Page 26 of The Reluctant Billionaire (Love in London #5)

Lotta

A idan Duffy is grinning at me.

Full-wattage, underwear-melting grinning.

Let me tell you, it’s spectacular.

We’re in the kitchen at the community centre. We’re alone, but the door is open and the volume of Sylvie and Judy’s conversation tells me they’re just on the other side of it.

That isn’t deterring Aide, who’s making a beeline for me as I await my perfectly executed Nespresso.

He comes to stand on the other side of the counter, which is probably a good thing, because if it wasn’t for this three-foot-wide barrier of stainless steel, I’d probably be wrapped around him already.

Having fucked me good and proper yesterday in his huge corner office like the power player he is, this morning he’s catering to my blue-collar fantasies in boots, cargo pants and one of those vests . It’s pristine, but I don’t give it long before that changes.

‘Morning,’ he says in a low voice.

‘Why, good morning,’ I singsong cheerily.

‘You still staying at mine tonight?’ he asks my chest.

‘My boobs are still planning to spend the night with you, yes, and I was going to come along too if that’s okay?’ In truth, I’ve thought of little else except being with Aide in his home, in his bed , since he suggested it yesterday.

He has the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘Nope. I’m not. You got your overnight stuff?’

‘Yeah. It’s in the hallway,’ I say, jerking my head.

He raises his dark, shapely eyebrows. ‘I didn’t notice a full-size Louis Vuitton trunk out there.’

‘Hilarious, aren’t you? You want to get laid or not?’

He glances at the doorway, then skulks around the island towards me.

Uh-oh.

‘Yes, smart-arse,’ he says, pushing my hair behind my shoulder so he can press the most delicious kiss to my neck. He drags his mouth up to my ear. He smells freshly showered and fucking amazing. ‘I want to get laid,’ he whispers. ‘By you .’

‘Mmm,’ I say, leaning into him. ‘Goody.’ He is so, so gorgeous. I raise a hand and trail it over his shoulder and down his arm, marvelling at how such soft skin can coexist with such hard muscle.

He straightens back up, his hand going to squeeze, to caress, the dip of my waist. He seems to love that part of my body.

I take advantage of the small distance between us to touch one of my favourite parts of his body—that chest hair.

I hook a couple of fingers into the scooped neckline of his vest and brush my knuckles over the downy coating.

‘Such a neanderthal,’ I coo. ‘Got any power tools for me today?’

‘I’ll have one tonight,’ he jokes. He pauses, then adds, ‘Can’t wait to have you in my bed.’

I shoot him a smile that telegraphs how similarly I feel. ‘How will we get back to yours?’

‘My driver, Andy, will pick us up.’

I snigger. ‘You’ve got so many personas I’m getting whiplash. I was indulging in some verbal foreplay with my bad boy builder, and then you throw bad boy billionaire into the mix. It could confuse a girl with a lesser intellect than mine.’

He smiles, then leans back in to kiss me on the cheek. His beard tickles my skin gently. ‘It’s all the same guy, sweetheart. Remember? It’s all real.’

It’s all real.

Jesus, Aide. What are you doing to me?

‘I remember,’ I tell him softly.

‘I’ve got to stick around for a bit after we finish,’ he says. ‘That little lad you fed—Connor. Told him if he managed to get him and his sister to come for a bite this evening, I’d kick a ball round with him for a bit. He’s footie mad. Hoping it’ll do the trick. You happy to hang around?’

I keep my hand on his chest and place it over his heart. The thud-thud of it is grounding. I could put my ear to his chest and listen to that sound all day long.

‘Sure—not a problem,’ I tell him with my words.

You are a good man, Aidan Duffy, I tell him with my heart.

He is a good man.

I assist Sylvie and Judy and another volunteer called Carl in a token way with dinner duty.

The main part of the hall is looking great, and we’ll be finished tomorrow—two days early.

Meanwhile, the kids are still being fed outside.

These guys claim to have the dinner service handled, but I can’t exactly sit around and do nothing while they work, so I pretend to pack the bags and hand them out to the kids while really ogling my brand-new man.

The football has got slightly out of hand, in that so many other kids wanted to get involved when they saw Aide coaching Connor that it’s turned into a big kick about in the too-small space.

Aide ended up digging out a net of balls from one of the cupboards in the hall, and now at least a dozen kids, boys and girls whose ages I’d put somewhere in the seven-to-twelve range, are engaged in keepy-uppies and a bit of dribbling.

But my eyes aren’t on them.

Nope.

They’re on the man who’s coaching them. Who’s exhibiting best practice, and breaking down the stunt, and, if I’m being honest, who’s worked up such a heat in this west-facing inferno of dark tarmac that he’s lost the vest and trousers and is wearing only his socks, trainers, and a pair of Spurs shorts, all of which he must have brought along for the occasion.

And holy hell does he look fine.

I swooned alongside the rest of the world when Maverick came out and treated us all to that delicious dogfight football scene.

But honestly, Rooster and Hangman and their waxed-chested cronies and their aviators and Californian sunlight can take a running jump, because I will take Aide Duffy with his chest hair and fucking incredible body and endless goodheartedness, on a shitty-ripped up piece of tarmac in West London.

Any. Day. Of. The. Week.

‘Bad luck, mate!’ he shouts to one little boy who’s inadvertently kicked his ball too hard, sending it away from himself. ‘Try catching the ball between every keepy-uppy for the moment, yeah? Means you won’t be running around as much.’

It’s lucky I’m wearing sunglasses, because I am eye-fucking that man so hard it’s indecent. Especially when there are so many kids around.

