The Bad Boy Billionaire's Girl Gone Wild

by Maya Rodale

  There was another kind of pain occupying my mind. The pain of searing hot and shimmering desire ricocheting through me with just the touch of his hands.

  He teased my inner thighs. With his thumb, he started tracing delicate circles around my clit. The pressure was light, so light I was desperate for more.

  “Please,” I whispered. I feared it was lost in the wind because he just kept tormenting me with that light touch and hot, open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

  And then he slid one finger inside me. I gasped. Another. I gasped again.

  He stroked me, stirring the flames of desire. My head fell back and I gazed up at the New York City skyline. I couldn’t see stars, but I saw all the sparkling lights of airplanes and skyscrapers.

  Duke, still teasing me like crazy with his fingers, pressed his mouth against my sex and I just about lost it, shouting out my pleasure from the rooftops.

  The world was happening all around us. No one, I was sure, really bothered to notice.

  And then between the wicked touch of his fingers and the even more wicked caress of his mouth, I just—I just gave up. My knees started to buckle but he held me up. Breathing—who needed to breathe? Who could draw a breath in circumstances like this? I was dizzy, so dizzy and vaguely afraid of falling off this building . . . or totally in love.

  Was that the worst fate?

  Duke was relentless and in the end there was nothing to do but give in to the pressure and revel in the explosion of pleasure. I cried out and the sound was lost in the sounds of the city—the blare of taxi horns, the shouts of drunk revelers on the street, the wail of ambulances. I’d been shaken to my core and still, the city kept going.

  Duke stood. I gazed up at him. His face was so stark in this light—my eyes were drawn to the sharp slant of his cheekbones, the sensuous curve of his upper lip, the darkness in his eyes, his hair, tousled by the wind. I reached up to thread my fingers through his hair. Again, he caught my wrist. Again, he didn’t let go.

  Instead, he spun me around so I was looking out over the edge.

  “Oh God,” I gasped as I looked down too many stories to count.

  “Shhh,” he murmured into my ear. “I’m holding onto you. I won’t let you go.”

  Duke pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the back of my neck. Then he shoved up my skirt. I teetered on towering heels, held steady only by the firm grasp of his hands on my hips.

  He moved against me, and even though I had just had a core-shaking orgasm, I was ready to go again.

  In a mercifully quick moment, he unzipped his jeans and slid on a condom. And then I felt the rock-hard length of him pulsing against my clit. Lord help me, I moaned.

  Duke leaned over me, nibbling on my earlobe, pressing kisses on my neck, caressing my hip and teasing me again with his fingers. Back and forth. In and out. All around. I was going mad. Mad!

  “You’re so ready for me Jane,” he murmured.

  “I’m well aware of that,” I gasped. “Really fucking aware.”

  He laughed softly and the rush of his breath across my skin was yet another sensation that was somehow magnified until the point of being nearly unbearable.

  And then, when I couldn’t stand the wait anymore, he was inside of me with one smooth thrust. I gave a shout.

  His cock filled me up. I turned my head—we kissed, the sort of passionate, distracted, tooth-clinking-against-tooth kiss that had happened when you were both overcome with the rhythm of in and out and in and out and in and out. His hands skimmed up my front, closing around my breasts. I moaned. It was too much. All of it—his hands on me, his cock inside me, the city all around us . . . I couldn’t hold on for much longer.

  He took my nipples in between his fingertips, the pressure making them stiffen into hard peaks. Oh, God. Oh, Duke.

  It could have been hours. It could have been minutes. It could have been years. However long it was, I ceased to exist and he did, too. We were one, tied together with pleasure, crying out above the city.

  Our cries as we came together were lost in the noise of the city. With heavy-lidded eyes, I gazed around. People . . . all around . . . living their lives on Saturday night. I looked over the edge, down a dizzying number of stories to the city street below.

  “I got you, Jane,” he murmured.

