Girl Meets Billionaire

by Brenna Aubrey et al.

  Nate shrugged. “She left when Donovan left.”

  I tensed. I’d been in a closet with another woman, and I had no right to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Did she leave with Donovan?”

  My partner eyed me strangely. “If you think that Donovan would go home with Elizabeth, you’re more fucked up over this girl than I thought.”

  That wasn’t exactly an answer. “So…she didn’t?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “They left the restaurant at the same time. When I glanced out the window, Donovan was putting Elizabeth in a cab.”

  “Good.” I was more relieved than I deserved to be. More relieved than I wanted to let on. “I mean, good someone made sure she got home okay.”

  He swiped his beer out of my hand and glared. “You know that I know about this kind of shit, right?”

  Oh, right! Nate, the god of everything.

  I leaned forward, eagerly, ready to learn. “Yeah, yeah, man. Do you know something now?”

  “I do. I do.” He bent in toward me, as though about to share his best-kept secret. “D is not into your girl.” He paused for effect. “And your girl is into you.”

  I let that sink in.

  “You do know who your girl is, don’t you?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Phew. You aren’t as stupid as I thought you might be after tonight’s bullshit. Now, what are you going to do with this information? Hint: the answer shouldn’t include being in a closet with your ex.”

  I stared at him. “Nate, you don’t know what you’re saying. She can’t stand me.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  There was tension between us—sexual tension. There had been from day one. But Elizabeth had made it clear that there could be nothing between us. Because she was focused on her end goal. Because she wasn’t interested in a player like me. Because she would want a guy she could be proud of.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Weston, get the fuck out of here and find out.”

  I started to argue yet again and then remembered—Nate was my hero. Why the hell would I question his advice?

  Chapter Fourteen

  I shut the door of my West Side apartment behind me and headed straight for my room. Friday nights the schedule put us at my place, but I didn’t have any idea if Weston would show up.

  If I were placing bets? My wager would be no.

  Even though I was alone, I slammed things around as though people could hear me. Slammed the door to my closet open, slammed my dresser drawer. I changed quickly into my nightgown, even though I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon. My insides were a storm of emotions—fury, jealousy, want.

  God, how I wanted Weston.

  That’s what it all came down to. How much I wanted him to be here, rubbing his hand on my thigh, to be leaning into my ear, beckoning me to some secret rendezvous. How much I wanted his secret nighttime fantasies to be about me.

  Another door slam.

  But this time it wasn’t me. I stomped out of my bedroom knowing it was him, yet still knocked utterly out of breath when I saw him there, his brow furrowed, his hair a mess from dragging his hand through it so many times.

  He was magnificent. A goddamned hottie. A sight so pretty he almost hurt the eyes.

  He dumped his keys in the bowl by the front door, his eyes on mine. Sparks shot between us. We were both wrapped up in an electrical storm, and I could feel him pulling me toward him, despite everything that happened this evening. I wanted him; I hated him.

  I wanted him.

  “That was fast,” I said, snidely, remembering who he’d disappeared with when I’d last seen him. “I guess your reputation isn’t based on your lasting power.”

  “I didn’t fuck Sabrina,” he said, toeing off his shoes, gaze pinned to me. “Ask me why.”

  I took a hopeful step forward. “Why not?”

  He tugged his cowl-neck sweater over his head and tossed it on the floor behind him, leaving his chest bare. Goosebumps sprouted down my arms and legs. “Because she wasn’t the one I wanted to fuck.”

  My stomach flipped. My thighs started shaking.

  “So, if we’re in a fight,” he continued, “let’s hurry up and get it over with so we can get on to what’s next.”

  It only took two steps before I crashed against him. His lips were firm and demanding, taking my mouth roughly, exploring every part of it. He kissed the way he fought—mean and hot, bordering on explosive. I wondered if he could make me come with just a kiss. The question was enough to make me realize I wanted his lips other places. On my breasts. Between my thighs.

