Page 25 of The Reluctant Billionaire

I arch what I’m aware is a perfectly groomed brow at him. ‘I bet you’d like that,’ I whisper seductively. ‘Wouldn’t you? Imagine shooting your load all over my amazing tits. Imagine your cum dripping off my nipples.’

Yeah.

I’m mean.

More than mean. Evil.

But he can’t just pull me into a room, and order me to wear a grotesque bra while describing in graphic detail how he wants to make me come by sucking on my boobs if Idon’twear it, and not expect me to fight back.

Hard.

He has no idea who he’s messing with here.

I give as good as I get.

Also, it’s just plain annoying. Because in the time it’s taken for us to have this pointless argument and unsuccessful, unwelcome gift-giving attempt, we could probably both have made each other come.

Those gorgeous black-lashed eyes drop to my boobs again, and he groans. He stuffs the bra and its nest of tissue back into my hands and waves a finger in my face.

‘Andthatis precisely why you need to wear the fucking bra,’ he barks, before wrenching open the door and storming out of the room.

I’m not sure if he realises he’s just given me the best pitch of all time on why Ishouldn’twear the fucking bra.

CHAPTER 11

Aide

She is not wearing the fucking bra.

She turns up at lunchtime—apparently she had some work calls this morning that she couldn’t get out of—and shimmies out of that trench coat to reveal denim cutoffs, a tight white t-shirt, and absolutely none of the ‘clean lines’ or ‘full coverage’ Audrey at Harrods assured me the overpriced bra would deliver.

Instead, I’m treated to the faint, tantalising outline of lace and the not remotely faint but even more tantalising outline of her nipples, which are standing to attention like they’re on duty at fucking Buckingham Palace. I shoot her what I intend as a withering look of disapproval, and she shoots me a sunny smile that’s nowhere near as innocent as it pretends.

She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

And it’s all my fault.

I shouldn’t have said or done any of that yesterday. Shouldn’t have bought her a bra. And definitely shouldn’t have given her a pornographic blow-by-blow of what I was in danger of doing to her if my years of carefully constructed willpower failed me.

She had a hell of a comeback for me.

One I thoroughly deserved.

And one that had me shooting my load in the showeragainas soon as I got home.

I’m the only one who has an issue with her. Gaz is smitten. Being the jovial bastard that he is, he seems to enjoy gawping at her physical perfection while bantering away with her as if their lives depend on it. Sylvie referred to her this morning asa very kind-hearted young woman, and Judy actually pulled me aside before Carlotta came in and told me to make more of an effort with her.

Unbelievable.

They’re all dropping like flies.

It was quiet without her around this morning; I’ll admit that much.

Still, things are progressing around here. We got the kitchen finished off last night. By the skin of our teeth, but still. The Venus guys ended up staying late. So late, I didn’t get to buy them a pint to say thank you.

I have to say, it looks great. There are vast stretches of shiny, easy-clean stainless steel between the splash backs, the work surfaces and the appliances themselves. The industrial ovens run floor to ceiling, and Sylvie is ecstatic. She and some of the usual volunteers got in at six-thirty this morning, I believe, so we could offer the kids a full breakfast. They couldn’t wait to get their hands on their shiny new toys.

Because the main hall’s still out of action, we’ve stuck to the takeaway breakfast service we’ve run this week, but at least we were able to offer the kids some hot food—sausage baps and banana porridge in cardboard pots which went down a treat.