Page 114 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

“Your other one whorls perfectly, but this one refuses to whorl. It marches to its own drummer. It’s something you don’t see until you’re really up close. A secret eyebrow rebellion.”

He finally meets my gaze. “Do I need to quash it?”

“Maybe,” I say.

He contracts his brows.

“Still there. You can glower and furrow all you want.” I kiss it. “You’re not the boss of this eyebrow.”

He still looks sad.

“You think you’re the boss of everything,” I add, sliding a finger over his lips, another favorite place. I let my finger linger there, pushing in a little.

He watches me, rebelling along with his eyebrow, refusing to play.

I smile and slide my finger back and forth over his bad-boy lower lip. The energy between us is shifting.

The subtext to our interaction is that if he wants to fuck, he has to do the stern boss thing.

Suddenly he growls and nips my finger. I squeal and pull it out, but he has my wrist. And then he slides his hand around my waist. Because in the end, Theo’s a man with a cock.

He flips me over and presses me down to the couch, holding me still. “Everything always has to go perfectly your way. Is that it?”

“Yes,” I say. Because that kind ofisit. “What are you going to do about it?”

He begins undoing my buttons. “I think you know.”

What he does about it is to carry me to his bedroom, and go down on me, and then he plunges into me, thick and hard, breath warm and ragged at my neck.

I tellmyself I shouldn’t sleep over. Lying in his bed, legs and arms twined perfectly with his, I do a positive visualization of myself getting up and gathering my clothes. I picture myself putting my outfit on. I would then grab my phone and kiss him goodbye. And then I’d head down and get a Lyft. Even as I’m drifting off to sleep, I’m picturing it.

I wake up with an inexplicable glow of well-being blazing through me. I open my eyes and meet his.

And I know he was watching me sleep—in a sweet way, not a creepy way.

I love this. I love his eyes on me. My belly does a nervous little twist.

“Good morning,” he whispers, kissing my cheek.

“Good morning,” I whisper back. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Here it is, morning,” I say. “How did that even happen?”

He props his hand on his head, creating folds in his stubbly cheek. He smiles sleepily. “An effect of my amazing, savage lovemaking—”

I smash my fingertips onto his lips, heart squeezing. Is this all too good? Am I getting too close to the fire?

“What are you thinking, baby?”

I’m thinking a man has never made me feel like he does. I’m thinking I want nothing more than to spend the day making him as happy as he makes me.

I slide my fingertip over the bad-boy bump on his lower lip. I’m thinking I would give him anything. It makes me scared as hell.

“I’m trying to decide which microwave-popcorn-of-the-month subscription to order for you,” I say. “I’ve narrowed it down to empty cheesy aroma or whiff-of-buttery-nothingness delight. What do you think?”

He kisses my finger. That’s what he thinks.

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