Girl Meets Billionaire

by Brenna Aubrey et al.

  “Not good enough. Tell me it’s me. Tell me it’s my cock you want.” He pushed just the tip in again, circling his hips so that I could feel him everywhere around the mouth of my entrance. I gasped, and he pulled out again.

  “Fuck,” I cried at his absence, my resolve crumbling in the face of my need. “It’s you. Your fucking cock, Weston. Goddamn fucking asshole. Your fucking cock is what I want. Now get it in me.”

  With a satisfied grunt, he wrapped his arms around my thighs and thrust in hard, deep. He drove into me over and over and over again, showing me how magnificent his body was, how much he wanted me, needed me. I was mesmerized in the moment and swept away with waves of pleasure at once, swept away in watching him, in knowing how much he enjoyed being watched.

  He lifted me higher, and my breasts began to bounce uncontrollably with his thrusts. I had the self-conscious urge to cover them up until I realized that Weston’s gaze was trained on them, his eyelids half-closed like he was drugged from the erotic sight.

  And he had other plans for my hands.

  “Play with yourself,” he gritted out, directing me to move my fingers to my pussy. “You need to come before I do.”

  I was already close to the brink; it wouldn’t take long. I moved my hand down and only a couple of brushes of my two fingers—up and down, up and down—and then I was exploding, the tightening in my pelvis and my thighs transforming into strong bursts of cold-hot pleasure soaring down my legs into my toes, through my belly and torso, escaping up my throat in a hoarse, raspy cry of murmured curses and words that meant nothing mixed with words that meant everything—Weston’s name and God’s.

  Weston sweetly coaxed me through my total abandonment. “You’re so gorgeous when you come apart. So beautiful, baby. Let go. Just like that. You turn me on so much. Just like that.” His fingers were digging into my thighs. And he was lifting up my legs higher until his body stuttered, his pelvis stilling against mine, as his face twisted into a new expression of anguish and delight. His orgasm was accompanied with a long wrenching groan that made me shake, its sound so erotic and primal.

  Then he was finished.

  He collapsed onto the bed beside me. We laid there for several minutes, me half off the bed, both of us on top of the bedspread. Though my body was finally still, my thoughts were now racing, circling so fast I couldn’t keep any one thread in view. So I focused on my lungs and air and the in and the out of breathing.

  After a few silent minutes, when my heart rate was beginning to settle, he sat, and I sat up with him. Then he stood, and I followed suit, awkward, not knowing how I was supposed to act. He pulled down the bedspread and the sheet, and I turned to leave. What else was there to do? He hadn’t said a word to me, and I hadn’t said a word to him. I’d never done this before. Never done casual sex. How did it work?

  Running away was the easiest solution.

  But before I could get too far, he wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged me back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I shrugged, unable to look at his eyes. His beautiful eyes that could always see right into me. “To my room?”

  He pulled me closer until I was flush against him, his body warming mine, which was cooling with the sweat that had glistened all over me from our fucking. He kissed the top of my head, wrapping both arms around me now. “But if you go to your room, then I can’t fuck you when I wake up in the middle of the night.”

  I relaxed, leaning into him. Then he wanted me again, as much as I wanted him. I cautiously lifted my gaze to his. “I don’t know how to do this,” I confessed.

  He raised a brow, questioning.

  “I’ve only ever slept with guys who were my boyfriend.”

  His mouth curled up ever so slightly, and he rubbed his thumb along my bottom lip. “And what would you do with your boyfriend, after you had amazing mind-blowing sex?”

  Well, I’d never had amazing mind-blowing sex before. Just regular sex. But I let my mind wander back to those occasions, trying to remember the usual pattern after making love. “I guess...whoever would usually just hold me.”

  Weston let go of me.

  I thought for a moment I’d scared him off, but he climbed in the bed and scooted over enough so that there was room for me. Then he reached his arm out inviting me into it. “Come on then. If that’s what your boyfriend would do, I imagine that’s what your fiancé would do, too.”

