Page 38 of The Reluctant Billionaire (Love in London #5)

Aide

I need her . Now. I’ve needed her all night, in fact, and I cannot wait another fucking minute.

Gabe’s away, thank fuck, so the moment she closes the door of her flat behind us, I’m on her. Claiming her sweet little mouth. Clawing at her clothes. Trying to work out how the fuck to get this dress off.

Tonight was a good night—a rare work occasion where I really enjoyed myself and got swept up in the atmosphere in the room.

I’d usually come home and succumb to an exhausted, introverted crash, but I hold Lotta accountable for the desire coursing through my body right now as much as I held her accountable for the grand time I had earlier.

Having her by my side all evening, watching her dazzle everyone in her path and allowing myself to drink up all that energy she shed, transformed my night from samey to special.

She’s been getting me worked up in the car the whole way home, too.

I’m not enough of a dick to have tried anything with the driver sitting right in front of us, but simply having my hand on the warm, smooth thigh that slit in her sexy-as-fuck dress exposed for me as she told me over and over how proud she was, how amazing I was, had happiness and hunger burning through my veins.

She also had her hand too high up my thigh in that car. Far too high.

Good job it was a fifteen-minute journey.

It seems I’m not the only one worked up. She shoves my jacket down my arms and tugs my bowtie loose and begins unbuckling my belt, her movements unusually clumsy.

‘Just take my dick out,’ I grunt, trying to get her hand away so I can undo my zip, but she slaps it away.

‘No. Want us naked,’ she practically sobs, wrenching my trousers down my legs.

That makes two of us.

‘Take your dress off then, sweetheart,’ I plead. ‘I can’t fucking get it off.’

I undo my screw-in dress shirt buttons at the speed of light and lose my shoes, socks and trousers as Lotta locates some hidden zip over her arse.

Then she’s undone the neck of her dress and the entire thing falls to the floor, a heavy emerald curtain that leaves her stunning body on display in just a green lace thong.

Jesus fucking Christ. Sorry, St Aidan, for the blasphemy.

She’s in my arms in a second and on the rug a second after that.

I crouch over her and peel the thong down her shapely legs, leaving her stark naked aside from those green fuck-me heels and her jewellery, and oh my God.

I have never, ever seen anything more beautiful, or carnal, or inviting in my life.

‘Aide.’ Unbelievably, she’s looking at me with what seems like an equally spellbound, ravenous expression. She reaches out for me with both arms and I crawl over her like a fucking predator.

And I am.

Because I am going to fucking devour her.

I sink down, bracing on my elbows so I can dip my head and take as much of one glorious tit as possible in my mouth.

There’s no finesse. I don’t have time for it.

I’m shaking with need. I lave at her skin, I suck on her nipple, I grind against her with my lips and tongue and beard and she’s fucking crying out and writhing under me, pushing her tit into my mouth as she winds her legs around me and attempts to pull me against that needy, glorious pussy.

A stiletto heel digs into my arse, and the sharp pain has the flames of my desire licking higher.

Jesus fuck .

I release her nipple and find her lips as I crash my mouth down upon hers, invading it with my tongue, ravaging it and swallowing up her incredible, throaty whimpers.

Sliding one hand under that fine arse of hers, I hold her in place as I position myself at her entrance.

I’m hard as fuck and I’m being too hurried, but she’s already slick and ready, thank God, and I push in. Hard.

Oh my God. Oh my sweet mother of Christ.

She is so fucking tight. As her intimate muscles clench around me, and she gasps into my mouth, I experience a jolt of pleasure so intense it almost has me blacking out.

‘Fuck,’ I mumble. ‘You okay?’

‘Fuck me, honey.’

‘I won’t last,’ I say hoarsely, because the climax of heat, of pressure at the base of my spine and in my balls is almost upon me, I can tell.

‘I need it hard,’ she pants. ‘I’m close. Just—oh my God.’

God is what she says as I take her invitation at face value, pulling almost all the way out of her and ramming back home as hard, as roughly as I possibly can.

I’m a fucking animal. I have this impossibly beautiful, delicate creature writhing below me, impaled on my cock, and I won’t rest until I’ve railed her so hard she won’t walk for days.

Fucking hell. I’m barely conscious, barely functioning.

My primal brain takes over and I do all I’m capable of, which is kissing this beautiful woman while I rut into her, hard as I can.

