The Billionaire's Secret: Enemies to Lovers Fake Marriage Romance (Big Bad Billionaires Book 2)

by L. Steele

"You dirty girl," he chuckles. "I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not that. It’s so easy, Gigi. Go on, take a shot."

  "Um," I try to form the word, but my throat is too dry. It is, is it…?

  "Footsteps, of course."

  I sag onto the couch. Jerk.

  “One more, one more." He comes around, brushes aside my hair. "You ready, Gigi?"

  I glare at him. He smirks, "Oh, but you’re getting there, aren’t you?"

  I shoot him a glance meant to convey exactly where he can take his dick and stuff it… Up my arse. Hell. I squeeze my eyes shut. Why, why is it that I am empty and hollow and aching inside, even as every part of me wants to slap his stupid, handsome face? Right before I throw myself at his feet and ask him to lick me up, eat me up, slap my cunt, drink from it… "Ohhh."

  I hear my whine, so pathetic.

  "You’re gorgeous, sweet thing."

  I crack my eyelids open. Beseech him with my gaze. Please, please.

  He straightens, "Not yet."

  I can’t stop the snarl that rips from me then.

  "My god," I hear him breathe from above me. "So much spirit, so much beauty, so much everything you are, Gigi. You’ll be the death of me."

  I swallow. Is he aware of the likely truth in his words? No one's ever focused their complete attention on me, made me the cynosure of their ministration in this manner before.

  A tear squeezes out of the corner of my eye. He bends down, scoops it up. He sucks on his finger and my heart stutters. Why is that so damn intimate?

  "About that riddle, then."

  I blow out a breath.

  "It’s easy, I promise."

  Famous last words… Whatever. Can you get over it already?

  "I am what you saw, but not what you see. What am I?" He asks.

  A shadow. A mirage. An emotion from the end of time. It’s you, Saint, you.

  He nods, "A memory, Gigi." His features twist. "And I am going to leave you with so many that it will drown out everything and everyone that came before me, I promise."

  I hear him move, sense him bend, the heat of his body intensifying a second before he tears off my panties.

  What the—?

  I hear the whip of the belt, then the fire explodes across my butt, up my spine. I cry out. He doesn’t stop. He goes at it—one butt cheek, the other, back to the first— I scream again. The next—I shriek.

  Each time he hits me, my body jolts forward. My sex clenches. A trembling builds from my toes. He spanks me so hard that my body pushes up to my tip toes. My clit rubs against the hard edge of the settee, and omigod! A quivering sweeps up from my toes. It can’t be. There’s no way he has brought me to the verge of orgasm so quickly, right? He leans back and the cool air grazes my butt. He dips his fingers into my exposed pussy. I shudder.

  "You’re fucking wet for me."

  I ball my fingers into fists.

  "You want my dick inside you. Don’t you, you little slut?"

  I shudder. How dare he call me that? My sex clenches around his finger. Why do I like it so much?

  He adds a second finger inside and my trembling intensifies.

  "Say it, Gigi."

  "No."

  He adds a third, a fourth, the emptiness at my core growing bigger, wider. I want more. I want his fat cock inside of me. I do. A sob wells up.

  "Admit you want to be taken in every way possible. You want me to debase you, to show you exactly what it means for a woman to be open and vulnerable and completely broken down by her man."

  Is he my man? Is he?

  "Tell me, Gigi. Tell me you need this, to be split wide open for all of your hurts to pour out, for your insecurities to be drawn out of you, for your every nightmare to be exposed, your spirit broken and yearning...for me."

  No.

  "Tell me you want me to remove every evidence of other men and replace it with pain, and more pain; to gouge out every thought, every emotion, every feeling you’ve ever carried for anyone else but me. Tell me you want me to fuck your past out of you."

  "No."

  "Liar."

  The heat at my back escalates. He stabs his tongue in between my arsecheeks and the climax propels up my thighs. My vision narrows and my heart stutters. No, how can he? Why is he doing this? Why is he insisting on barreling into my deepest, darkest, most intimate of spaces? He laves my most forbidden place and I throw back my head. The orgasm coils in my belly; my thighs clench.

