Page 111 of Return Billionaire to Sender

“Whaaaat?” I say. I wipe my eyes with my free hand as if I’m wiping away the sleep. The fact that this will be the last time we’re together makes me feel hollowed out with emotion.

He keeps kissing his way up my arm.

“Are you being funny?”

He plants a kiss on the inside of my upper arm; my skin there is crazy tender under the delicious scratchiness of his whiskers.

“Keep going,” I say.

He grumbles and kisses the pillowy billow of skin where my arm meets my chest.

“Were you waiting for me to wake up?” I ask.

“Yes. Would you rather I’d woken you up?” he asks. “You know that I thought about it. I had three dirty ideas for waking you up.”

“How dirty?” I whisper.

“Disturbingly dirty,” he says. “I’m not a good person, as you may recall.”

“I want to know them,” I say. “All three.”

“In good time.” He plants a kiss on the pillow of skin on the front side of my underarm. “This is an underrated spot on you.”

“C’mere.” I grab his hair, trying to get him away from my unsightly bulgy spot that he has deemed underrated, but he stays and kisses it again.

“I didn’t know spots on me were being rated,” I say. “Are there overrated spots? Are my wrists not all that? My toes not living up to the hype?”

“Shut the bruschetta hole.”

I snort, loving the way he says that in his clipped English accent. He kisses me again, and then he rolls me up and onto his lap so that I’m straddling him, facing him. He tangles his fingers through my hair.

“Is it all done?” I ask.

“Mostly.” He’s watching my eyes, holding my gaze. He grabs the hem of my shirt and slowly starts to pull it up, pulling it off. I help him, undoing my bra, lifting my arms. “I do love a woman in uniform,” he says.

And then my shirt is off.

And I’m naked on the top, facing him, looking right at him, and he has his shirt off, too, but he’s more naked because he just said the L word. Not that it was a direct use, but it was partial use of the L word, and things feel more intense, suddenly.

I joke it off—I say, “Wait until day five of wearing this and you might be singing a different tune.”

He isn’t going for my joke. The awkwardly serious look on his face tells me that he’s feeling this big thing happening between us. It feels good, like promise and excitement.

I make myself remember that it will be over soon. Then his abs harden impossibly as he comes up for a kiss, curling up to me and cupping my cheeks, kissing my lips, then my chest, then my nipple, where he settles in for some seriously sexy sucking.

I reach around and it’s only a little bit of gymnastics to grab his cock through his sweatpants. “This part of you cannot be overrated,” I say. “It simply cannot be overrated.”

He just growls, adding vibrato to the nipple action. And then we shift and we’re kissing. And he says, “Can you reach over and get that condom?” He lies back. “On the bedside table. I want you to put it on me. I want to watch you put it on me.”

I can tell he wants me to do it sexy like maybe it’s a thing with him, a woman preparing him to fuck her or something. I love that it’s kind of dirty even.

I smile.

“God,” he groans, “you have to do it while you’re wearing that witchy smile.”

“You think this is a witchy smile?” I ask.

“Mmmm-hmm,” he says.

---