  Without any warning, he spun me around, shifting me so that I was face up against the wall. He pressed up roughly against my backside and lifted the hem of my nightgown so his hands could palm my ass.

  “You’ve fucking teased me for so long, Elizabeth. Do you feel that?” He rubbed his erection in between my ass cheeks. “Do you feel how much I want you?”

  Yes, I felt him.

  But I was desperate to be sure. “Is it… Is it for me?”

  “All for you, baby. Only you.” He nipped at my neck, his hands moving upward to cup my breasts underneath my nightgown. “Three long months of watching you prance around left me with a hard-on that doesn’t ever ease up.” He rocked his dick against me so I could feel every bit of his painful erection. “Tell me you’ve wanted this too.”

  “I’ve wanted you,” I confessed breathily. “From the moment you got down on your knees for my fake proposal. I wanted you then, and every day since.”

  He hissed as if that admission was painful. “Too long,” he said. “Too long.”

  He drew one hand down over the flat of my stomach and slid beneath the waistband of my panties. “A landing strip,” he sighed as his touch brushed over the thin column of hair above my folds. “It’s been killing me, not knowing.”

  My knees buckled at the thought of him imagining this. Imagining it in such detail that he’d needed to know if I trimmed, if I waxed. If I was au natural.

  He caught me with his arm around my waist while the other went deeper, slipping easily to find the sensitive bundle of nerves awaiting him. Swiftly, expertly, he began rubbing me toward ecstasy. Staccato gasps escaped from my lips.

  “You like that? Does it feel good?” He rubbed his cock again between my ass cheeks while he massaged my clit, first slow in one direction, then quick in another. “You don’t deserve this, because you’ve teased me for so long. You don’t deserve this, but I’m going to let you come because I’m a nice guy. Tell me I’m a nice guy to let you come.”

  The tension was already building, I was already nearing the edge.

  But even in the throes of passion, I did not surrender. “No.”

  “You don’t want to come?” His fingers kept swirling across my clit, making me dizzy.

  “You’re not a nice guy. You’re an asshole.”

  Immediately, Weston took his hands off me and stepped back. I whirled around, my palms flattening back against the wall, and faced him down. He hadn’t gone too far, and was rubbing at the bulge in his pants. But I worried now that he was going to give up, abandon me.

  “You said you were going to fuck me.” Was it a challenge? An accusation? I was too strung out on the memory of his fingers down my panties to tell, and so desperate for them to return.

  He nodded. “Oh, I am. Take this off.” He stepped forward and grabbed my nightie, pulling it over my head and tossing it to the ground before stepping back again to admire me.

  “Jesus, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said more to himself than to me, stroking up and down over his imprisoned cock.

  And then I was tired of looking. I’d been watching him, been looking for too long—months too long. I wanted to be touching.

  I closed the distance between us and grabbed for his belt. He laughed, rough and cruel, his hands coming down flat across my back and smoothing all the way down to
my ass cheeks.

  “Eager to find something there?” he asked, his teeth grazing along my neck.

  I was too focused on my task to answer. I had the buckle undone and now was working on his zipper.

  “Didn’t get enough from your peep show last night?”

  I froze, my hand now on the shape of his cock outside his boxer briefs. He’d seen me?

  “I saw your reflection in the window. Watched you watching me as I stroked myself.” He pushed my panties down my butt cheeks so he could press his fingers between my thighs, and into the slick wetness along my crotch. “I was so pissed you didn’t come and join me. I had to say someone else’s name, just to punish you, even though the whole time I was thinking about you.”

  He’d seen me. And he’d lied.

  I felt relieved and murderous all at once. Relieved and off-the-charts aroused.

  “I told you you aren’t a nice guy.” I reached inside his boxer briefs and wrapped my fingers around the silky smooth skin of his hard erection, fulfilling my own fantasy from the night before. My blood shot hot down to my pussy.

