Girl Meets Billionaire

by Brenna Aubrey et al.

  Now that I thought about it, the real explanation didn’t sound any better.

  “It doesn’t matter what really happened,” Elizabeth said now, her volume rising. “It matters what it looked like. And it looked like she was trying to hook up with you while you were on a date with me.”

  Her nostrils flared, and angry splotches of red appeared on the creamy skin below her collarbone.

  She was cute like that, all flustered and worked up. I could imagine that blush creeping up her neck and flooding her face when she was lost in a fit of passion. Part of me wanted to see her like that. All frantic and unnerved because she was squirming underneath me…

  Whoa. Hold on there.

  We had to change the topic. “Fine. We’ll be monogamous. Or not sexual. Whatever. I was just throwing the idea out there. We were talking about making it look real and everything.” Good God, I hoped she knew what she was asking of me.

  The doors opened to the room, and I realized we didn’t have the privacy setting on. It was the waitress coming to take our drink order. I chose the house gin specialty, a martini made with house-infused spirits and a Meyer lemon-rosemary simple syrup. Elizabeth ordered—surprise, surprise—a glass of Merlot. The waitress left and Elizabeth’s phone shook with the vibration of an incoming text.

  She picked it up and I tried not to look like I cared about what it said, but I wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “Donovan says there’s already a pool going to see how long you can make it.” She typed something in response and threw her phone into her purse.

  I wrinkled my brows. “A pool? Betting how long I can go without sex? That’s ludicrous.” Though it wasn’t really that ludicrous because I was already having withdrawals and I hadn’t even gone without sex yet.

  I was also more than a little annoyed with Donovan for turning my sacrifice into office amusement. “Who’s in on this pool? What did you respond with?”

  “I put in a wager for two weeks.”

  I laughed, a real, hearty, from-the-belly laugh. That was not at all what I had expected her to say. “That doesn’t serve you well if I fail within two weeks. You need me to stay celibate for seven months.”

  “I do need you to stay celibate for seven months, but at least I get something if you fail as soon as I think you’re going to fail at this rate.” She was annoyed.

  “At this rate? I’ve been a perfect gentleman all evening. What makes you so certain I’m going to fail?”

  “You can’t even keep your eyes off the waitress.”

  I’d been checking out the waitress? It was so natural I hadn’t noticed it. I couldn’t even remember what she’d been wearing, or whether her hair had been long or short.

  Honestly, the only woman I’d been thinking about all evening was the one sitting across from me, the one in the dress with the tight top that molded against her full, round breasts. The one with the mouth that curved naturally down into a kissable pout. The one whose hair lay in perfect cascades down her shoulders.

  “Well, fuck you all. I can make it the whole goddamn seven months. You’ll see.”

  And of course, that’s what Donovan had meant to do by having a pool in the first place. He knew it would just get me all up in arms. Get me all pissed and want to prove everyone wrong. He wasn’t even here, and he still knew just what to say to push my buttons.

  I could never decide if he was an outrageous asshole or a giant I could never measure up to. Maybe he was both combined—an outrageously giant asshole.

  “Then it’s settled?” she asked, with that snotty look on her face and just the smallest touch of doubt. The littlest hint of vulnerability.

  It was that hint that made her so soft when she was trying to be so hard. That hint that made me want to reach across the table and touch her, even just take her hand in mine.

  But I didn’t.

  I had to remember that she was also the woman putting a chastity belt on my lower regions for more than half of the year. Just thinking about it made my balls ache.

  “It’s settled.” Thank fucking God for porn and my left hand.

  “Then I’ll cancel my wager.”

  “You aren’t doing me any favors,” I said, maybe a bit too harshly. “But thank you.”

  We were silent then, the conversation killed by abstinence. Sure there were still things to say, things to work out, but I wasn’t in the mood to get into wedding details and I sure as hell wasn’t getting into business now. The Sky Launch was sacred. This was not a place for business.

  Elizabeth took the silence as something else. “I’m sorry, Weston. I really am. I imagine that a healthy sex life is important to—“

  “Don’t apologize.” I didn’t want to hear Elizabeth Dyson discussing my overactive dick. I couldn’t control my hard-on already.

  We fell back into the quiet. The waitress came in, left our drinks on the table along with the tab.

  A romper. Long auburn hair.

  That’s what the waitress was wearing, that’s what she looked like. I made sure to notice this time. Truth is, there was a time I would have noticed earlier.

  Hell, maybe it was time for a cleanse. I had been bored lately. Maybe a sex break would solve that. Not that I wanted to find out, but since I didn’t really have a choice…

  The waitress left, and I hit the privacy button out of habit. Elizabeth and I sipped our drinks silently. She looked out again over the dance floor, then studied the buttons along the length of the table that operated the glass window. She pushed the one that turned the glass opaque.

  “Clear it,” I ordered.

  She looked up at me, startled. Then she pushed the button to make the glass clear again. “You have lots of glass in your office too. You like being seen?”

  If she thought I was a dirty oversexed player before, she couldn’t handle all the things I was really into.

