Page 102 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

"Come for me, Flower." He lowers his voice to a hush and I am gone. The climax encloses me, sheaths me, throws me up high, then releases me, and I plunge down, down, down, back into his waiting arms, his teasing mouth, his wicked lips, that tongue of his that gives and takes from me. I crack open my eyelids and watch him watch me. He lowers his chin, licks the moisture that glistens on my inner thighs. He swallows, then rises to his feet. "Get dressed." He stalks away from the piano and heads for the door.

"Coming?" He glances at me over his shoulder, "I don’t have all day."

Of course, not. I lower my feet to the floor, my knees buckle, and I grab at the keyboard. The rich tones of the keys fill the space.

His gaze narrows and he seems on the verge of saying something, then desists.

I shove my panties in my back pocket, zip up my jeans, then head over to where he holds up my coat. I thrust my arms through the sleeves, and he buttons me up, his forehead furrowed in concentration. When he reaches my chest, I step back. "I’ll do it."

He glares at me and I subside. Damn it, when he looks at me like that, I can’t deny him anything. Not even this small token of my defiance. Bah! What defiance. I had given in to his touch, come apart completely and he… He hadn’t even broken a sweat. Had I been wrong to think he was falling for me? Wishful thinking, maybe?

He snatches up my backpack and offers it to me, then steps aside to let me pass. Only to guide me toward the living room. Guess he can’t wait to get me out of here. I glance around the space, at the thick rug in front of the fireplace. My foot brushes something. I glance down at a doll which is face down on the carpet; next to it is a worn-out toy dog. I pick it up.

"Benjy." He clears his throat.

I stiffen.Don’t breathe; don’t look at him.Finally, he’s revealing a little more about himself.Let him speak. Don’t say a word. Don’t."Is that her favorite toy?"

"How did you know?" He frowns.

"It has a well-worn look about it. Also," I pat the toy’s furry head, "I had one of my own that I held onto, into my teens."

"You didn’t want to grow up, huh?"

"You could say that," I toss my hair over my shoulder, then shoot him a sideways glance. "Don’t get any ideas, buster."

"Me?" He smirks. "Not likely. I am too busy trying to get my next album out."

"For which you need me as an inspiration, huh?"

"Don’t get any ideas." He echoes my earlier words.

"Not likely." I head for the door, "You’ve made it clear what you want from me."

"And—?"

"And," I twist open the door handle, then turn to face him, "I decline."

"What?" He frowns.

"My orgasms are not for sale anymore."

His jaw tics, "Everyone is for sale."

"Not me; not anymore."

"I paid good money."

"Check your records, I've returned your payments."

He frowns, "And your debts?"

I raise my shoulders, "I’ll live with them, pay them off over the next twenty years, like other people."

"You're not other people." He takes a step forward, then stops. "You’re different."

"Yeah, that’s why you treat me like I’m—"

"Special."