  My breath caught somewhere in my chest, trapped under the sudden expansion of my heart. I managed a quiet, “Okay.” Then I turned off the bedside lamp, crawled into his arms, laid my head on his chest, let him wrap himself around me, and fell quickly asleep.

  He woke me in the early hours, climbing on top of me in the dark and easily slipping his cock into my entrance, as though he’d already memorized the way. We spoke no words, the only sounds the quiet gasps and moans of pleasure as he moved inside me, less furious, but still driven. I traced my fingers along his chest and shoulders, admiring every part of his solid form above me. Wanting him even as I had him. Wanting more of him. Wanting all of him.

  After we’d both come, he drifted quickly back to sleep, spooning me from behind. I reached out and set the alarm on his bedside table, then lay awake for quite some time listening to the gentle even pattern of his breaths, wondering what all this would mean for us after. Wondering what would change.

  Realizing nothing would change.

  We’d had sex. That was all. But we were still two people tied to each other only through a business arrangement, nothing else, and even though his body felt good inside mine, even though he turned me on, even though he pushed all my buttons in the best ways—and the worst ways—we had no commitment to each other. Not really. And Weston was definitely not the kind of guy who was interested in more than a tumble or two. I wasn’t naïve. I couldn’t be stupid about him because he’d stuck his dick in me. I’d learned about men like him from my mother.

  I’d learned about men like him from my father.

  I barely slept after that.

  When the alarm went off in the morning, I quickly turned it off, hoping not to wake him, and started to slip out of bed.

  But Weston snagged my wrist and tugged me back down.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked like he had last night, his voice rougher with sleep this time.

  “I have to take a shower and get ready. My mom’s driver will be here in an hour.”

  He lifted his head from the bed, his brows knit in confusion. “Driver? Are you going somewhere?”

  I sighed in exasperation. No, nothing had changed. “My mother’s birthday trip. You never listen to me.”

  He laid his head back down on the pillow. “I remember, I remember. I just forgot.” He stroked his fingers along the length of my arm, up and down. “When will you be back? Friday?”

  I nodded, trying to ignore how much I loved the feel of his fingers on my skin, how this simple touch could make my insides twist and my pussy slick.

  “Let’s have dinner then. Friday night.” He sat up, simultaneously pulling me to him and kissed me. Briefly, but sweetly. “Okay?”

  “Okay. Friday.” That meant I had one week to get my head together. One week to try to forget how incredible our night had been.

  But how did you forget a night that was unforgettable?

  Chapter Fifteen

  When I woke up later that morning, I could still smell her in my bed.

  I could smell her in my room. My room that wasn’t even my room—a guest room in her apartment that felt lonely and bare without her. It was an excuse to go to my own place for the weekend, a chance I didn’t get often these days.

  But without her, it would feel just as empty.

  It was fucked up. I was fucked up. I’d slept with her, we’d done the deed, we had the sex. She was supposed to be out of my system by now. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

  I went down to the gym in her apartment building and did twice my usual number of
everything—twice the arm workout, twice the back workout, double the time on the treadmill. When I headed back up to the apartment, her fancy maid had come in and changed the sheets, made the bed, and sprayed some kind of scented spray around. It no longer smelled like Elizabeth, which made it better. And worse.

  Maybe it would just take a couple days to get her worked through my bloodstream. It had been so long since I’d had good sex—sex at all, even—that maybe my body needed time to metabolize the endorphins. I gathered my stuff from her place and went home to bury myself in work for the rest of the weekend. There, I put my own glasses in the sink, and tried not to notice how quiet it was.

  Monday morning wasn’t any better. She was still in my head, but in new ways. In the past, everything had been my imagination, which had been frustrating because all I could do was fantasize about what it would feel like to touch her skin and hear her moan and see her face when she completely let go.

