The Billionaire's Fake Fiance Page 18

  I have no choice—he shoves his fingers into me, licks me again, and I cry out. I’m spinning, breaking into blobs of white heat.

  He licks me into oblivion.

  I clench his hair. “Softer,” I rasp.

  He lightens up. Then he just rumbles into my pussy, words or maybe moans.

  He kisses my trembling thighs—slow and scalding. Then he kisses my still-sensitive post-orgasm pussy, like a sweet electric shock.

  I hiss and nearly pull his hair out.

  “God,” he whispers into my still-quivering sex. “God.” Like he’s going crazy. Maybe he is. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  I want to make some joke about how he is literally staring at my pussy while he says that, but it comes out as “Uhhh.”

  He sits up after a while, heavy hand on my calf, sliding it around, watching me. “Is this where you call me? From this bed?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looks around, taking it all in, then turns back to me. “Lying right there?”

  I nod, still breathless.

  “Touch yourself,” he says hoarsely. “Like you do on the calls.”

  “Drummond…”

  “Go ahead,” he grates.

  “It’s kind of soon.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  Tyrannical Mr. Drummond.

  I slide my hand down my belly, shaking a little. I’m following his command, but I feel strangely powerful. “Is that part of the fantasy?”

  “Are you kidding?” he says. “I only wake up in the middle of the night imagining it. Or in the middle of reviewing data. Working on the new formula.” He says it all like he’s annoyed. Like I’ve been driving him insane.

  It seems evil to love that, but I do love it. I slide my hand between my legs, letting him watch me. It’s like a dream.

  “Do you imagine it?” he asks. “Me here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do I do?”

  “You burst in and discover me, and you’re so stern and angry.”

  He gets off the bed and walks around to stand at the side, still fully clothed. He looms over me, darkness in his eyes. He pulls off his tie and drops it. “Wider.” His voice is ragged.

  “So presumptuous,” I say, letting my knees fall loose.

  He fumbles open his cuff links. He strips off his shirt revealing a broad, muscled chest. He undoes his belt and yanks it free. There’s a dull clink as it hits the floor. “What else?”

  I slide my finger lightly around my folds, enjoying the way he watches me, so dark and hot. “You’re so feverish to get to my pussy that you’re savage—worshipful, but feral. And sometimes you bite me a little bit. And you sometimes wear your lab coat.”

  “My lab coat.” His pants come off. His giant cock springs up, thick and blunt. “That’s what I wear?”

  “W-what?”

  “Focus. You like to imagine me wearing my lab coat?”

  “Sometimes,” I say, mesmerized by the taut beauty of his cock. He wraps his hand partly around it, cradling it. It’s hot, watching him touch himself so casually.

  “And?”

  A bolt of heat shoots through me when he starts rolling a condom onto himself. “And I drive you so crazy, you can’t even.”

  “You think it’s funny to drive me crazy?” he rumbles in the stern voice I love.

  I slide my hand up my belly, unable to look away from his cock. “No, I don’t think it’s funny at all,” I say. “I think it’s fucking hilarious.”

  He grumbles angrily. The bed dips as he crawls over me.

  I press my hand to his chest—not to stop him, but just to feel him, to feel his heart, to get all of him I can.

  He takes the hand I’m touching him with and presses it over my head along with my other hand. He holds them together and watches my eyes. “You think it’s hilarious? To torment me?”

  Everything in me sparkles. We’ve built a sexy secret that nobody knows about. Like a secret sandcastle. “Very,” I breathe.

  He growls like he really is being driven insane by me, still holding my hands above my head. He fits my fingers to the middle plank of my headboard. I grip it obediently.

  I’m stretched out for him, naked for him, more excited than I ever have been in all my life. Was this how sex was supposed to feel all this time? And we’re not even having actual sex yet!

  “I should take you over my knee,” he says, palming my breasts, brushing his thumbs over my nipples, sending dark spikes of pleasure into the needy ache between my legs.