  He pulls away and it recedes.

  What the—? My eyelids—which I hadn’t realized I’d shut—fly open. I turn around to find him tugging on his shirt sleeves. He flicks a spot of invisible dust from his shoulders, and a hot molten wave of anger explodes inside me.

  "How dare you…?" I sputter.

  He licks his lower lip and heat sweeps up my front from throat to hair line. Is he recalling my taste? Showing me what I could have, and withholding it from me purposely for… What? To put me in my place? To show me what I can’t have?

  The anger thrums close to my heart and my chest tightens. "Why?" I snarl "Why are you doing this?"

  "You don’t get to ask the questions."

  "I am tired of your treating me like…like..."

  He angles his head. "Go on, complete that statement."

  I open my mouth and he raises a finger, "But remember, one wrong word and I’ll walk away. And we both know you can’t afford that."

  My heart begins to race. What does he know? How much has he guessed? Why does he always remind me of everything I have to lose if this arrangement goes wrong? I stare at him and he chuckles, "Wise choice, little Gigi."

  "I hate that name."

  "Lying again?" He clicks his tongue.

  "What are you going to do?" I jut out my chin.

  His nostrils flare as he rakes his gaze over my semi-naked body. A flush heats my skin, but I refuse to move. I will not give him the benefit of discovering how much he’s unnerving me. I grit my teeth. Stay, stay.

  He cracks his knuckles and my belly clenches.

  He takes a step forward. Everything in me waits...waits. Close the distance, you bastard. Do it… Do it, now.

  He raises his hand. The buzzing of a cellphone cuts through the thick silence. My nerve endings pop.

  He slides his phone out of the pocket of his slacks. "This had better be important." His eyebrows furrow as he listens. He drags his gaze down to my bare butt cheeks. His pupils darken. Does he want me that much? If I’m so affected by his presence, surely, he is too. Isn’t that why he’s strung me along so far? He hasn’t allowed me to get close, but he hasn’t pushed me away either. He’s toying with me. Not that it surprises me at all. I didn’t expect more from this…this beast. But why is he putting himself through the same kind of torture that I am experiencing? Why can’t he take me and be done with it? Why drag this out until neither of us can bear it?

  He raises his hand, and I am sure he’s going to palm my butt, to resume where he left off.

  "They did what?" he snaps into the phone.

  Color pops on his cheeks. His jaw tics. What the—? What could it be that has gotten that kind of reaction— hell, any kind of reaction—from him?

  He straightens so quickly that I wince. "I’m coming…"

  I splutter.

  He slides the phone into his pocket, pivots, turns to go, and I jump to my feet, "You can’t do this."

  He takes another step forward.

  My heart hammers so fast, I am sure it’s going to jump out of my ribcage. I race around him, plant myself in his path, "You can’t leave me like this."

  He surveys me from head to toe, then bends.

  I stumble back.

  He straightens, tosses a scrap of fabric in my direction. My panties flop against my chest. "You’ll come when I let you, and not before."

  He saunters past me to the door.

  Bastard.

  He reaches the door and my pulse rate ratchets up. Surely, he is not going to walk away, while I am hungry and aching an
d wanting…wanting. My skin feels too tight for the rest of my body. His massive shoulders fill the doorway. I take in his narrow waist, the tight fit of his pants cross his gorgeous arse… My sex clenches. I inch my fingers toward my clit. He raises his hand over his shoulder, "Don’t you dare, Gigi."

  "What?"

  "You will not bring yourself to orgasm. Have you forgotten about that?"

  "The hell?"

  "Hell is when I bring you to the edge of coming a few more times, when you walk around throbbing for my dick to fill you up, for my lips on you, my fingers inside your arsehole, for every part of me teasing you up the slope only to…"

  "To," I breathe.

  "To leave you unfulfilled, of course."

  He shoulders open the door. I walk my fingers toward my center once more.

  "If you disobey me… I’ll…"

  I swallow. "What? What will you do?"

  "I’ll punish you and the spankings you’ve received so far will seem like I’ve been teasing you all along."

  "As if you’d know," I scoff.

