Page 142 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire
Byron’s lips pressed against my forehead. “Cold?”
My teeth chattered, making an awful sound. He pulled me tighter against him, his heat seeping into me. I was grateful for his warmth and that he’d shown up at the right time.
“Thank you for saving me,” I croaked. “Again.”
“Always.”
He kept touching me, as if worried I’d slip away. Funnily enough, it also grounded me. The sun had set long ago, painfully reminding me that we’d spent all afternoon in the hospital. I was exhausted.
My husband must have felt the same, judging by his expression. His tie was undone, as were the top buttons of his white dress shirt. His hair was ruffled from raking his hands through it over and over again. The image reminded me of that day six years ago when he’d thought I lost the baby.
Except this time, we were going home together.
“I talked to Ares and explained you weren’t feeling good. I didn’t want to scare him. He wants to make sure we take good care of you tonight.”
I smiled tiredly. “I’m feeling better by the minute.”
“Better we don’t tell him that,” he chuckled, interlocking our fingers. “He wants us to watch a movie together.”
My gaze traced over his long fingers and the muscles twisting along his forearm and disappearing beneath his rolled-up sleeve. He had such strong forearms, those veins and expert fingers.
“I love your hands,” I murmured. “They’re so sexy.” Byron gave me a strange look, but my brain was still mushy from the drugs and fever. “When I was in Ghana, all I had to do was think about your hands when I touched myself and I’d orgasm.”
Byron’s soft chuckle had my chest glowing. “I think you might still be a little bit high.”
I brought our connected hands to my lips and traced his knuckles with my lips. “Maybe, but it’s better than throwing up.” Then I frowned and lifted my eyes to meet his gaze. “Do I stink?”
He shrugged. “You always smell like the most delicious apples to me. Besides, Alessio already told me I smell like puke, so we’ll be stinky together.”
I smiled dreamily. “Yes, I like that.”
“You want to know how I got myself off during all those years we were apart?” he asked softly, his lips skimming my forehead.
I locked eyes with him, despite the aching headache and blurry vision. His eyes were dark, like a turbulent ocean. So beautiful. So vulnerable.
“How?”
“By using your Hermès scarf. You left it behind in the hotel room.”
“Huh?” It took a few seconds too long for the meaning to sink in. Surprise slowly washed over me, my delayed reaction a result of the drugs. “Ahh. I wondered what happened to it.”
Images of Byron with that scarf around his cock played in my mind, and even in my pitiful state, my insides warmed. Not that I had any energy to do anything about it.
The car came to a stop in front of our home, and before I could move, Byron scooped me up and made his way into the house with me in his arms.
I pushed my palm against his chest where his heart thundered. “I can walk.”
“I know. Just let me do this. I need to hold you.”
Ares was sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase waiting for us when we entered. The moment he noticed us, he jumped up and ran over.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmured slowly as he wrapped his hands around Byron’s legs and buried his face into my hip. I brought my hand to his head and ruffled his hair, my movements slow. “Are you okay?”
“I was worried.”
Byron lowered to his knee, still keeping me in his strong arms. “Mom is back home and feeling much better. But we still have to take care of her tonight. You up for it, buddy?”
Ares’s worried gaze locked on me, and I smiled softly. “I promise, I’m better.”