  “You’re right. I’m not nice.” He stuck a long finger inside me from behind, and I moaned. “I’m still going to let you come. Because I want to see you fall apart.”

  His words made me shiver and this time when he stroked inside me, his thumb brushed against my clit. And another shaky moan escaped my lips.

  His cock jerked in my hand.

  “You like making me feel good,” I said, moving my hand up and down the length of him.

  “I like torturing you,” he corrected. He backed us up and spun me around until I was facing the kitchen island. He pressed his hand down on my upper back so that I would bend over it.

  “Spread your legs,” he said as he knelt down behind me. I spread my legs and stretched my arms across the island.

  Weston pulled my panties the rest of the way off my legs. Then he grabbed my ankles and ran his hands up my calves, then moved them inside my knees and up my inner thighs until they were right where I wanted them. And then it wasn’t his hands, but his mouth. His tongue. I jumped at the first warm swipe of his rough tongue across my slit.

  He followed with a quick swat of his hand on the outside of my thigh.

  “Oh,” I squealed, then glared at him over my shoulder.

  He dimpled at me. “Don’t move, or I’ll smack you again.” He kept his eyes on mine as he lowered his head back to my pussy, his hand rubbing away the sting where he’d slapped me.

  The thing was, the sting of the smack felt good, especially with the added rub afterwards. And the way his tongue moved along me combined with the lingering hurt to give me pleasure I didn’t know I needed—so maybe I did a little more writhing on purpose.

  “You liked that.” He smacked me again on the other cheek, rubbing it away immediately, and I hummed as he did. He echoed my moan against my pussy and my knees nearly went out from underneath me. It was a good thing I was holding onto the island. Especially when the tip of his tongue reached out to my brush my clit with feather-like strokes.

  I swear I started to purr.

  He anchored his hands on my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as his tongue made its way from my clit down to my hole in long luscious strokes. And then, just when I didn’t think I could take it anymore, he pushed his tongue inside me, as far as his fingers had been. He was fast and strong, licking against my G spot, tongue-fucking me until I began to see spots in front of my eyes. He let go of my side and began to rub my clit with the pad of his thumb. I bucked my hips against the island, trying to get away from him, trying to get closer. Trying to get away. I couldn’t tell what I wanted except that he was completely in control of giving it to me, and that scared the shit out of me.

  He hooked his arms around me at my hips, though, so that I couldn’t move and dove even deeper with his tongue, and that was when I finally reached the top. Unable to escape, having to stay there through the torment, having to give into his wicked attack.

  “Holy shit,” my teeth were chattering. “Holy shit, holy shit. I’m going to come.” And I wasn’t just saying it, I was actually doing it. My whole body was trembling and shaking, my legs and my arms and my knees and my insides as I groaned out a guttural sound I’d never made before.

  Weston kept licking me until I was done. Until he’d coaxed the very last bit of my climax from my body, and I felt good everywhere.

  When I was completely spent, he stood and pulled me to him, my back to his front. He still had his pants mostly on, but the warmth of his chest against my back sent shivers down my body. I could feel his cock again at the crack of my ass, but this time it was bare and begging for a warm place to nest.

  “I need to be inside you,” he said at my ear. I turned my face and his mouth was waiting to devour mine. I kissed him, kissed the taste of myself off of him until it mingled with whatever taste had been in my mouth before, until I couldn’t distinguish what was him and what was me.

  When he broke away, I was breathless.

  “I need to be inside you,” he said again.

  “Yes,” I said, because I needed that too, and because it was all I could say. “Yes.”

  “Should I stop for a condom?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to stop for anything. “Do you usually suit up?”

  “Every time. Every single time.” He rubbed the head of his dick up and down across my slit, so close to where I needed him. It was distracting. But I still heard what he said—heard what he meant.

  That this was the first time he’d ever suggested not using a condom with a woman.

  If he’d worn one with everyone else, there was no need for him to wear one with me. I had an implant. I couldn’t get pregnant. Because of that stubborn streak I had, though, my first impulse was to say no, to tell him to go grab one.

