Page 68 of Billionaire Bachelor
I chuckle. “Go to town, Pip.” I tear off a big bite of my wrap, making her laugh.
“Animal,” she teases.
I lick a stray drop of sauce from my thumb. “You know it, baby.”
Rosie and I eat in comfortable silence for a bit, the sounds of downtown living—the distant wail of a siren, a group of people laughing, music drifting from one of the apartments above—serving as our soundtrack. As we’re sitting here, a thought settles in my chest. How has it only been a month since we’ve been exploring this new dynamic? Being with Rosie is the most natural thing in the world. It’s exhilarating and effortless, but she’s also my greatest source of peace. My days before Tahoe feel like an entirely different lifetime. I didn’t realize how tragically unfulfilled I was back then. But when she smiles at me like I’m her favorite fucking person, it’s so substantial, I now realize the Grand Canyon had previously resided in my chest.
I never used to think about the future unless it related to my business or investments. But lately, I’ve envisioned all sorts of things, asking myself all kinds of questions.
Like, would Rosie ever want to trade city living for something quieter, maybe get a house together in the hills? I picture us sitting on the back deck sharing a bottle of wine, watching the city lights down below. Sharing a cup of coffee in the kitchen each morning while she’s wearing nothing but my T-shirt. Then the vision sharpens, and maybe a few years later, she’s standing in that same kitchen, belly round with my child. Rosie’s breasts are heavy, her skin is flushed and glowing, her long, dark hair is extra shiny. Even her pouty lips have a little more natural color. I swear to god, she’s never looked sexier, and I already want to give her another the second she pushes this kid out.
Whoa.
Where the hell did that come from?
And why do I want it so fucking badly?
It’s not the first time I’ve thought about having kids with Rosie, but thisisthe first time I’ve ever visualized her carrying my child on such a visceral level. Instead of panicking like a sane person, my brain takes a giant fucking leap off a cliff, straight into logistics. So now I’m thinking about actuallymakingthe babies with her, the way she’d feel, all soft and warm, back arching as she writhed beneath me. Therising crescendo of her moans as I took her pleasure to new heights. Her breathy sighs as she begged me to plant my seed inside of her.
Fuck, that’s hot.
I subtly adjust myself under the table, reminding my dick now is not the time.
Showing off your boner in public is grounds for arrest, dude.
Rosie quirks a brow. “What’s that look for?”
I clear my throat. “What look?”
“Don’t even.” She shakes her head. “One minute you’re munching on your wrap, and the next, you look like you’re ready to throw me over this table and have your wicked way with me.”
She’s not wrong.
I laugh. “That’s how Ialwayslook at you, Pip.”
Her eyes narrow, not buying my bullshit for one second. “Logan, what were you thinking about just now?”
Oh, nothing big. Just breeding you like a goddamn Neanderthal. Just give me a club, and I’ll be all set.
“Work,” I hedge. “The Olympus pitch.”
Rosie snorts. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
I reach out to tuck a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. “Eat your fried chickpeas, Rosie.”
She rolls her eyes but leans into my touch, making me smile. “Worry about your own food, Edwards.”
“Yes, ma’am.” My lips twitch as I tack on a pithy salute.
After dinner,we head back to her place. It’s a short walk, but thetension stretching between us is coiled so tightly, it might as well be miles. My skin feels too taut, my heartbeat is thudding in my chest, and don’t even get me started on my dick.The city pulses all around us but all I can focus on is Rosie.The way the cool night air raises goose bumps on her arms. The way her breathhitchesevery time ourhands brush. The intoxicating sugary, tropical scent of her skin. By the time we step into her building’s lobby, I’m hanging on by a fucking thread.
I press the call button for the elevator, stealing a glance down at her as we wait.She’s restless. Amped up. Wound just as tightly as I am.Her plump bottom lip iscaptive between her teeth, the delicate flesh already a little swollen. She shifts from one foot to another,the soft rustle of fabric against her silky skin driving me mad.
Her hands are in constant motion,spinning the ring on her index finger round and round, a tell that she’s crawling out of her skin, dying to release all that pent-up energy. She does this sometimes when she’s anxious, but I’d bet my Ducati tonight’s is more about anticipation. Hell, if she’s feeling even half of what I’m feeling, it’s downright desperation for some privacy, so we can do something about it. One thing’s for certain, as soon as we’re behind closed doors, all bets are off.
I whisper into her ear, “You’re fucking soaked right now, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she replies coyly, stepping into the elevator as it arrives.
