Married to the Secret Billionaire

by Wylder, Penny

  But then she pauses. Leans back, breaking our touch. She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, like she’s steeling herself. “Ankor… If… if you’re going back to your real life now, then I should probably—”

  “Come with me?” I interrupt, one eyebrow arched. “I agree.”

  She blinks. Then her eyes widen. “What? But… Isn’t it soon? We’ve only been dating for a couple of weeks, really, not even much more, and—”

  “Fuck the rules, Sinclair,” I interrupt so loudly she breaks into a smile. I shake my head, staring at her with all the intensity I can muster. “I started breaking all of my rules the second I met you. What’s a few more ruined?” I cup her chin, draw her face to mine. Hesitate with my mouth a breath from her lips. When I speak, we’re so close I can feel my lips graze hers. “Unless, of course, you’d rather stay here in paradise. I’d understand. I’m not an easy man to date. The cameras, the hounding… This won’t be the last time it happens. People will take photos everywhere we go. People will know who you are the minute you agree to be with me. I won’t force you into that life. You have to be sure it’s worth it for you.”

  It would kill me, if she said no right now. But I refuse to be like her ex, some stalker not letting her decide her own future. She has to decide for herself. She has to want this as much as I do.

  I expect her to ask for some time to think about it. To need a minute. Instead, she flings her arms around my neck almost instantly, and pulls me against her, crushing my lips to her soft, smooth ones. We break apart, just far enough for her to catch my eye and grin that devilish grin of hers. “Oh hell no. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Mr. Helmtree.”

  “Good.” My eyes glint in the overhead of my suite, as I catch her waist. In one swift motion, I flip her around and underneath me on the mattress, lowering myself over her, my arms pinning her in to either side of her head. “Because I am nowhere near ready to let you go just yet.”

  I kiss my way down to the hem of her dress, before I pull it up and off her body. She squirms with delight on the mattress. I grab her hips and tug her down to the edge of the mattress, until her ass is hanging off the end, leaving me free to have my way with her. I spread her legs and stand between them, undoing my own jeans.

  She grins up at me, her hands too impatient to wait. She pushes my jeans off and tugs my boxers after. Her hands wrap around the shaft of my cock, and she starts to stroke me with those small, yet surprisingly strong fingers of hers. The feel of her soft hands against the hard steel shaft of my cock is enough to make me groan with desire.

  “I want to fuck you, Sinclair.”

  “So fuck me,” she says, eyes flashing in a way that makes the blood boil in my veins.

  I grab her hips and flip her, so she’s bent over the edge of the bed. And when I push into her from behind, we both groan with pleasure. God, she feels so fucking tight around me, like a glove. It sends a pulse of pleasure straight to my core, makes me hard as hell.

  She clenches hard, knowing exactly what she’s doing as I start to fuck her, hard and fast. I’m too hungry for her, too hot after a night spent dancing close in her arms to wait. Before long, we’re both near the edge. I angle my cock, drive down into her, pushing against her walls at just the right angle to hit her G-spot again and again. She bucks and cries out underneath me, her pussy convulsing around my cock as she comes.

  I finish soon after, with a guttural growl, my hands wrapped tight around her hips as I come inside her.

  When I pull out, we’re both breathless, grinning. I kiss her once, hard, and draw back just far enough to gaze straight into her eyes. “You’d better start packing,” I tell her. “We’re going to New York tomorrow.”

  10

  Sinclair

  “This is ridiculous. I didn’t even know planes had stairs.” I trail Ankor up the steps to the second story—the private first class only cabin. I thought I knew what first class looked like. I’ve walked through the fancy reclining seats before, with their glasses of free champagne, on my way to the back in coach class, budget edition.

  I had no idea there were whole other levels to first class. Or to planes in general.

  “They only use these planes for longer-haul flights,” Ankor is explaining. “Like flying straight from Hawaii to New York City.”

  We reach the top of the stairs, and I almost lose my shit all over again. There aren’t just seats up here—there are entire cabins. The flight attendant escorting us opens our cabin, and gestures for us to head inside.

