Page 6 of Kinks of a Billionaire

“Is something wrong?”

Her eyes met mine and she sighed.

“No, but I do have a question.” I raised my eyebrow, my interest captured as I waited for her to continue. “I’d ask a brother if I had one.” Her button nose wrinkled. “Or maybe not. Yeah, probably not. But luckily, you’re not my brother…”

“Just spit it out, Willow.” She wasn’t usually the nervous or shy type.

“There’s a myth that if a woman eats pineapple, her ‘down there’ will taste better when a guy uses his mouth on her. Is that true?” Her cheeks had turned bloodred, but to her credit, she didn’t glance away. I smiled as she twisted her fingers nervously atop the table. “Do you have any experience in that area?”

I stood to my feet and extended my hand. “Should we go test it out?”

She crossed her arms and my gaze fell to her breasts. Fuck, she had nice boobs. But then I remembered who I was ogling and found her looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

“It’s not funny, Royce. I seriously want to know.”

“How about we talk about it over dinner,” I said, flicking a glance toward the bar and the kitchen. “At my place, because I’m starving and the damn service around here is hopeless.”

“The key word being talk, right?”

I smiled. “Of course. After all, what are best friends for?”

She sighed and took my hand. “This better be good.”

Chapter 2

Willow

Present Day

Ring! Ring! Ring!

The doorbell sounded at the same time as the oven timer went off, and we shared a glance.

“Expecting a girlfriend?” I asked, both of us seated at the breakfast island of his penthouse’s fancy kitchen. “I refuse to have a conversation about pineapples and… ummm…thatin front of anyone else.”

He chuckled.

“Let’s ignore the door,” he said, brushing a strand of my hair away from my face. “We’re having an important conversation about a man going down on you.”

I swatted his hand away. “God, can’t you give me a break and just tell me if pineapples are good or not?”

“Has this man gone down on you before?”

“That’s none of your business.” My cheeks reddened.

“So that’s a no.” He handed me a shot glass.

I let out an exasperated breath. “There’s no man. This is purely hypothetical. I want to know for the future.”

“Are you telling me none of your boyfriends have gone down on you?”

I downed the alcohol. “Again, I’m not discussing it with you. I just want to know, from a man’s perspective, if the pineapple myth is true.”

His lips curved into a smirk.

“Yes,” he answered, finally taking pity on me.

Just as I was about to ask another question, the doorbell rang again, and we both groaned. I was looking forward to a quiet night.