  “Never let me go,” I whispered.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  Freeman’s Restaurant

  A few days later

  I MET ROXANNA after work for a quick bite to eat before we headed over to a party on the private roof deck of her office’s building. It had to be noted that there was a chance Duke would be there. It had to be noted that because of that possibility, I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to come up with the perfect outfit.

  And then, of course, something came up at work at the last minute ensuring that I didn’t have time to head home and change. I went straight to the restaurant wearing my work clothes: a charcoal pencil skirt, black silk camisole and thin black cashmere cardigan. Strappy silver kitten heels. My hair was pulled into a ponytail.

  First, Roxanna handed me the glass of wine she had gone ahead and ordered. Then she said, “So Duke might be there.”

  “Oh?” She didn’t buy my innocent act and rolled her eyes.

  “You know he’s always invited to these things. And I bet he’ll assume that because of my job and thus being practically required to attend, there’s a chance that I will insist you come with me.”

  “I’m avoiding him,” I confided.

  “Is that what you did the other night? Avoided him?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Did you avoid him with a passion?” Roxanna asked, grinning devilishly.

  “I mean it, Roxanna. I was tipsy and emotional and it just happened. But now I’m setting boundaries. I will not be his secret lover and mistress while he’s married to his work. Besides, Sam got an offer from NYU.”

  Roxanna nodded politely and then carried on with her ridiculousness.

  “Did avoiding him bring you to dizzying heights of pleasure?”

  “Where’s the waiter?” I asked, looking around. “I’m ready to order.”

  “What do you fancy? A hot billionaire and multiple orgasms?”

  Roxanna laughed and I bit back a grin.

  “Are you done yet?”

  “For the moment.”

  “So in spite of my best intentions, I didn’t avoid him. He wants me to give up my writing and just be his . . . secret mistress of pleasure.”

  “There’s the title for your next book.”

  “I was thinking Wallflower Gone Wild, actually.”

  “I like it. Even better, I like the research it will require.” Roxanna then grinned and listed some historically appropriate wild behavior. “What are we going to do? Show some ankle? Spike the punch? Ravish some handsome gentlemen? You know, for research.”

  “That’s what the other night was. Research. I was experimenting with breaking all the rules, ignoring my better judgment, being spontaneous and listening to my desire instead of my brain.”

  “And how did that work out for you?”

  “It was good at the time. The silence that has followed? Not so good. I really have to avoid him, Roxanna. And my definition of avoid, not yours.”

  AFTER DINNER, WE made our way over to the party, walking slowly so that we could check out all the shop windows on Elizabeth and Mulberry streets.

  “So listen . . .” Roxanna began. “If a devastatingly handsome British guy starts talking to us, I need you to disappear.”

  “Who is this devastatingly handsome British guy?”

  “My boss.”

  “Roxanna . . .” I nudged her and grinned and she actually blushed and looked away.

  “My boss’s boss, technically.”

  “I suppose you have an urgent business matter that must be discussed tonight or else a global catastrophe will result.”

  “I’m so glad you unde
rstand.”

  “And by business matter I mean—”

  “OK, stop talking. We’re here, and I cannot have anyone overhear this conversation,” Roxanna said. She pushed open a non-descript door and we started climbing three incredibly steep flights of stairs. We passed through amazingly sleek and modern offices before continuing up another flight of stairs. And then onward to the roof.

  It was a warm and bright city night and we could see it all from the roof deck. Hundreds of people were crowded in. A DJ was spinning and a few people were dancing though most stood around in conversation.

  We fought the crowd at the bar and got drinks—whisky for Roxanna and a vodka tonic for me. I eyed the guys standing around us. Like Duke, they all wore T-shirts advertising their startups, or plaid shirts and skinny jeans. I bet they all worked in tech and many of them were probably developers.

  “C’mon, let’s go chat to hot guys with stock options,” Roxanna said, drawing us over to a group standing near the edge of the roof. They were cute. Definitely cute. I realized that I had gotten so used to being a wallflower and a nobody that I was taken aback when these guys recognized me after Roxanna performed introductions.

