Page 36 of Dr. Stone (Billionaires’ Club #9)

THIRTY-ONE

Jace

The barking was relentless, but my drive for what I needed—and craved—was stronger. You’d think I’d lose my edge, but all I wanted was the tight, pulsing heat between Andie’s thighs, slick and ready for me.

“Fuck,” I muttered, tugging her lace panties down.

She spread open for me, shameless, as if daring me to take her the way I had in the cabin on the yacht.

My mouth watered, my lips tingled, and I ignored the goddamn dog pacing around like a security guard.

Her hips bucked up when my fingers pressed inside, grazing her G-spot, and her head fell back with a soft cry that made my blood run hotter.

Watching her unravel was my drug. I’d replayed this image—her moans, the way her body arched for me—every time I got myself off in the shower since that night.

“Damn, I need you,” I ground out, matching the rhythm of my fingers to the climb of her release.

“Yes,” she gasped, breathless, desperate.

The dog barked louder, pacing, like even he knew the raw energy charging the air. I almost laughed at the irony, but fuck if I was breaking focus when Andie’s nails tangled in my hair, dragging me down to her.

I devoured her.

Her taste coated my tongue—sweet, intoxicating, addictive—and I groaned against her slick folds. My tongue slid inside, deliberate, slow, every flick calculated to make her shatter. My lips sealed over her clit, sucking gently before circling with steady pressure that had her gasping my name.

I gripped her thighs hard, holding her down as she bucked against my mouth. My cock was throbbing, dripping, aching to be buried inside her, but I wanted her undone first. This was about her. About proving that every inch of her belonged to me, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

I didn’t want to stop. I Couldn’t.

But the rat-bastard of a dog had other plans.

The next thing I knew, the little monster launched himself onto the bed, barking like a possessed Tasmanian devil.

Andie and I both jerked back, scrambling as the two-pound demon barked like a lunatic.

“Holy shit!” I jerked back, scrambling onto my knees, trying to cover my now very unsexy, very exposed dick while the dog lunged at me like he owned the place.

“Brandon!” Andie shouted, leaping off the bed, clutching her sheer button-down shirt and bolting for her son’s cries.

Meanwhile, I was left to battle Cujo Jr.

Great. Baby screaming, dog howling, my dick hiding in shame. Not exactly how I pictured this going.

First order of business: put boxers back on. No way I was letting the story of “two-pound dog bites billionaire’s dick off” go down in history.

The little fucker darted around like a roadrunner on crack.

“All right,” I muttered, yanking a pillowcase off the pillow. “Hard way it is, asshole.” After a few failed swipes, I finally trapped Duke, the pillowcase wriggling like a bag of popcorn in a microwave.

“What are you doing?” Andie’s voice came from the doorway, half amused, half horrified.

Brandon clung to her, still crying, while I looked like a deranged kidnapper with her dog in a sack.

“The dog’s gonna give himself a heart attack,” I grumbled. “I’m just trying to keep him from stroking out.”

“So you’re going to suffocate him?” she teased, coming closer.

“He’s alive and well, trust me,” I said, letting her take the pillowcase.

Duke immediately curled up on her lap, playing the mistreated victim. Fucking actor.

And then something I hadn’t expected happened—Brandon reached for me.

Andie hesitated, but when she let me take him, the little guy rested his head on my shoulder. Baby powder and innocence filled my senses, melting something I didn’t know I had in me.

Kids weren’t my thing. I didn’t hate them, but I wasn’t the “pick one up and rock it” type either. Yet here I was, with a toddler nestled against me, feeling… good. Rewarded, even.

“He doesn’t do that with just anyone,” Andie said softly. Her eyes warmed as she watched her son snuggle into me. “He likes you.”

“At least one of your little dudes does,” I chuckled. “C’mon, buddy, let’s get you resettled.”

“He’ll need a story,” she warned. “Or he won’t sleep.”

“I’ve got it, Mama,” I said, already bouncing him like I knew what the hell I was doing. “Books in his room?”

“Yeah, or the living room.”

So maybe my cock got cockblocked tonight—but this? This hit different. Something deeper than sex, something I hadn’t even realized I’d wanted.

I’d never pictured myself with kids, but Brandon had me wrapped around his little finger. Rocking him in his airplane-themed nursery, searching for a rhyme book after my night got hijacked by a dog from hell, I was…happy. Weirdly, unexpectedly happy.

“All right, little man,” I murmured, settling into the rocking chair, his big eyes studying me like I was on trial. At least he wasn’t as aggressive as his furry brother. “I have no idea where your books are,” I muttered, scanning the spotless nursery.

Then I froze. Antique airplanes decorated the shelves, the same kind I’d had in my room as a kid.

I chuckled. “No way. You’ve got the same thing I did. My dad flew, my mom sailed—he passed the sky down to my brother, she passed the sea down to me. Guess I’m a product of compromise.”

Funny thing was, I’d never known if my parents were happy or just functional. Business partners more than lovers. But they’d made it work.

And maybe that was the point. After what Andie had been through with the asshole who’d left her and Brandon, maybe “functional” wasn’t enough. She deserved better.

And maybe—maybe—I could give it to her.

Scrolling my phone for something to read, I thought about how she wasn’t dazzled by my last name or lifestyle. She just wanted real. And that? That I could do.

Because I wasn’t my parents. Andie wasn’t going to get some hollow version of love from me.

Not when I was already falling into something I swore I’d never want.