  But a bigger part of me embraced that desire I had to be different from everyone else, from every other woman he’d been with. Because I was so desperate to stand out from his crowd of women. To be the one unlike the others in his eyes.

  “You’re my fiancé. And I’m on birth control. I think at this point in a relationship we would not be using a condom.”

  It seemed to be exactly what he wanted to hear, and next thing I knew he was bending just a little bit, and I could feel his cock at my entrance. Then the tip was inside me, and then all of him was thrusting forward, in, and up.

  We both grunted as he fed himself in completely.

  “Holy shit, Elizabeth. You feel even better than I imagined.” He bent his mouth to kiss me again, his hands gripping my breasts like handholds while he bucked into me over and over and over again. Each stroke came fast and deep, stretching and filling me.

  I turned my mouth away from him to catch a breath, and he sucked down my neck, murmuring as he did. “So tight. So fucking hot.”

  Then he got bossy. “Touch yourself. You need to come again.”

  It felt so good, just having his cock rub inside me, and I was already so drained from the first orgasm. “I can’t.”

  “You have to. I have to make you come again. Touch yourself, or I’m going to stop.”

  As if he didn’t trust me, he took one of his hands off my breasts and used it to direct my hand down to my clit. Then he helped me touch myself, two fingers from him, two fingers from me, rubbing together in my juices, swirling around my sensitive bud. His other hand tweaked at my nipple, pulling it and tugging at it, sending sharp twinges of pleasure-pain down to my pussy. Then there was the slap slap slap from the top of his thighs against the bottom of my ass, and the clink of his belt as it rattled with each thrust. I couldn’t come again. But it was all so fucking hot, so goddamn sexy.

  And I was coming again. Tightening around his cock, pulsing, and keening.

  “Just like that,” he coaxed. “Fall apart, just like that.”

  This time when I finished, he turned me toward him and lifted me up so that my legs wrapped around his waist.

  “T
ake me to bed,” I said, half begging.

  He nodded once. “Whose bed do you want to go to?”

  “Yours.”

  It wasn’t just that it was closer, but also, in the midst of all the hormonal fireworks, I was able to rationalize that it would be the bed I could leave when I needed to. And I’d have to leave it eventually.

  But I wasn’t thinking about that now. Now, I wasn’t thinking at all.

  Weston’s room felt like miles away as he carried me with his cock between us, rubbing against my sensitive clit. Even just after my orgasm, I wanted him back inside me. I knew it was another form of torture, and while it was torturing him as well, it had to be pleasing him more to know what it was doing to me.

  We kissed as we walked, little mewling sounds escaping from the back of my throat, sounds of need. Sounds of begging. I begged for mercy. Mercy that I didn’t deserve, mercy I prayed he’d give me.

  Once in his room, he tossed me onto the mattress and turned on the bedside lamp so I could see him, so he could see me. The bed frame in his room was high off the ground, and after he finished undressing, when he tugged my thighs to bring me to the edge of the bed, we were nearly lined up. I only had to lift my hips slightly to be able to reach him.

  I bucked up before he even asked, impatient, greedy.

  He chuckled, his dimples mocking me. “More?” he taunted, grazing his fingers across my wet slit. “You already need more?”

  I propped myself up on my elbows and stared at him, my eyes saying what my voice was unwilling to. Please, please. More, more.

  He rubbed the head of his cock against my entrance, teasing me by sticking it just barely inside before pulling out. I lurched forward, trying to get what I craved.

  “You can’t have it until you ask. Until you tell me what you want. Until you tell me I’m what you want.” With his hand, he continued to rub up and down my slit, making wide circles around my electric bundle of nerves.

  Goddammit, he was going to make me do it. Why was I so stubborn?

  “Give it to me,” I uttered. Would that be enough? I put my hand down to where I wanted him, landing on the spot he was purposefully avoiding, but he quickly swatted me away.