  I stare inside, open-mouthed. It’s like a mini hotel room up here, complete with lounge chairs and, next to those, a full-sized lie-down bed. King size, I’m pretty sure.

  “You’ll find the menu card here,” the flight attendant is saying. “Our chef for the evening has prepared a full tasting menu, but of course, if there’s anything in particular you’d like, or if you have any food restrictions, just let us know.” He taps a panel near the recliner seats, and it opens up to reveal a mini fridge with a bottle of champagne inside. “Would you like me to open this for you now or after takeoff?”

  “Oh, later is fine,” I say, blushing, not used to having people wait on me like this. It makes me feel ridiculous.

  “Thank you,” Ankor says, and the flight attendant blushes, too.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Helmtree. And again, for service, just press here. I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to wait until after takeoff to utilize the bed portion of the cabin.”

  “Of course.” Ankor smiles as the attendant wheels our door shut.

  The moment it closes, I burst into laughter, doing a little twirl around the room. Because yeah, there’s enough room to twirl in. “This is nuts.”

  “Wait until you see the penthouse,” he replies, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

  My cheeks flush, and I drop into the seat nearest to the bed. “Ankor… Is your whole world like this? I mean…” I bite my lower lip. “Am I going to look like some out-of-place idiot the whole time?”

  “Of course not.” He slides his hand into mine and squeezes. “We belong together. How could you possibly be out-of-place in my world?”

  I press my lips together, unable to hide the little smile of pleasure at that. As we wait for takeoff, he shows me all the other features of the cabin—on top of a selection of movies, there’s a whole surround sound system that makes it feel like we’re immersed in whatever we’re watching. And there’s a mood setting that dims the lights and adds slow, jazzy music over those speakers.

  As we taxi toward the runway, Ankor switches it to that mode, and reaches for the champagne.

  “Don’t you want to get the flight attendant to do that?” I ask, smirking a little. “If you’re so used to being waited on…”

  He laughs and plucks two champagne flutes from a chiller beside the fridge. “I’m rich; I’m not incompetent.” He leans a little closer to me and lowers his voice. “And, truth be told, after almost three months of pretending to be a pool boy, the attentiveness of the waitstaff is a bit much, here.”

  I smirk.

  Ankor pours me a flute as the plane takes off, then fixes himself one. We toast as the plane gains altitude, and sip together, just us and our private cabin and the slow beat of the music.

  One glass goes down easy. Halfway through the second, and I’ve forgotten about how altitude makes drinks go to your head quicker. I lean toward Ankor, and he grins, leaning over to unfasten my seatbelt.

  I gasp a little in pretend shock, eying the button over his head. “It didn’t say to unbutton yet.”

  “Are you the cabin police?” His eyes sparkle with amusement. Then, gently, he draws me to my feet—the plane has almost leveled out anyway, and standing is easy.

  At least, that’s what I’m thinking, as we hit a tiny patch of turbulence. Ankor catches me around the waist and pushes me down onto the bed, lying on top of me a moment later, his warm, strong, muscular body stretched along mine. His lips, when they dip to catch min
e, taste like champagne. His tongue parts my lips and I inhale sharply, arching up against him, craving him, the same way I always do whenever he touches me.

  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of this man.

  In the distance we hear the seatbelts off sign ding. Neither of us notice. We’re too wrapped up in one another. Ankor rolls across to the far side of the bed and drags me with him, until I’m pinned beneath him, and he kisses his way down my neck one hand sliding up my inner thigh to inch my dress higher, higher.

  I lift one leg to either side of him and arch my hips up against his. I can feel the hard press of his cock through the fabric of his jeans, and I want nothing more than to feel him inside me again.

  I reach down to grab for his belt, and he pushes my dress up around my waist. As I undo his jeans, he hooks a thumb under the edge of my panties, and gently tugs them down.