  Finally, I’d gotten to enjoy it all, and that was exhilarating. But I felt like a man who’d been to the moon, and was now trying to readjust to life on Earth. It was satisfying and unsatisfying all at once. I found myself equally happy and confused. Jubilant and aching. Longing for what, I couldn’t even begin to know.

  It wasn’t until I was in the elevator headed up to the offices at Reach, and other people were filing in, that I realized I had another dilemma that I hadn’t considered yet.

  And she was now standing next to me riding up to my floor.

  “Morning,” Sabrina said, her eyes shifting, looking everywhere but at me.

  Now this was awkward.

  She was probably embarrassed because of what happened in the closet on Friday night. She’d said it was okay, but it had to be embarrassing, to be standing next to me today. To still have to work with me when I’d rejected her.

  And I hadn’t only rejected her, I’d gone and slept with another woman the same night. An incredible, sexy, amazing, outspoken woman.

  Was this something I needed to tell Sabrina about?

  Considering how I’d told her I wasn’t going to sleep with Elizabeth, and that I’d suggested we could get together when this whole charade was over—yeah, I probably needed to tell her.

  Others got off the elevator on lower floors, and soon we were the only two people left. My gaze focused on the dial as we climbed closer to our destination, wondering if I should do this now or later.

  Finally, I burst out, “We need to talk.”

  She side-eyed me. “If this is about Friday…” She gathered her thoughts and started again. “If this is about the restaurant, I don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be said.”

  Damn, I’d really stung her hard.

  I had to sting her again. It sucked, but it had to be done. “This isn’t about the restaurant.”

  “Oh.” She rubbed her hands on her skirt. “Okay.”

  We arrived on our floor, and I stepped out of the elevator with her, assuming she would follow me to my office. But she lingered behind me.

  “Right now good? If you’re free…”

  Sabrina’s shoulders slumped. I would have to try to be gentle with her, as she was obviously upset already. “I’m free. I’ll just drop off my bag and be there in a few.”

  I headed to my office, checked in with Roxie, put my briefcase down, unbuttoned my suit jacket, and got settled in at my desk. It was about ten minutes later when Sabrina arrived.

  “He more relaxed than he was the other day, but something has him on edge. Good luck.”

  “I still hear you,” I called out to my assistant, while simultaneously admiring how she’d correctly assessed my mood, and in such little time.

  I stood up from my desk and walked toward her as Sabrina came in, so that I could close the door. The door was for Donovan—because he’d screamed at me about leaving it open while I’d been with her on Friday. But I was aware that Sabrina might think it was for other reasons, so I made sure to keep the windows clear. I invited her to take a seat and then returned to sit behind my desk.

  She sat down and crossed one leg over the other and seemed to be as nervous about this conversation as I was. And no wonder. She was probably expecting that I would give her some consolation, a bunch of reasons why I hadn’t been into her, and she’d have to relive the awkward moment all over again.

  She hadn’t realized yet that it was much, much worse.

  She sighed.

  I inhaled. “Friday night, after you left the restaurant…” I trailed off, not sure quite how to finish that sentence.

  God, I didn’t know how to fix this.

  My silence seemed to urge words out of Sabrina. “Things change, you know, Weston. Things don’t always happen the way we plan and—“

  “I slept with Elizabeth,” I blurted out. Ripping off the Band-Aid. That was the best way to do it.

  She sat stunned. “Uh, what?”

  I straightened my shoulders and met her eyes. “I slept with Elizabeth. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know where things are headed in the future, but I thought you deserved the truth.”

  “I see.”

  I studied her face, seeking a change in expression, finding none. It wasn’t quite the reaction I’d expected. It was too calm. Too controlled.

  “Are you upset?”

  “No! Not in the least.”

  Huh.

  Shouldn’t she be at least a little disappointed that I hadn’t held out for her? Or perhaps she was just very good at hiding her emotions.

