Page 114 of Billionaire Bachelor
I whimper and my toes curl. “I’m good with that.”
“Then I’m going to bend you over my kitchen counter, eat your delicious cunt from behind, and then fuck you like an animal until you can’t walk before I come all over your perfect ass.”
“Holy hell…” My back arches as the first sign of my orgasm builds.
“Then I’m going to clean you up and make love to you in the bedroom until we can’t stay awake any longer. The following morning, you’re going to sit on my face so I can eatyoufor breakfast, and then I’m going to cook you whatever food you’re in the mood for.”
“You know I won’t say no to food.” I gasp. “Or face-sitting for that matter. Almost there… God, Logan.”
“I’m right there with you, baby. Let it go.”
My body tenses, my legs shake, and I scream Logan’s name as a wildly intense orgasm rips through me. At the same time, he groans my name like a prayer as long jets of cum shoot onto his stomach. I switch off the vibe, letting it roll to the side, and gently remove the dildo from my body. We both lie there panting, catching our breath as we watch each other through the screen.
“Jesus, Pip.” Logan’s lips curve into a dopey smile as he wipes himself off with his discarded shirt. “I’m fucking wrecked.”
“Same.” I laugh, turning to my side. “We should probably get some sleep, huh?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” His smile softens. “I love you, Rosie. Always.”
“Love you.” I yawn as my eyes flutter shut. “Stay with me, okay?”
He shifts in bed until he’s lying down like I am. “I’m not going anywhere. Sweet dreams, baby.”
The last thing I see before drifting off is his sleepy face, watching me through the screen. We might be hundreds of miles apart, but in this moment, with his voice in my ear and that look in his eyes, I’ve never felt closer to him.
36
LOGAN
It’s been almosttwo months since we closed the Olympus deal and life has been good. Not because of the money or the positive press—although thathasbeen nice—but mostly because of how content I’ve been. Happy.
Really fucking happy.
Settled in a way I never knew was possible.
And I owe it all to the woman who’s been snoring on my couch for the last few hours, although she’d totally deny the snoring part if I ever called her on it.
I glance toward the living room, where Rosie is napping, one bare leg exposed from beneath the fuzzy blanket that’s draped over her. She came over straight from visiting her cousin, unzipped her shorts, did some Houdini thing where she removed her bra without taking off her top, dropped them both right where she was standing, and crawled onto the couch. Her lingerie and shorts are now neatly folded on my dresser, while a barely-dressed Rosie snoozes away.
I smile as I watch her, taking in the rare sight of Rosalie Morales at rest in the middle of the day. She’s always moving, buzzing around with her signature energy. I don’t think she knows what to do withherself if she’s not juggling twenty different things at once. It’s just how she rolls. Some people might think it’s chaotic—and if I’m being real, Rosieischaotic—but the way her brain processes so much stimuli at once is fucking beautiful to me. It’s kind of like a superpower. I know she’s had her challenges over the years, but the more educated the world becomes on neurodivergence, the more space there is for her to be herself. If you ask me, it takes someone truly special to thrive in an environment where you’re constantly jumping over hurdles.
The scent of tomatoes and garlic mingles with the light breeze drifting in through the open windows. I stir the sauce and glance toward the hallway, my nerves kicking in about the surprise waiting in the bedroom. I’m not sure why. I’m confident in Rosie’s commitment to me. I’m almost positive she’ll say yes. But the slim probability that she’ll say no is nagging at me because it’d crush me. I’d understand if she thought it was too soon, but it’d still hurt.
Rosie groans, drawing my eyes back to her as she stretches, arms overhead and spine arching off the couch. Her top rides up, exposing the smooth curve of her stomach and two very erect nipples pressing against the fabric.
Christ.
“How long have I been asleep?” she mumbles.
My brain stalls because I’m staring at her chest like a teenage idiot.
“Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“How long was I sleeping?” Rosie sits up, looking around. “And where are my shorts?”
Shit.
