Page 34 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
He smiles, but I see it again, that awkward desperation he has. He’s acting smooth, but the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists shows he’s as nervous about this as I am. My eyes flicker down to his lips, and they look soft, pink, kissable. I can’t pretend the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.
Then he opens his mouth, and I can tell that some awkward rambling is about to come out, and it’s going to shatter themoment. If this is the only moment I’m going to get to share with him, I’m going to take advantage of it.
What the hell? Why shouldn’t I? This is the kind of thing that happens to other people, not to me. I shouldn’t throw my opportunity to feel loved by a billionaire away out of some sense of pride. Even if this isn’t real, can’t I pretend for one night?
And I lean in and press my lips against his.
He freezes for a second, then wraps his arms around me. As we both melt into each other, I get the sense that neither of us has been kissed in a while. Because despite his smooth talk, his fingers fumble against me like he’s not sure where to put his hands. Like he’s not sure how much he’s allowed to touch. My lips are clumsy too, but even though this feels strange — like it’s not really happening to me — something’s changing inside me, unfurling like a flower, like something breathing out and saying,finally.
Maybe this was exactly what I needed.
We break away to catch our breath, and though we don’t say anything, we both burst into giggles like teenagers. “That was good,” he says, not quite a question, but definitely a plea for validation.
“It was good,” I agree. “I’m sorry if I’m out of practice.”
“You were perfect,” he says. “You are perfect.”
My face must be bright red by now, but hopefully the gloom of the cave cloaks my embarrassment. Feeling brave, I shuffle slightly, sitting next to him to rest my head on his shoulder. He tenses beneath me for a second, but then shuffles too, both of us adjusting to make ourselves comfortable.
We don’t say anything as we watch the sun dip across the horizon, getting lower and lower with every heartbeat.
“I wish I could stay here forever,” he murmurs.
“If you’re going to buy the island, you can stay here forever.”
He shakes his head. “No. I mean, like this.” He takes hold of my hand, squeezing it tightly, tightly enough that he must feel how clammy my palms are. “With you. With everyone. I want to stay like this. Like we are now. I want to feel like I belong.”
“Then start by not kicking us out of our homes,” I say.
He squeezes my hand again, his other arm looping around my shoulders so he can play with my hair. “I feel like a fool for ever suggesting it.”
“You just wanted to feel normal,” I whisper. “But pushing everyone away is not the answer.”
“It’s not the answer for you either,” he says.
“What do you mean? I’m friends with everyone on this island.”
“But do you need more?”
DoI need more? It’s a question I only ever ask myself on bad nights, alone in the dark when I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Sometimes, the answer is no. But sometimes the answer is yes; a painful, aching yes, because I want more. I crave something I’ve never had or admitted that I wanted.
Something like this.
Before I can let my mind take over and let logic win again, I twist to face him, letting our lips collide. This time, it’s not theinnocent first kiss of people realizing they’re attracted to each other. This time there’s a passion, a fire, a need.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. As the kiss deepens, we both move toward each other, our arms wrapping around shoulders, then our hands on each other’s waists, pulling each other in closer, tighter, our chests colliding, our fingers intertwining.
He kisses my cheek, then whispers in my ear, “Billie, I want to touch you. I want to taste you.”
“Do it,” I whisper back before placing both hands on his cheeks and pulling him back toward me.
He doesn’t hesitate before acting on his words. As we kiss, his hands dance down to my thighs, sneaking up my skirt so that his fingertips can brush over my bare flesh. I gasp at the touch. He pauses, pulling away to look at me and check that I’m okay, but I dig my fingers into his shoulders, groaning at his timidness. “Keep going, please.”
He does, and when his fingers finally make their way to my underwear, I’m breathless and aching with want. He pushes my underwear aside and discovers how much I want him; how wet I am for him. I cry out at the sensation of his fingers on me, but it’s when he moves his lips to my collarbone, and kisses his way down between my legs, that I start seeing stars.
My thighs grip at his shoulders as his tongue caresses me, my hand raking through his hair, my body exploding with pleasure. There are a million thoughts I should be having, but I can’t make a single one of them coherent because the only thing that matters in this second is Jacob’s tongue on me, and my own gasps and moans, my own pleading for more.
When I come, I’m glad this place is isolated because I squeal, my whole body shaking with my climax.