  She went on. “We didn’t have an arrangement between us. I didn’t expect anything from you.”

  Man, Sabrina was really letting me off the hook here, and I was grateful.

  I grabbed the stapler from the corner of my desk, needing something for my hands to do. “I know, but we were in a closet together. And I know I was acting weird that night, but it wasn’t you.” I pushed the stapler down several times, wasting a bunch of staples. “It was because I was all wrapped up with her, and this bullshit that’s going on between her and me.”

  I searched for the right words to untangle the mess I’d made. Of my desk. Of the situation. Of my life.

  Sabrina narrowed her gaze, watching me closely as I returned the stapler to its original position. “So you and Elizabeth…?”

  It was obvious she was asking if we were a thing now.

  “No. God, no.” I’d answered too quickly. I needed to think about it. I picked up my pen and started flipping it back and forth between my fingers. “I mean.” Were we a thing? We were engaged. We had an arrangement. “I don’t know. It’s complicated. Anyway.”

  Complicated. That was too simple of a word. It was more than complicated, actually. It was knotty. It was convoluted. It was all I could think about.

  Sabrina sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “What does this mean for the pool? I had good money on you holding out.”

  “You placed a bet too?”

  She shrugged, then grinned. “I’m joking. Any bet I would have placed seemed to be against my better interest.”

  I dropped the pen and put both palms flat on the desk. “But you’re really okay with this situation?”

  She smiled again. “I am.” Her smile faded, and I tensed. “Actually, I slept with someone this weekend too.”

  I sat up straighter. This was...unexpected.

  She paused to take a breath. “I slept with Donovan.”

  The air suddenly felt thick between us, my eyes squinting at her, my blood feeling hot, and not in the sexy way.

  “Uh. Say something?” she prodded.

  “I’m trying to decide if I’m jealous or if this relieves me of my guilt.” I was also trying to decide if sleeping with a girl I was still entangled with made Donovan a giant douchecanoe. Well, more giant than I already gave him credit for.

  She reached across the desk and playfully punched my lower arm. “It relieves you of your guilt. Jerk.”

  I nodded. “Donovan, huh?” I inhaled, trying t
o calm whatever fury was stirring inside me and nodded again. “I have to admit—I didn’t see that coming.”

  But I hadn’t seen much of anything besides Elizabeth in the last several weeks. Correction, last several months. Time was flying by, and I was spending all of it with the woman I was soon going to marry.

  So I couldn’t really say if Donovan was being a bad friend or a good friend. Was he looking after Sabrina? Helping her feel more at home in the city, less lonely, less rejected? Was he really interested in her? Or was he being a fucking prick, telling me I couldn’t have her, and then banging her to prove it?

  Whatever it was, I was cool with it on Sabrina’s end. She was content with her one-night stand, which she insisted it was, as we talked more. And she couldn’t know about all the layers of baggage between me and Donovan.

  So, good for her. And maybe even good for them.

  Definitely good for me and Sabrina. It felt like whatever we’d had was resolved and done. It was probably the most grown-up way I’d ever ended a relationship in my life, much more mature than the dodge-and-delete method I’d perfected over the years.

  If only dealing with the other woman in my life could be as easy.

  The rest of the week sauntered by in a state of unease. Each minute ticked by slowly; each hour seemed agonizingly long. Before I’d slept with Elizabeth, she’d been a distraction at work, creeping into my thoughts while I tried to concentrate on what I needed to at the office. I’d often been consumed with my anger, my irritation, and my desire.

  After I’d slept with her?

  I was twice as consumed. Twice as agonized. Each night now, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, even after jerking off. It was like before I’d been so horny and filled with lust, and now I was in need of something else. Something that no amount of alcohol or work or time in the gym or staring at my graphic novels could fill or replace. I just wanted to talk to her, to fight with her.

  I missed her.

  Jesus, I’d never missed a woman in my life. What the hell had she done to me?