  “Well,” I breathe. “Uhh…” I like that idea, too, but I don’t want him to stop doing what he’s doing.

  He grunts something else, panting, settling between my legs. I grip the headboard harder. I can feel him there, nudging my opening with the thick crown of his cock.

  “God, yes,” I say, aching for him to be in me.

  And then he is, gazing into my eyes as he pushes into me, slow and deep as the ocean.

  Twenty-Six

  Theo

  * * *

  I spent endless hours picturing what she’d be like. Waking up with erotic images cascading through my brain.

  My fantasy Operator Seven doesn’t even come close to the reality of Lizzie. She’s delicious and maddening and stunning in every way.

  And so hot I want to die. Her skin is damp, burning under my touch.

  I’m large for her, so I’m moving slowly, rocking into her, letting her get used to my size. It’s all I can do not to devour her.

  I change the angle of entry, watching and listening, until I have her panting harder. I like that she’s feeling as unhinged as I am.

  I slide all the way in and come to a stop. For one moment there’s nothing else in the world, just her pussy clenching me, hot and tight. “Seven,” I whisper. “Seven, Seven, Seven.”

  She pulls me to her by the hair and takes my mouth. “Yes,” she says between kisses.

  I move into her, caging her with my arms, listening to her breath, enjoying the way her fists tighten and loosen in my hair. Remembering something she said, I press my teeth to the little mound of flesh between her breast and her shoulder, taking a small chunk of skin between my teeth. A little point of pain.

  “Aagh,” she gasps. “You remembered.”

  I remember everything she ever said. Her words are on constant repeat in my brain. The only soundtrack I care about these days.

  She groans. “Yes. More. Yesssss.”

  Her breath becomes erratic. It’s delicious. I pull her around on top of me and lose myself in her all over again.

  Women are all composed of the same basic material—oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. Yet this woman is another breed. Another universe.

  It’s just by the sheer backward recitations of the periodic table that I’m not losing it like a schoolboy. But I’m not making it longer just for myself. I love concentrating on her pleasure. I could do it forever.

  I change my tack again—the way I’m fucking her now is all about me rubbing her clit with my cock. I’m kissing her, pushing her over the edge. She wants the teeth back.

  She gets the teeth. She gets what she wants. Whatever she wants.

  “Yes,” she sighs every so often, so softly you can barely understand it.

  It makes my cock feel like granite, that soft sigh of hers. Usually stoking a woman’s pleasure is transactional, the price of admission.

  Not this woman.

  I could happily stay where we are, enjoying her pleasure, knowing I’m making her sigh like that.

  She holds onto me, even as she rides me. “So good,” she says.

  “I know, baby.”

  I’m fucking her, turning her into tinder, flammable to my touch.

  I fuck her and ravish her until her breathing tells me that she’s at the edge. Until the way she says “yesss” sounds new. I hear everything in her voice—that voice that’s echoed through my dreams. I’ve learned her to the minutest fraction of pleasure
.

  A gust of pleasure—she’s coming. Crying out.

  I’m panting, thrusting into her, feeling her, loving the way her sass falls away and she’s just mine. There’s no turning back—not for me, either.

  My orgasm rips through me. Harder than any I’ve ever experienced. I come with a cry, nose pressed to her damp skin, insane with the pleasure of her.

  I don’t know how long we stay joined, coming down together. Time seems useless. I never want to let her go.

  In chemistry, just the smallest adjustment—the addition of one atom—can be the difference between inertness and an explosion. We have that something. We really are combustible. Sexually, and in every other way, too. I’m so used to everyone hanging on my every word. Scurrying at my every command. Lizzie stands up. Talks back. Meets me in a way nobody ever has.

  She was right there under my nose all that time.

  I brush back the damp hair from her forehead, thinking back to that day in my office when I first felt the sizzle of her. Heard her say Mr. Amazing is being amazing elsewhere, like the utterly impudent woman she is.