  I gasp as the chilly plane air hits me. But Ankor cups his hand over my pussy, his fingers warm to the touch, and grins as he gently presses a finger between my lips, trailing it along my slit, back and forth. “Already wet for me, Sinclair?”

  “Always.” I grin and roll my hips against him, pressing his finger deeper. At the same time, I shove his jeans down, and push his boxers after them, eager to get my hands on his cock. I wrap them around the thick base of him, and his eyes go hot where they fix on me.

  Someone knocks at our cabin door, and I freeze, my eyes going wide and terrified. Ankor just looks amused.

  “Would you like your champagne, Mr. Helmtree? Miss…?”

  “We’re fine, thank you,” Ankor calls, without even missing a beat.

  “Let me know if you need anything else.” The flight attendant moves away, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  “Someone’s going to hear us,” I murmur, as Ankor slides between my thighs and positions himself at my entrance. I can already feel the tip of his cock spreading my lower lips, seeking my entrance. Even as I protest, I feel myself arching up into him, eager for him, aching for him.

  “I guess you’ll have to try to be quiet,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. Then he leans down along me, and in one quick thrust, drives his cock into me.

  I cry out faintly, then clamp my mouth shut, my cheeks going red.

  His smile widens, and he leans down to kiss my neck, the edge of my jaw. “This is going to be fun…”

  * * *

  The flight takes both less and more time than I would have thought possible. Less time, because I was so distracted by Ankor I hardly noticed the hours slipping past. More, because I’m pretty sure I burst a blood vessel trying not to scream when he made me come for the third time in a row.

  He’s a little too pleased with himself when we open our cabin door only to find our flight attendant watching us with a very bemused smile. My cheeks flare bright red, and I have to fight the urge to groan as we descend the stairs to join all the normal cabin-class people leaving the plane.

  “They definitely heard me.”

  “Definitely,” Ankor agrees, and catches my hand, squeezing it hard.

  I can’t decide whether to laugh or punch him. I settle for squeezing his hand in return. But we barely make it a couple steps from the plane before something blinds me. A flash. Cameras?

  “Shit.” Ankor is faster to pick this up than I am. He flicks on his phone, and I watch over his shoulder as half a dozen messages appear out of nowhere. “This way,” he says, and leads me down a side wing of the exit ramp.

  “But our luggage…” I glance back over my shoulder.

  “I’ll have my driver pick it up for us. Come on.” Ankor leads me on a route through several out of use airport gangways until we reach a gate that’s not currently in use. At one point a security guard tries to stop us, but a few words of explanation, and the guard winds up leading our way.

  We come out directly onto the street, where Ankor stops dead.

  There’s a pretty, dark-haired woman on the street corner, arms folded, glaring at us—no, at Ankor—like he just threatened to murder her. “Where in the hell have you been, Marco?” she yells the second she spots us, and my stomach sinks.

  Who is this…?

  The woman doesn’t give him time to explain. She’s already advancing on him. “First you disappear without a single explanation, leaving all of us worried sick about you. Then suddenly you pop up on Twitter with some new girl—is this her? Hello new girl, who are you?”

  I stare, my jaw falling open.

  Luckily, Ankor’s a little less shell-shocked than I am. “Sinclair, this is my sister, Margot. Margot, Sinclair. We met in Maui. I taught her how to swim.”

  “Well isn’t that nice,” Margot says, as if it’s very not nice. Still, she sticks out a hand, and I shake it tentatively.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, my voice nearly lost in the noise of the street. I’ve never been to New York City before. Nobody warned me it would be so loud.

  “I didn’t know you’d come to meet me yourself,” Ankor is saying. “I was expecting Jonathan.”

  “Yes, well, Jonathan’s here too. He went to fetch your bags. And did the driving, god knows I should never be allowed behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.” She pauses to glance at me, as if just now remembering I’m still here. “We grew up in New York,” she says. “You know how it is. When you don’t learn to drive young, I don’t think you’re ever any good at it. So what about you. Where did you grow up?” Margot looks me up and down with a look just shy of repulsed that tells me she doesn’t think any answer will do.