  “You’re Jane Sparks? The Jane Sparks?” A guy named Adam asked incredulously.

  “The one who wrote that smutty book about Duke Austen?” asked a brainy guy with thick black-framed glasses.

  I hesitated. Then I answered. “Yes.”

  To my surprise they all had tons of questions about what was real and what wasn’t, how much research I did, how it was selling, what self-publishing was like, and a dozen other questions about writing the book. That lasted five minutes; then they asked me questions about Duke and Project-TK. As I tried to answer, I noticed Roxanna’s gaze roaming around the roof deck.

  When she stood up straighter, smiled and tossed her red hair over her shoulder, I followed her gaze to a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman. He came over toward us and Roxanna performed the introductions.

  “Jane, this is Damien Knightly. This is my friend Jane.”

  “How do you do?” He asked politely in a British accent. I could see why Roxanna was smitten. He was handsome, mysterious and had a sexy accent.

  “Nice to meet you,” I replied. “If you excuse me, I need to find the ladies room.”

  I wandered off through the crowds, trying to keep my gaze low. And then the crowd parted and there was no way I could miss him. Duke: beer in hand, wearing a black T-shirt that said “Feel my Chartbeat” with dark, broken in jeans, and chatting with a bunch of people. Then he turned, saw me, and smiled, and the sight of him took my breath away.

  He stepped away from the group and walked over to me.

  “Hey there, Sweater Set.”

  “Hello, Duke.”

  “So is your father a thief?” Duke asked, apropos of nothing.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, utterly confused. Duke just grinned and said, “Because he must have taken the sparkle from the stars and put them in your eyes.”

  I burst out laughing. “Really? Is this how you chat up girls at parties?”

  He just grinned and kept going with the bad pickup lines. “Hey, Jane. Can you give me directions?”

  “To where?” I asked nervously.

  “To your heart,” he said half sweetly, half joking. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Is it not on Google maps?” I inquired.

  “I tried using Apple Maps. Maybe that’s the problem,” he said.

  “I’m sure you can find the way,” I said softly.

  “I wondered if I might see you here,” he said, smiling down at me.

  “I’m with Roxanna.”

  “Your gossipy friend.”

  “She’s not the only one gossiping,” I said as I became aware of a hush stealing over the rooftop. Everyone was staring. I dropped my voice and said, “I think everyone else is talking about us right now.”

  “Fuck ’em,” he muttered in that devil-may-care manner of his that I admired and envied—and that caused him a lot of trouble.

  “What happened to your reputation above all else?” I asked. “What happened to Project-TK needing you to be at work 24/7?”

  I was achingly aware of the distance between us—a few feet, very respectable. I was also achingly aware of how much I wanted to close that distance. “Wanted” wasn’t quite the right word, though. I had never really understood magnetism until this moment. I was helplessly drawn to him and it took all of my strength to fight the inevitable.

  “So it’s not working out like I planned,” he said.

  “That’s a bummer. I’ve found I sometimes need to delete a few pages.”

  “Same with code,” he replied. “But I mean you, Jane, and this.” He gestured vaguely to the distance between us and I understood.

  He was securing his fortune and his glory. I was writing another book that would cause another scandal when I published it. Professionally, we were both achieving more than we’d ever dreamed. This was exactly what we wanted, wasn’t it?

  “Too bad we can’t cut and rewrite in real life,” I said.

  “How much would you delete?”

  “Hmm . . . I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “God, I just want to touch you,” he said softly.

  “If you touch me now . . .” I said warningly.

  “Then everyone will start talking and tweeting about it and they’ll forget about that other thing you do.”

  “But if I walk away . . .”

  “Then I’ll be lonely tonight,” he said softly, with a sad smile. More than anything, I wanted to run my fingers through his dark, tousled hair and press my lips to his. “But I know, it’s for my own good. So see you later, Sweater Set.”

