Page 29 of The Billionaire and His Forever

“My wife,” he growls, picking up his pace once again. “You will be my wife.”

I nod, trying to catch my breath as he pounds into me. “And you will be my husband.”

He groans, lifting me off his dick to set me back on my feet. “Get on your knees,” he commands, stroking himself feverishly. “I’m going to watch you swallow down every last drop of cum like a good fiancée would.”

I drop to the floor, my mouth open, ready to be a very good fiancée indeed.

Chapter Twelve

Abbie

I’mready to move into Graham’s room now, but he says we need to wait until we’re legally married. Not because he’s the old-fashioned type, but because we need to respect Jude and the staff by easing into things. We’ve only been together for the summer, after all, and we don’t want to ruffle any feathers, he said.

Not only that, but the news of our alleged affair has already been splashed all over the tabloids, as well as his arrest on attempted murder charges—and the power of bad press can’t be ignored when his daughter’s custody and well-being is at stake. We need to play by the books.

Still. I feel like we’ve been two planets destined to collide this entire time. Now that we’re finally together officially, I’m anxious for our new life to begin.

“Won’t the tabloids have a field day when they find out about our marriage anyway? It won’t stay a secret forever,” I muse over my coffee, sitting on the couch in his office.

“Oh, naturally. They’ll shit themselves. I can already see the headlines now: ‘Ratliff abandons ailing wife to marry teenage nanny in clandestine ceremony,’ etc.” Beside me, Graham lets out a rueful laugh, tapping away at a work email on his laptop.

“But you’ve been divorced for over a year,” I point out.

“Natasha liked to blur that line publicly as often as possible.” Graham gives my knee a comforting squeeze. “Regardless, we’ll get through it. The bad press will blow over eventually. Maybe they’ll even decide they like us once we’re official. Not that I’m holding my breath.”

I nod, feeling more assured by his casual use of the phrase “we” than by my faith in the press to let go of a particularly juicy story—factual or not—before it has entirely run its course. If the media’s behavior this summer is anything to go by, they’ll bleed our story dry, and then they’ll squeeze it some more. I doubt they’ll work too hard to fact check the details if people are still buying magazines and letting themselves be taken in by clickbait.

“Maybe they’ll be kinder once we’re married,” I say hopefully.

“I think they will have less to talk about, yes. It’s boring once you’re happily married. The controversy is gone.”

“Even though I’m so much younger than you?”

Graham closes his laptop and sets it on a side table so he can turn to face me.

“Abbie, my love. You are a remarkably mature young woman.” He takes my hand and kisses it. “And you are exactly what I need. Exactly what my daughter needs. What this family needs. Hell, what this house needs. Your age is inconsequential to the magnitude of your impact. You belong here. Don’t ever doubt that.”

I lean across the couch and kiss him gently on the lips. “Thank you. I think…I think I really needed to hear that.” I try to force a smile, but it fails miserably.

“What is it?” Graham asks.

“Nothing. It’s just…something’s been weighing on me. That we haven’t really talked about yet.” My anxiety suddenly hits me like a kick in the gut, and I drop my eyes.

“So talk. I’m listening,” he says softly, his warm hand still wrapped around mine.

Taking a deep breath, hoping I’m not about to completely ruin everything, I look up and say, “What happens when I go back to Cornell? The fall semester starts next month. It’s a three-and-a-half hour drive from here, which isn’t a commute I can make on a daily basis. Obviously I’ll have my dorm apartment, but how…how are we going to make this work?”

This whole summer, I’ve been avoiding the subject, barely even allowing myself tothinkabout my inevitable return to school—and that was before Graham proposed. I was already dreading the fact that I’d have to spend the upcoming school year in campus housing, only seeing Graham and Jude on weekends and holidays, if they’d have me. So what happens now that Graham and I are going to be married? I’ve never even heard of a long-distance marriage. What if this changes everything for him? What if he’d assumed I would just drop out and live here full-time? I’m not giving up my degree.

Graham cups my cheek and draws me in for another long, slow kiss. When he finally pulls away, he says, “I’ve already been looking at real estate in Ithaca, love.”

“Y—you have?”

“I have. And my agent has a few places lined up that might work, smaller houses and condos with outdoor space that I think you and Jude would like. We’re going to video-tour them this week. I was going to have you sit in on the call and help me decide. After all, it’s going to be yours. And you won’t be needing a dorm room once you’ve got your own house.”

I start laughing, the knot in my chest dissolving at Graham’s words. He’s really thought of everything.

He pulls up the listings on his phone so I can see photos of the properties he’s considering, and tells me all about his plans to stay with me at the new place as much as possible over the next few years while I finish my degree program. But the thought of maintaining a long-distance relationship still makes me anxious. And I hope to God I won’t be so distracted by my yearning for Graham and Jude that my grades start to suffer. I’m going to need a strong support system.

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