  “Not New York,” I reply, just as frostily, keeping my smile ice cold.

  Ankor squeezes my hand. “All right, Margot, you can lay off the riot act.”

  “I’m just curious, Marco. Doesn’t a sister have a right to be curious about her brother’s new love interest? Especially a love interest he just so conveniently met while he was running away from all his responsibilities and his family. And given how his last several love interests met in similar manners turned out.”

  My stomach clenches. As irritated as I am by this welcome, I can’t say I entirely blame her, either. After all, Ankor’s told me himself how bad his exes were. “You didn’t tell me you took off without telling your family,” I say, peering up at Ankor out of the corner of my eye.

  He glances down at me, looking chagrined. “I told them I was leaving—”

  “You said, and I quote, ‘off to the beach for a bit, back soon,’” Margot replies as we reach the sidewalk. She lifts a hand, and for a moment I think she’s hailing a cab, until a nearby Rolls Royce peels away from the curb by the luggage carousels and approaches us. “That’s hardly enough detail to give when you plan on disappearing for months.”

  “She has a point,” I say, which earns me a single, rare smile from Margot. And a glare from Ankor.

  “Don’t you start,” he grumbles. But he keeps his hand wrapped tightly around mine, and when he thinks I’m not looking, he smiles, glancing quickly from Margot and then back to me. I pretend not to have noticed and lean my head against his shoulder as the car pulls up.

  Jonathan turns out to be the family chauffer, who has apparently been working for the Helmtrees ever since Marco was a kid. He might be a tech billionaire, but he clearly came from wealth. He’s at ease, joking with Jonathan, even as Jonathan pops the trunk for us to make sure he collected the right bags before we leave. Jonathan opens our doors too, and I frown a little, stepping back to make way for him, unsure how to feel about this.

  My unease only gets more pronounced when we reach the penthouse. Even without ever having visited in person, I know from all the movies I’ve seen that Central Park is a very expensive neighborhood. Much less a penthouse in a skyscraper steps from the park. A penthouse with a private doorman, whose elevator (key operated by the doorman only) opens directly into the apartment.

  I’m still gaping at the foyer when I spot another pair of people. An older man and woman, both with Ankor and Marg
ot’s same dark messy hair and tanned olive skin.

  “Marco!” A woman who I can only assume must be his mother practically tackles him in a hug. His father hangs back, waiting until she moves aside a moment to squeeze in a hug of his own.

  Only then does his mother swat his arm. “Are you mad? We’ve been worried sick about you. And here you were off gallivanting around Hawaii with some—”

  Margot coughs pointedly, nodding sideways.

  His mother’s eyes fix on me, then widen, as though she’s just noticing me for the first time. “Oh, well, hello there, dear.”

  I smile back, even though I’m 99% sure she wasn’t about to call me a delightful new girlfriend. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sinclair.” I offer a hand, and his mother, to her credit, only hesitates for a split second before she reaches out to shake it.

  I can’t help but notice, as she lets me go, just how large her wedding ring is. Pretty sure a ring that size could buy the whole house I grew up in, and everything in it. Between that and the outfit she’s wearing, and his father’s borderline tuxedo, apparently what they wear for a casual reunion with their son in his own apartment, I feel more out of place than I did in that fancy first class cabin on the plane.

  I shift in place, tugging at the hem of my dress. I wish I was wearing something, anything, else. Something fancy and modern and stylish, like Ankor’s mother and sister. Instead, I’m in the same sundress I wore when we first met. It felt comfy to change into as our more-comfortable-than-usual plane ride came to an end. But now it just feels dowdy.

  But at least, as Ankor takes my hand and leads me, along with his family, into his enormous living room—with a crazy view of Central Park and all the other buildings along it, since half of the apartment’s walls are glass—I feel secure. Between the doorman, the key-activated elevator, and a series of video panels I notice embedded in the wall along the hallway from the elevator into the living room, each of which display security footage from the downstairs lobby and the front of the building, I doubt anyone is getting past all this and into the apartment.