  He turns to survey me, "Oh, trust me, I will. Your every orgasm belongs to me from now on. Do you understand?"

  21

  Saint

  * * *

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck." I swear as I swipe myself from root to head. My dick lengthens and my balls throb. I slap my other hand against the wall of the restroom on the ground floor of the hotel. Pathetic.

  I’d walked out of my suite, commanding her not to come. The call could not be put off; so I had made it out, completed my errand, and returned to the hotel, in record time.

  But damn if I am heading back to my room. I do not need her. I am not dependent on her. No way am I going to allow her to see how vulnerable I am with her.

  Which means I’m left me with balls the size of all the number one hits of The Beatles put together… Fuck, had I thought that? The woman’s affliction for those losers is getting to me.

  I have to fuck her out of my system… Or at least, jerk her out, to get relief.

  So, I’d walked into the men’s restroom and locked the door behind me. I blow out a breath, then scan my reflection in the mirror—dilated pupils, irregular breathing, a sheen of sweat dampening my brow... Fuck. What a dumb idea it had been to think I could get through this unscathed. I’d thought I was in control… How wrong I had been. I’d thought I could keep her close, so I could steer the proceedings, slow the pace when needed.

  Fuck, fucking fuck. I squeeze my cock and pain grips my groin. I massage myself once again. The blood thrums through my veins and my pulse rate ratchets up. The scent of her—sweet and sexy, warm and giving, and opening to me—clings to my nostrils, percolates into my skin, winds its way down to coil in my groin. My thighs spasm and my balls draw up. Her green eyes—beseeching, half-drugged with lust, stormy with anger. The sound of wet flesh closing around my fingers. Her mouth around my dick, sucking on me, dragging her teeth up the underside of my swollen shaft. Her slickness, her little moans, her head thrown back as she’d verged on the edge of climax.

  The tension in my belly twists in on itself. I squeeze the base of my cock harder. Fuck me, but I am going to come, I am going to—

  A banging on the door filters into my consciousness. I ignore it, focus on my own pleasure—how I am going to thrust forward into her sweet cunt, rip into her melting pussy and— "Saint, open up this second, you asshole."

  I whip my head around, stare at the closed door, "Fuck off."

  "If you don’t open it, I am going to kick this door down."

  "It’s an antique door, you tosser." Not that I fucking care about the money. I could replace it, of course, but damn, if I don’t have a soft spot for history and heritage…and all that emo shit… And beautiful women who hurt from the inside out, who pretend to be strong when they are already broken. Since when had I given in to the urge to collect wounded things to my collection?

  There’s another bang and the entire door frame shudders. "I swear, I’ll take it out of your share of the profits, wanker."

  "You’re the wanker, beating yourself in there into your hand like a pathetic pussy."

  "Bitch," I swear aloud.

  "I heard that, you tosser."

  Fucking Weston. I tuck my erect dick inside my pants and zip myself up. Then stalk over to the door and fling it open.

  Weston brushes past me and glides inside, looking for all the world like he’s stepped out of a fucking photo shoot. "Jesus, do you have to deck yourself out like a peacock every time you step out?"

  He leans a hip against one of the basin’s, "Unlike you," he glances down pointedly at my worn-in boots, "I prefer to be prepared."

  "I happen to have interesting taste."

  "Including in women?"

  "Don’t talk about her," I snarl.

  He smirks, "That why you’re diddling yourself in secret?"

  The back of my neck heats, "I wasn’t." Fucking fuck, now I sound—what?—about fifteen? When I had to beat myself off to sleep most nights.

  Weston chuckles, then sniffs the air, "I don’t know... Smells like sex in here...the self-gratifying kind, I mean." He makes a rude gesture with his hand. "Didn’t know you had to resort to that to get some these days."

  I glower at him, "I told you I wasn’t."

  "So why did you lock the door?"

  "Because…" I pull myself up to my full height, "the last I checked, I own this hotel."

  "Which you’re going to run into the ground by the looks of it," a new voice sounds. I groan. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Arpad who’s walked in.

  "The hell are you doing here?"

