Page 52 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

“Why? Why me?” he asks. “Why did you decide to wake me up like that the first day? Was it something you read?”

“I’m not getting into that with you. I’m saying, stop contacting the company.”

“How about if I pass along praise for a job well done?”

“I guess there’s no harm in saying that you’re happy with Hello Morning’s amazing service.”

“Especially since my wake-up-call girl has agreed to dinner. She knows I need more of her than her sexy, raspy voice.”

That’s my best disguise, I realize. The pre-allergy-medicine voice. “That had better not be aquid pro quo, because it’s so not happening.”

“It’ll happen,” he says. “You’ll keep calling me. And you’ll keep thinking about me after. How dirty and good I can make things for you. You know who I am. You’ll say yes.”

“I think the only reason you want me to go out with you is because I said no. Everything’s too easy for you. And suddenly you come across the one woman who seems immune to your charms. So you’ve decided to seduce me at all costs. Seduce the wake-up-call girl.”

“I already seduced the wake-up-call girl.” He lowers his voice the way I like. “Now I need to taste her.”

Lust swells through me, infusing my cells with a warm, heavy glow.

“I need to have you under me,” he continues. “I need you to talk to me just like this while I fuck you senseless.”

“Are we approaching the savage animal portion of the call?”

“We could be so good together.”

I should be hanging up. I should be remembering why I’m annoyed with him. Instead, I’m thinking,could we be good together?

“Put us on FaceTime.”

“I can’t.”

“Do it,” he says in a tone I like too much.

“I’m not that kind of wake-up-call girl. No vid. No texts. No sexting.”

He lowers his voice. “I want to see you. Any part of you.”

“No go.”

“If you had me on FaceTime,” he says, “you’d be able to see me up close, and you’d see that I have a scar on the left side of my lower lip.”

The sexy scar. I swallow. “And?”

“Are you lying down? Lie back.”

“Now you’re commanding me?” I slide my hand over my belly. My belly. That’s all. Then I turn onto my back.

“You can’t see my scar that well, but when you touch it, there’s a little edge to it.”

“What’s it from?”

“Boyhood fight that split open my lip. My point is, can you imagine how it would feel on your nipple? My stiff tongue. My soft lips. And then this little edge. You’d like the way it feels. I would make you enjoy it. With that fucking attitude of yours, you need to be made to feel everything.”

“Oh,” I say as my hand wanders down to my sex.

“Or maybe,” he continues, “…maybe I kiss you and let you feel the scar first, before I put you in a trance of pleasure with my tongue. What do you think? Which one do you think would be best?”

“I don’t know which one would be best.” I slide my hand up my belly, under the fabric this time. “Maybe we need to get a debate team to take up the question.”

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