Her hands are around my arse too, working in tandem with her heels to keep me driving into her. Her moans are wilder, deeper than most of her orgasms. Her touch spurs me on. Her cries spur me on. The unfuckingbelievable sensation of her interior walls sucking me in spurs me on.

I’m close.

Jesus, I’m so close.

Our skin slicks damply together as we move in tandem. My rhythm is punishing, but I couldn’t slow down if I wanted to. I’m in freefall. I’ve ceded all control to the most ancient parts of my makeup.

‘I’m—I’m—oh my God!’ she cries, and then she’s convulsing around me, her walls squeezing my dick all the way to heaven as her long nails dig into my arse cheeks. It’s too much, too much sensation, and emotion, and intensity.

Too much everything.

I freeze for a second as the white-hot blaze of my orgasm races through my balls and down my dick and then I’m bucking and rutting like a fucking madman, spilling myself into Lotta’s willing, miraculous body until I’m emptied. Wrung out.

I collapse on top of her, speechless and dazed, kissing her neck. Smoothing her ponytail. We’re both slick with sweat. She runs her hands up my back and hugs me as hard as she can.

I never want to leave this place.

LOTTA

The glow in my heart is real this morning.

The spring in my step belies the tenderness between my legs.

Because, clearly not content with having movie-star looks, a heart of gold and a brain that’s frankly terrifying, my boyfriend has to be the best kind of animal between the sheets.

And on the rug.

We made it to the bed at after that first attempt and fucked twice more.

I swear something shifted last night for both of us.

Maybe it was being on our first official public engagement together.

For me, seeing him up there on that stage, making everyone in that vast museum fall in love with him and his heart and his vision, was the best kind of turn-on.

Knowing a guy with Aide’s undeniable magnetic pull wants to come home to me, wants as much of me as he can get, wants me so badly he fucks me right there on the floor, is on a different level entirely. It makes my heart swell so much in my ribcage that I might burst.

Every day, it seems I uncover more of this man’s essence. He’s layered like no one else I’ve met. Nuanced. And a little damaged. But the parts of his soul that I know still hurt are the same parts that make him good and real, that give him depth and spur him on.

He still carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Everyone can see how much good he does, but it’s never enough for him.

It’ll never be enough.

And if I’m someone who can help him forget those burdens, if he can find peace and relief and oblivion and ecstasy in my arms, then I am the luckiest, most privileged girl in the world.

Because whether he’s shooting his load inside me, or smiling down at me, or simply letting that dangerous mouth of his roam over my body, he’s choosing to see me as a safe place to lay down his worries and allow himself to indulge.

To be.

And there’s nothing on earth like knowing I can give him that.

I would give this man everything if I could.

Everything.

That gets clearer every day. I’m falling so hard for him.

My feelings are a never-ending vortex, every layer he uncovers for me sending me deeper into this abyss of white-hot lust and adoration.

I mean, the physical side is actually insane.

Yeah, I’m a physical creature. I enjoy touch. I have a healthy sex drive.

But I’ve never been like this—so utterly addicted to another human being that I would crawl under his skin if I could, that I can barely function when he’s not inside me. I’ve never felt so clearly like heaven and earth are colliding as I do when I’m with Aide. In his orbit.

I’d say I’m in trouble, but it’s the best I’ve ever, ever felt.

The happiest I’ve ever been. And, while we haven’t talked about our feelings outright, I’m growing quietly confident that he’s not immune, either.

He doesn’t strike me as an emotionally slutty guy or someone who’d lead me on.

On the contrary, he’s straight as a die.

And he’s been doing an admirable job of not letting my shallow, extravagant lifestyle freak him out too much.

In fact, I bit the bullet and asked what I’ve been wanting to ask him for days now. The thing I was afraid would have him running for the hills, because it really, really could.

I asked him to be my date to Elle Hart and Josh Lander’s fabulous, star-studded wedding at Noah’s parents’ chateau in a couple of weeks.

Basically, I was asking him to do everything he hated.

Put on a tux (again), hang out with wealthy, entitled people in their wealthy, entitled bubble, make small talk, deal with unwanted attention, and not freak out over the—in his eyes—excess he’ll bear witness to for the entire weekend, even if I know Elle and Josh will put on a classy and gorgeous and dreamy few days for us all.

I was also, it turns out, asking him to miss the kids’ party the community centre is throwing to celebrate the start of the summer holidays, which I feel awful about.

The irony of asking my gorgeous and deserving, if reluctant, billionaire, to forgo an event that close to his heart to party with the rich and famous isn’t lost on me.

But you know what?

He said yes.