Page 56 of Billionaire Grump

Do it, whispers the newly voracious little devil on my shoulder. Cash it in. He’ll be rough. Punishing, in the best kind of way. And very, very thorough.

The thought makes my body feel warm and softly electric.

It would be so easy to tempt him. Just roll over and kiss him again.

Would he let me?

Of course he would. Gently suck on his tongue, like you did when you were sitting on his lap. When he groaned like an animal. This time, when you touch his chest, he won’t be wearing his suit. His big, buff body will be warm and hard and hair-dusted.

God. I’m hot. I feel so restless. My pussy feels slippery and lightly swollen.

Get a grip, girl!

It takes a while, but I gratefully drift into a soft, dreamy sleep.

I dream of that dark challenge in his blue, blue eyes.

15

“Dude, how the hell did you manage to score Ivy Laine? She’s insanely hot.” Blake’s younger brother Freddie is obnoxious at the best of times. He used to come visit us at Harvard from Cornell all the time. Always loud and borderline inappropriate, I never really warmed to the guy. The only thing I’m fucking warming to right now is the idea of throttling him if he so much as mentions her name again.

Blake picks up on my tension and steers the conversation in a different direction. “I booked us a charter fishing boat tomorrow morning for a few hours. So we don’t have to stand around twiddling our thumbs while the girls get ready. How hard is it to put on a tux, am I right? All we have to do is show up and be standing there by two o’clock. Shit, don’t let me forget the ring.”

What makes the fact that most of these guys have heard of Ivy Laine even worse is that they can go back to their rooms tonight and scroll through the photos of her barely dressed.

There was nothing extreme about the way she was posing, or what she was wearing, but knowing half the men in this bar are probably going to be helping themselves later tonight—I can’t even fucking think about it without wanting to bend a crowbar in half.

When she’s mine, we’re going to have to have a conversation about this. She won’t need to post photos of herself half-dressed for the money. She won’t have to “create content,” or whatever the fuck they call it. I’ll take care of her. She’ll be free to write her music, without having to rely on the influencer sideline.

With the kind of talent she has, it makes me wonder why she hasn’t done more with the music. She said she performs around Manhattan but rarely goes further.

But then I remember. The brother. She needs to stay local to make sure he’s not getting into trouble. She mentioned he was seventeen. Growing up with three younger brothers, I know only too well that seventeen-year-old boys are always a handful.

Is she okay? How is she managing to hold it all together?

And she must be holding it together. Very well. The kid got into Columbia.

How’s she paying for that?

It occurs to me then that the two hundred and fifty grand is probably going a long way toward helping with that. But not all the way.

Will she have enough for the other things she needs or is every spare penny going toward the college fund?

She agreed to be my fake date only because she wants to get her brother through college.

I pull out my phone and make a note of it. Pay for Josh Laine’s entire four-year tuition at Columbia.

Easily done.

I think of her now, alone in the room, taking that long, hot shower.

Damn it.

I do my best. I make polite conversation. I agree to meet them in the morning to go out on the charter. But I’m insanely grateful when Blake finally announces we need to have an early night so we’re not too hungover to make the most of tomorrow.

We wrap it up and I head back to the room.

I’m careful not to wake her. She’s curled up under the covers, facing away from my side of the bed. She looks so small in the huge bed. My protective instincts flare.

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