  This time, when he said the words, his voice sounded bittersweet. We both faded back into the crowds. I wandered around looking for Roxanna, but she must have left with that guy. It was a lovely night and I wasn’t quite ready to go home, so I got another drink. And just as I was stepping back from the bar, I bumped into Duke, spilling my drink.

  “If you spill on your shirt, you should probably remove said shirt,” he suggested with a naughty smile. “Right here. Right now.”

  “Or I’d have to go home immediately. Alone,” I replied.

  “And then take your shirt off,” Duke said. Relentless. “So let’s condense those lines of code and get to the end result. You, and your shirt off.”

  “You are ridiculous,” I said. But God, I missed him. And this is why it was dangerous for me to see him: because I forgot about love and thought only about lust. And really, I couldn’t give up on my career for a guy.

  For a moment we just stood there. Gazes locked. There was so much to say. All sorts of heartfelt feelings and intense, relentless longing for his touch. My gaze dropped to his mouth and then I only thought of one thing.

  “What were you thinking about?” Duke asked.

  “Oh, silly female thoughts about feelings.”

  “Is that all?” he asked, as if he could read my mind.

  “And kissing,” I answered softly. Even though I was thinking of more than that: I compared his kiss to Sam’s. There was no comparison. But Sam’s kiss was the last on my lips—again—and I wanted the memory of Duke’s touch instead.

  “Kissing is not a silly female thought,” Duke answered.

  “No?”

  “You should do it more often,” he said, his voice grave. “Do you know what’s even better than thinking about it?” the question was punctuated with a lift of his brow and a slight upturn of his lips.

  “Actually kissing.” When I answered my voice was breathless. His gaze dropped to my mouth.

  “Exactly,” he murmured.

  At that moment, someone stepped in to talk to Duke—that’s how it was being out with him. Everyone wanted to be his friend, pitch their startup, inquire about a job at Project-TK or ask his advice. I remembered the way he moved through the crowd at a party on the first ni
ght I saw him—everyone reached out to talk to him and he swaggered through like he was Someone. As always, he was generous with his time and thoughts, always willing to engage in conversation with new people. I admired that.

  It also gave me an excuse to wander away.

  To my surprise, I stumbled into Roxanna.

  “I thought you left. With that guy.”

  “He left,” she said. And then, glancing around to ensure no one was listening, she said, “And I’m leaving in a few minutes.”

  “Want to split a cab home?”

  “You’re so sweet, but no way,” Roxanna said with a wicked grin. “I’m not going home.”

  “I guess your night is only just beginning,” I said slyly. “Now remember, tonight is a school night.”

  Roxanna laughed and said, “Talk to me for ten more minutes and then I’ll make my exit. And what will you do?”

  I glanced into the crowd. I saw Duke. He saw me. Our gazes locked. For a moment I didn’t notice anything else—not the other people, or the city skyline all lit up. For a moment I felt like one of my heroines. Shy, always standing off to the side, and oh-so-tempted. And also stuck between my own desires, the “right” thing to do and what everyone would think.

  “I’m going home, too,” I told Roxanna. A little bit later, I was just about to leave when I noticed my name. They were projecting tweets about the party up on the windowless wall of a nearby building. On another wall, they were projecting a live video stream of the party. Both were so big and bright they could surely be seen by everyone at this party as well as everyone on the street, and anyone with a view of those walls.

  It was the tweets that caught my attention.

  At #GawkerRoof party with @DukeAusten and his “fiancée” @Jane_Sparks. Waiting to see if sparks fly.

  Amused watching @DukeAusten and his girl try to avoid each other on the #GawkerRoof.

  I turned around, back to the wall. And then I saw Duke. He was leaning against the railing with the New York City skyline illuminated behind him.

  There was no denying it: The sight took my breath away. There was no one like him and nothing like this city. Together they were an intoxicating combination.