  Of course, that made me all the more eager to tell her. Something about her prissiness made the idea of shocking her a turn-on.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  She pursed her lips, considering. She peeked out the window again, this time looking out to the other bubble rooms. Most held parties of people gathered around the circular bench enjoying their dinners and their drinks in a place where they could talk. A couple, though, were opaque.

  She turned her gaze back to me. “What exactly do you do with girls when you bring them here?”

  God, I felt like I was on Secret Confessions. “Do you really want to know?”

  She took a swallow of her wine and licked the little drop of Merlot that lingered on her lip. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. I’m supposed to be one of those girls. Remember?”

  Of course, she could never really be one of those girls. One of those girls would’ve had her panties off already. That was too crass to tell her outright.

  But there was a whole Internet that could tell her for me. “Pull up YouTube. Search my name and The Sky Launch.”

  She hesitated a moment before she pulled her phone back out of her purse. Then she swiped the screen, entered her password, and searched as I’d told her to. I didn’t look to see what she was watching—I kept my gaze only on her face as she played first one video, then the next. Then a third.

  I watched her eyes widen. I watched her pupils dilate. I watched her lips part and her breathing get heavy. I could only imagine what she was seeing.

  Random footage from people on the dance floor taking film with their phones of the most eligible bachelor in New York caught once again at his favorite nightclub with the flavor of the week. I’d watched plenty of those videos. I’d whacked off to a few of them. They didn’t usually show very much of me, but they often showcased a topless girl, sometimes more than one. Always in a bubble room. There was no mistaking what was going on in here.

  The window was always clear.

  And I always made them come.

  Elizabeth’s face was red by the time she put her phone back in her purse, the same red color that I�
��d imagined earlier.

  I really needed to stop imagining that.

  “Wow.” She swallowed and I watched her throat as it delicately bobbed. “People really do watch you up here.”

  I almost laughed. That was her takeaway? “Yes, people really do watch.”

  “And you...like that.” I couldn’t tell if there was judgment in her voice or not. But of course she was judging me.

  “Hey, before you get all high and mighty—”

  “I’m not.” She said it so emphatically that I stopped speaking. “I’m not,” she said again. “I’m just saying that—if that’s what you like, and if that’s what you bring girls here to do...and if I am supposed to be your girlfriend, and if we’re supposed to make it convincing...”

  She paused and took a deep breath, and I thought I knew where she was going, but that really couldn’t be where she was going, could it?

  “Then we have to make it believable, too.”

  My dick perked up. She’d said exactly the words I’d hoped against hope to hear come out of her mouth.

  Well, how about that? Elizabeth Dyson might be a fun girl after all.

  Chapter Six

  Holy shit, I was in over my head.

  How on earth had I not seen it coming?

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t prepared for our date. I’d researched Weston the minute I’d left the Reach offices and learned the essentials. Turned out the man used those panty-melting dimples to get women. A lot of women. But I could have guessed that just from the short time I’d spent in his presence. Sex emanated from him like cologne. As though he’d put it on with his aftershave and pomade.

  So I’d chosen the restaurant, I’d chosen my clothing, I’d provided the driver—all of it so that I would feel that I had some sort of an ounce of control on my first outing with this stranger. The stranger I was about to pledge myself to in legal matrimony. I’d thought maybe that would put me on some sort of an even playing field.

  But it had only taken a few hours to realize that nothing could put me on an even playing field with Weston King.

  What I’d failed to realize was that it wasn’t Weston I needed to compete with—it was his women.

  And they were at every turn. Beautiful, strong, smart women. Women he knew, yes, but the ones he didn’t know seemed to notice him and swarmed as though they were bees, and he was the hive.

  He was just as attentive. Whatever it was they said or did, or however it was they smiled or walked, they knew how to catch his eye, because he checked out every damn one of them. Or it felt like he did.

  And here was I next to them, plain and insecure, a little bit awkward and a whole lot inexperienced. And somehow, I was supposed to capture him the same way all these women before me had. Keep his eyes on me and off of them for the duration of our time together.

  I’d only had three steady boyfriends. My mother was the one who knew how to handle men like Weston. She was the one who knew how to flirt and flaunt. She was the one who knew how to be sexy and desired. Who knew how to be confident in her skin, to bring men to their knees.

  She was the one who men stared at in the way that Weston was staring at me now.

  And he was only staring at me because he thought I was one of those girls, because I’d just suggested that maybe I should pretend to be one.

  He did realize I’d meant pretend, didn’t he?

  “I’m not suggesting that we actually do anything,” I clarified. “But we need to make it seem like we’re doing the same things you do with other girls up here. Stage it.”

  “Right.” He grinned.

  And I had to hold back a shiver. That dimple was pure sin. It was distracting and unnerving and just plain rude. I was trying to be practical and salvage this whole sham while he acted like he was looking forward to this. I wasn’t even sure what this was yet. There were several variations of sex shows in those videos I’d watched. I was bendy enough. Years of ballet gave me experience in physical performance. The trick was figuring out which position was the easiest to fake.

  I looked around our set, weighing our options. “If I stand on the bench with my hands on the window with you behind me…”

  “Come over here,” he ordered as though I hadn’t even spoken.