  And later on, like a fool, I let myself believe I misheard. I let her hide and be hidden.

  I let myself not know what I knew about her.

  I lower myself down next to her. “How did I not see you?” I whisper.

  She smiles over at me. “Umm…it starts with an ‘O’…”

  “I mean it,” I say. “I didn’t see you.”

  “I didn’t want you to.”

  “Why not?”

  She twists the covers around her. “Okay, more like, I didn’t want Sasha to see you see me. I was trying to keep my head down. Do the work, earn the bonus. Pass GO and all that.”

  “I’m going to take care of Sasha.”

  She slides a finger over my lip. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Sasha works her ass off for you. She’s like a million percent Team Vossameer. I don’t know if you should let her go. Why don’t you try praising her once in a while? That would make her feel more secure and less psycho.”

  “I pay her a lot of money.”

  “That’s not praise.”

  “I praise her.”

  “You grunt approvingly.”

  I grab her finger and kiss the tip of it. “She impersonated you.”

  “Well, yeah,” she says.

  My gut twists when I think how mistreated Lizzie was, in my name. “When she was first claiming to be you, but not being like you, I wanted to shake her. I wanted to say, ‘It’s me!’ Because everything felt off. But a scientist doesn’t ignore evidence just because he doesn’t like the result.”

  “I can’t believe she doesn’t like dessert.”

  I twist a lock of her hair around a finger. In the low light, her hair look more brown. I slide my fingers through it, enjoying the softness. Usually at this point in a hookup, I’m working on my exit strategy. But lying here, I’m working on a stick-around strategy. “Those dresses you were wearing.”

  “Fake.” She grins. “You are too easy.”

  Just then her phone rings.

  “I thought you destroyed your phone. The last time I called,” I say.

  “Yeah, and it was awesome. Except I had to get a new one.” She rolls over and takes a look at it. “I have to grab this.”

  She sits up, back against the headboard. “Hey,” she says. Her mussed-up hair grazes the tops of her pretty breasts. There’s a twinkle in her green eyes when she catches me staring.

  “It’s all good,” she says to the unknown caller. “Lenny is handled, and his dogs are off. Yeah, I swear it!”

  She smiles and sets a foot on my chest in the silence that follows. I grab it and kiss her toe.

  She snorts at something the caller says. “No, Mr. Drummond gave me my bonus after all…I know, right? Oh yeah, and it was…” She gets this mischievous look, and I know she’s going to be sassy again. My cock rises to attention. “The bonus was…adequate.”

  I go to the base of the bed, grab her ankles, and pull her down.

  She giggles. “Yes, I have company. You’ve never met him. But you can come back,” she says to whoever’s on the other end. A roommate, maybe. Women like Lizzie have roommates.

  I take this opportunity to glance around her room. White walls with cracking paint. Tall ceilings with the historic crown molding she once described. Bright scarves are draped over fixtures. Colorful prints adorn the walls—turtles and elves and a girl whose face is half wolf. An old tin sign that says Cooper’s Pizzeria. A framed album cover—some boy band, from the looks of it. A National Parks calendar.

  “Well, the bolt is off, anyway,” she says.

  It’s late. Is this somebody coming home?

  I crawl over her and lean down, whisper in her other ear, “Lose the caller.”

  She grins up at me. “Nothing,” she says. “That was nothing.”

  I smile. Meet her defiant eyes.

  She kills me.

  I kiss her. I slide my palm up her stomach. She’s not a washboard-abs girl; she’s real. She eats cookies. Like a madman, I press my face into the sexy swell of her belly. I drag my lips up over it, squeezing her hips. She’s delicious.

  Even her imperfections are delicious. Actually, her imperfections make her more delicious.

  Still gripping her hips, I slide my face up her chest, aware that I’m giving her a little bit of sandpaper with the whiskers. From the way she wriggles, I can tell she likes it.

