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The billionaire only had two words to say. “Why not?”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “You know why!”
“No. I don’t.” His gaze narrowed at me. “Unless you’re the type to care too much about what people say.”
“Of course not!”I think.
“Then I don’t see why I can’t fuck you when it’s what we both want—-”
“Because it’s not done that way,” I burst out. Jumping to my feet, I switch the lights in the room on, thinking I needed a little brightness to help clear my mind. But when the room was ablaze with light, I realized I was wrong.
It just made the billionaire easier to see, just made the billionaire look even more heartbreakingly handsome than he had been in the darkness.
Shit.
His gaze captured mine, and my heart turned into a chest-smashing monster again. Bam, bam, bam it went against the wall of my body, excitement making it want to leap out in the air.
“You’re staring at me,” the billionaire murmured.
I stammered, “N-no, I’m not.” But I was, I totally was, and I couldn’t stop myself. Sergei Grachyov was just looking hotter by the second, and—-
He! Wanted! Me!
Why wasn’t I letting him make love to me again?
“You can do more than stare, you know,” he purred.
My toes curled hard.
“And I want you to do more than stare.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“The same way I want to do more than stare at your body. I want to touch you,pchelka. I want to fuck you—-”
Oh God.I wrapped my arms over my body tightly. “You can’t.”
“Why?”
“I already told you.” Frustration lined my voice, but even I knew I was no longer frustrated with him. I was frustrated withmyself.
Sexually frustrated.
Why wasn’t I letting him make love to me again?
“And I also told you, I don’t know how this works.” Unlike me, the billionaire’s tone was calm, his words succinct. “So why don’t you just spell it out? Tell me exactly what I need to do so I can fuck you.”
He was so blunt, I thought helplessly. He wasn’t even bothering to lie, wasn’t bothering to pretend that emotions had anything to do with this.
And yet—-
Instead of turning me off, it made me want him more.
“I need to know you first,” I heard myself say.
“But you already Googled me. Does it really make a difference, hearing me say the same damn things you’ve read on the Internet?”
“Yes.” No. Yes. I was aching so badly I no longer knew what was right.