  Arpad saunters in, "Weston seemed to think he’d need back-up."

  "And that’s you?" I smirk.

  "No, that’s us," Damian moseys in.

  I scowl. "Why’d you have to bring him along?"

  I jerk my chin toward Edward, who strolls in. He kicks the door shut, then leans his shoulder against him.

  "What?" I take in their faces, then fold my arms over my chest. "Whatever it is, the answer is ‘no.’"

  "I didn’t ask a question," Arpad grins. "Any of you hear a question?"

  The others chime in.

  "Nope."

  "Nah."

  "Naw."

  I tap the toes of my boot on the ground. "Well? Say your piece, you dickheads. I have an appointment to keep."

  "Correction, you ran out of the earlier meeting before we could discuss FOK investments, so we decided to move the venue," Edward says.

  "To a restroom... And here I thought this was an intervention."

  "Nothing like a public toilet to remind us of the kind of shit we've faced since the fuckers changed our lives in the incident and…" Weston stalks over to one of the urinals, "we’re not done with the intervention." He lowers his zipper, then the tinkle of piss hitting porcelain fills the room.

  "Jesus Fucking Christ," I growl.

  "Don’t take the Lord’s name in conjunction with a profanity," Edward admonishes.

  "Sorry, Father. How many Hail Mary’s should I say to repent?"

  "None, this time," Edward looks down his nose at me, "but you can tell us what’s got you all aflutter."

  "Aflutter?" I choke.

  Damian laughs. The others snicker.

  Weston flushes the urinal, then walks over to wash his hands, "How else do you explain your running out on us earlier, only to surface locked up in a restroom, jerking off?"

  The room explodes in laughter.

  "You walked in on this wanker wanking himself off?" Arpad chortles.

  "Fuck, that’s funny." Damian smirks.

  "You caught him diddling?" Weston chuckles.

  "Stop. Shut your fucking traps!" I roar.

  Silence descends.

  Then Edward snorts, "Ever seen Saint lose his shit?"

  "Shut up, Father, before I tell them how I saved you from humiliation in a public loo on the wrong side of the tracks."

  Edward pales.

>   The others fall quiet.

  "You never did know your limits did you, Saint?" Weston growls.

  "Shit, I’m sorry." I dig my fingers into my hair and tug on it. "I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Can you guys forget I blurted that out?"

  "No need to apologize," Edward squares his shoulders, his stance rigid. "No big secret. After the incident, I went through a phase of trying to rediscover my sexuality. Let’s just say, I didn’t make the smartest of choices and Saint here, saved my arse."

  "It’s nothing." I roll my shoulders, "Yeah, I found him in a compromising position, but hell, we’ve all been there. We were all in some fucked-up space after the incident, and hell, if we each didn’t make mistakes in trying to figure out our shit."

  "Is that what she is? Your mistake?" Weston’s voice is calm.

  I squeeze the bridge of my nose, "No." I lower my arm, then scan over the faces of the men who are my brothers by dint of the blood we’d spilt together. "And therein lies the problem."

  "What’s the problem?" Damian drums his finger on his chest, "You like the chick? You keep her."

  "I can’t."

  "And I thought I had problems," Edward snickers. The priest, the one among us who is the kindest, who’d never stoop to the level of the others, takes a dig at me.

  "I deserve that," I rub the back of my neck, then begin to pace.

  "I thought the fake marriage was the way to keep tabs on her whereabouts, except..."

  "Except?"

  "The danger is closer than I expected. I ran into her with a man whose reputation is bad news, to say the least."

  "That was the emergency?" Weston asks.

  I nod.

  "Who was he?"

  "I had my PI run a check on him and guess what…?"

  "He drew a blank?" Arpad fills in.

  I nod, "So I called in a favor with a buddy of mine at Scotland Yard and…"

  "He’s a wanted criminal?"

  "Worse, he’s suspected of being the member of an international crime organization."

  "Fuck," Edward swears.

  "Yeah."

  It’s serious enough for the Father to swear, and worrying enough for none of the others to rib him about it.

  I begin to pace, "So you see, I don’t think it’s right to put off marrying her."