‘Here you go, honey,’ I say to a gangly girl with braces. I practically stuff the paper bag into her arms as I crane my neck to watch Aide doing keepy-uppies. The kids are standing around him, keeping a noisy count, but luckily I’m well positioned to watch him through the gap.

‘Sixty-eight!’ they chant. ‘Sixty-nine! Seventy! ’

His movements are measured and seemingly effortless. He keeps the ball in the air with the lightest of flicks from his feet, but I notice, to my intense gratification, that with each kick, the corresponding pec flexes, and my pussy clenches in sync.

He’s sweating hard, and I’m not surprised. The heat’s been building all day, and it’s now sweltering. He rakes his damp hair off his forehead, and I swoon. Sweat glistens on his abs. His pecs. His biceps.

And I swoon. Again.

Every single thing this man does seems fated to make me swoon, basically.

Which is why I cannot wait till we get back to his place to show him how much he turns me on.

As soon as the last child has reluctantly left his impromptu football practice, I tell him I need him inside. Urgently. I lead the way into the office, which is stuffy but cooler than it is outside.

‘Fuck,’ he says, wiping his forearm across his forehead, ‘I’m sweating like a pig.’ He tilts his head back to take a swig from his water bottle, and I pause from my task of ramming the back of a chair under the unlockable handle of the office door to watch his Adam’s apple work as he drinks.

The pure masculinity of it has me pressing my thighs together.

‘Mmm-hmm,’ I say, closing the distance between us. I touch my fingertips to the damp valley between his pecs and let them trail down his slick abs.

God.

He’s good enough to eat.

He pulls his water bottle away and looks down at me with interest. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘I’m showing my appreciation for how insanely sexy you look like this,’ I say. I turn my hand so my knuckles follow the damp path of his happy trail down past his waistband to graze lightly over his cock.

He inhales through his teeth. ‘I’m sweaty and disgusting,’ he says, but his eyes are already flicking to my boobs. He arches into my touch, probably unconsciously, and I stand there and palm him shamelessly, loving how he grows harder and heavier right there in my hand.

‘You’re sweaty and delicious ,’ I correct him. I stand back so I don’t take him out with a rogue elbow as I tug off my painting t-shirt and my hot-pink Barbie logo-ed vest top. I’m in a matching pink bra today. It’s ridiculously cute and shows off a lot of nipple.

He groans out an anguished fuck me, Lotts.

I sink to my knees in front of him.

‘You don’t have to do this, sweetheart,’ he pleads. ‘Seriously, I can wait till I’ve showered.’

‘Well that makes one of us,’ I say tartly, and I pull down his shorts. It seems he lost his briefs, too, when he changed, because his cock springs out, thick and far readier than he’s letting on.

I look up at him and flick my tongue lightly over his crown as I grip him hard, and he rewards me with a low rumble of approval. He’s damp everywhere, slick and hot beneath my fingers.

I wave my free hand at him. ‘Water.’

He hands me the metal water bottle and I take a slug.

As I hoped, the water’s ice-cold. I keep it in my mouth and wrap my lips around his cock again, basking in his shocked, delighted jolt, his pained sigh, as I bathe his heat in cool liquid, my tongue moving more easily now as it sluices him down.

Some drops escape my mouth, trickling over my chin and hand.

I blindly stand the bottle on the floor and resume my onslaught, my free hand going to cup, to knead, his already-heavy sac.

I find my rhythm.

Pump him with my fist and mouth.

Swirl my tongue around his silky crown.

Caress his balls.

Swallow the water when it loses its coolness.

Take a swig from the bottle, rising up on my knees slightly as I drink so I can glide Aide’s tip between my lace-cupped breasts.

Repeat.

And, above all, revel in the glory that is this man coming undone around me as he shifts, and moans, and claws at my hair, my shoulders. As he begins to move his hips to meet my wet, willing mouth.

After one swallow, I look up. ‘Fuck my mouth,’ I tell him, and I swig more water.

When my liquid-filled mouth takes his length in again, he takes heed.

He puts one hand on my jaw, another around the back of my neck, holding me steady as he works those hips.

He starts off hesitantly, picking up strength as I moan and suck harder so he’s pistoning his hips against me, forcing me to take everything.

I let my eyes flutter closed and focus on my rhythm, on giving him the maximum amount of sensation I can, and on not gagging, because this guy is big , and he’s going for it.

‘So fucking good,’ he grits out, his hands gripping my hair even more tightly.

There’s nothing like this. Nothing like being on my knees for him, worshipping his cock with my mouth while he desecrates said mouth with said cock. Nothing like feeling and hearing his entire body struggle to handle how I’m making him feel. Feeling and hearing him get closer and closer.

It’s fucking amazing.

I’m already well-versed in how well-endowed Aide is, but feeling every hot inch of him down my throat is a whole other experience. He’s overwhelming me, and I’m overwhelming him, and I let him know with my moans and my sucks how eager I am to bring this home.

‘I’m close,’ he tells me, and I nod.

‘Lotts—’ He releases my head and tries to pull out of me, but I grip him harder, the hand on his balls moving further back to hold him against me by the arse.

He’s so close. The balls I just cradled are so tight. And then he’s coming with a low roar, his head hitting the wall with a noisy thud as he jerks his orgasm into my mouth.

When his shudders have subsided, I swallow it all and suck him clean before I stand.

He’s staring at me like he’s shell-shocked.

Then he grabs my jaw with both hands and hauls me towards him, kissing me hungrily, his tongue rampaging through the exact space his cock just occupied.

And as he slides a hand down my back, pressing me towards his sweat-slicked body, I marvel at having had the unique privilege of undoing Aidan Duffy with my mouth.