  I make whisker contact with the underside of her breast. Her skin is literally like silk. I slide my cheek along the curves, enjoying her, taking my lazy time to get to her nipple. I’ve never done this, just enjoyed a woman without any goal, except maybe her pleasure.

  When I come up for air, she’s watching me with unfocused eyes. “What?” she says to the caller. “Ahhhh, okay.”

  I’m up over her on my knees, enjoying her eyes on my cock. I give myself a few yanks, just because I can, cock swelling above her sprawled, naked body. I locate another condom in my pants pockets. I rip open the silver packet with my teeth.

  “Gotta go,” she gusts. “Okay, okay,” she adds.

  I pull out the condom and toss the wrapper onto her naked chest. Her eyes flare.

  I bite back a smile and slide the sheath over myself, nice and slow, letting her watch me handle myself, because she seems to like that. I give myself a few yanks. Her chest rises and falls.

  But enough about me. I lean down and palm her thighs, rough and casual, like I own them. Her eyes twinkle. “Okay, later…” she mumbles into the phone, doing something that hopefully gets rid of the caller.

  I shove her legs apart with a growl.

  The phone slips from her fingers and hits the floor just before I enter her. “OmigodfuckYES.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Theo

  * * *

  The next thing I know, she’s whispering into my ear. “Wake up, motherfucker.”

  I come to with a jolt, surprised to see that it’s morning. It’s light out.

  Lizzie stands over me in jeans and a bright pink T-shirt that has a turtle outlined in sparkles. She’s holding out a cup of coffee.

  “What the hell?” I pick up my phone. It’s after seven.

  “It’s a little thing called morning.”

  I sit up and take the coffee, stunned I slept through the night. I usually spend the first few minutes of my mornings adding clarification notes to my middle-of-the-night brainstorming scribbles, but there was no middle-of-the-night brainstorming. I look down at the steaming mug, feeling unmoored.

  “Black. Right?” she says. “When you’re not drinking bulletproof?”

  “How’d you know I drank bulletproof?”

  She rolls her eyes and shoves in beside me. Like it’s too ridiculous to explain how she could’ve known.

  She has shoes on. “Are you going somewhere?” I ask.

  “Out,” she says teasingly.

  I pull her to me. “Come back to bed.”
>
  “What? I can’t,” she says. “This was great, but…it can’t be. This can’t be a thing.”

  My heart races. I’d imagined everything would change now. The idea that she might not want to see me again never crossed my mind.

  “Come out to breakfast. You have to eat, right?”

  She looks away. “I don’t know about that.”

  “It’s breakfast, not a date,” I say.

  “It just really can’t happen.”

  I set my coffee on the nightstand; then I take her coffee and set it aside, and roll her back into bed, getting her beneath me.

  “If you rip this shirt, I swear to god…”

  I kiss her breast through the pink cotton.

  “I’m serious. Dates are off the table with me. I can’t do a relationship of any kind.”

  I kiss her shoulder. Her neck.

  “I’m off guys,” she says.

  “You don’t seem like you’re off guys. In fact, you were quite recently on a guy, if memory serves.” I kiss her again. “And around a guy.”

  “And I’m moving in three weeks.”

  I still. “Three weeks?”

  “I’m moving back to Fargo.”

  You can’t, I’m about to say. I just found you. I won’t let you.

  I bite my tongue. If there’s one thing I know about Seven, it’s that she doesn’t like to be pushed.

  But I can’t let her leave. We have something special. “Why move?”

  “To get back on my feet. Financially.”

  Finances.

  Finances are nothing. Finances can be solved. I go back to kissing her. “It’s just breakfast. And you know you can’t resist me.”

  Her chest rises and falls as I strip off her shirt. “And I don’t do relationships.”

  “Forget relationships. This is nothing but proximity to food supply,” I say. “Satisfying my animal needs. Using you for your smoking-hot body. Do you have a problem with that?”

  She still looks unsure. I have my hands all over her. I can’t get enough of her. I can’t think of anything but to find a way to keep this going.

  “No commitment. No expectations,” I add.