  My heart skipped a beat at the subtle edge to his command. “Why?”

  “If we’re going to make this believable, you’re going to have to be closer. Come over here and sit on my lap. Straddle me.”

  Now my pulse raced inside my chest. Of all the positions we had as options, straddling his lap was definitely the most intimate.

  I scooted tentatively around the bench and then turned so I was on my knees facing out the window. I paused when I was next to him, not quite sure how to do the next part. I’d never done this before. Never straddled a guy. Not to trick people into thinking I was fooling around, certainly. Not even because I was actually fooling around.

  I took a deep breath, gathering my nerves, but before I’d gotten it together, he grabbed my elbow and tugged me so that I fell across his lap.

  Well, hello.

  “There you are,” he said.

  His body was warm, and I instantly had the urge to curl into him. I fought against it, sitting back on his thighs, away from his pelvis so that it wouldn’t be too weird. Too intimate. Still, we were close, our faces only inches from each other. I could smell his cologne and his shampoo and the faint scent of sweat underneath—a scent that was pure Weston. And, shit, he was even more gorgeous close-up. His skin, flawless. His eyes, deep pools of blue.

  I swallowed, suddenly nervous.

  Weston seemed to sense my anxiety because next thing I knew he was reassuring me. “I’m keeping my hands on the bench next to me. Okay? You can lean on my shoulders to give yourself some balance, if you want. And then anything that happens here? It’s all up to you. You run the show.”

  I ran my tongue across my lips in a circle and nodded. “Okay.” My voice sounded unusually high and shaky, and my palms felt sweaty as I settled them on his shoulders to balance myself. I shifted my hips, trying to get comfortable.

  And accidentally slid forward, my pelvis hitting his.

  Whoops.

  My cheeks went red as Weston let out a low chuckle. I was sitting on his lap. With nothing between my crotch and his except a pair of panties and his pants. And whatever he had on underneath his pants.

  And now I was thinking about what he had on underneath his pants.

  I looked at the windows past him, trying to distract myself. Lights flashed and swirled around the dance floor in time to the beat, the only part of the music which made it into the sanctuary of the bubble room. I could tell it was crowded, but I couldn’t make out faces the way they could probably make out ours. “I don’t know if anyone’s looking,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about them. Just focus on what you’re doing.”

  Easy for him to say. He wasn’t facing them. He was only looking at me.

  Nope. I couldn’t think about that either. Just had to focus on the task at hand.

  I closed my eyes. “So just pretend that I… That we are… That under my dress…” I couldn’t even say it.

  Weston leaned forward and murmured near my ear. “Yes, pretend that under your dress you are not wearing any panties. I have my dick out. I’m working you, and you are showing me exactly how you like it. Now go.”

  Just like that, my panties were damp.

  I didn’t know if he was saying those things to loosen me up or to get a rise out of me, either was possible.

  Whatever his intent, it did the trick. He set the scene. I felt my face flush like the women in the videos as I imagined him rubbing his crown against my slit before nudging his tip inside and then burying himself to the hilt.

  I opened my mouth in a silent gasp, acting out how I was sure it would feel. Good. It would feel so good.

  This was so...weird. So hot and sexy and arousing and weird.

  I wondered if he was feeling it too, fe
eling turned on, or if it was just me. It wasn’t like I could ask though, and knowing probably wouldn’t help my performance anyway.

  So I concentrated on me. Focused on the task.

  “Do I move or something?” I bucked my hips forward and felt the friction against my crotch as it rubbed the fly of his pants.

  Mmm.

  “Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “That’s good. That motion. Just like that.”

  “Okay. Okay.” I rocked against him again, and again, my hips tilting back and forth, my clit brushing against his fly. Every time, stroking and kindling a fire in a fireplace I hadn’t had cleaned for some time. I spread my thighs a little wider and braced my knees against the bench so I could swing my pelvis all the way forward, in and out, in and...

  Oh.

  I froze. “Is that—?” But I didn’t have to ask. There was most definitely a fat, thick ridge pressed against the crotch panel of my panties. I guess that answered the question of whether he was feeling it too.

  My eyes flew open. “Oh my God!”

  “Look,” he said, ready to defend himself. “There’s an extremely attractive woman sitting on my lap. I cannot help what happens to my cock. It has a mind of its own.”

  A really big mind of its own.

  “Just pretend it’s not there,” he said at the same time I said, “I’m pretending it’s not there.”

  Like hell I could pretend it wasn’t there. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.

  Our eyes met momentarily. His were lit up and crazed, mirrors to how I felt inside.

  I rocked forward again, without even thinking that I wanted to, and I had to bite my lip because it felt so incredible rubbing my pussy along the outline of his cock.

  “That’s great,” he hissed. “Pretend it’s not there just like that, and you’re great.”

  That was exactly what I planned to do. Glad we were on the same page.

  Though plan wasn’t quite the right word for what was going on with me at the moment. My body was just moving on its own, rocking steadily, trying to ease the ache between my legs, trying to rub against the firm thickness anchored beneath me.