.” That voice. Deep and dark, bossy and needy.

  Slowly, with what felt like every drop of blood in my body racing to that spot between my legs, I dragged his underwear down.

  My mouth dropped open. Maybe he’d been right that he wouldn’t fit.

  “You okay?”

  I swallowed. “Um…you’re big.”

  He stepped back and I stood up.

  “Too big?”

  “I don’t…” I gave an awkward half-laugh, because honestly I had no idea if I could fit him inside of me. I wanted to, though. “I’ll try.”

  He palmed his erection and gave it a swipe or two. It was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen. I wanted to lick the drop of pre-cum that beaded there.

  I opened my mouth to tell him how beautiful he was and then hesitated. What would that mean to him? How would he feel knowing I could see him but he could never reciprocate? I’d tell him, someday. Just not right this second, when there was too much of him to learn.

  There were maybe two steps between us, when suddenly, I realized how naked I felt in front of someone who couldn’t see me. This didn’t mean he didn’t pay attention to me. He could feel me, and hear my every small reaction. He proved this when his hand found a ticklish spot on my side, and when he bit me, very gently, on the neck.

  “You like that,” he whispered and did it again, harder.

  We wound up on his bed, limbs moving in search of the next great discovery, the next keen pleasure. Our bodies twisted and turned and every little thing was a sensation to be enjoyed. I closed my eyes and ate it all up.

  “I want you on top.” He tapped my thigh and I moved, nipples hard as rocks from just that little sting.

  From up here, I had to tell him, “You’re beautiful.”