The Billionaire’s Favorite Mistake

by Jessica Clare

  “No?” Her tone of voice was difficult to interpret. “Are you giving up, then?”

  “Not at all.” His hand went to his cock and he stroked it absently, his mind picturing her curled up in her bed again, toying with her long hair. “I’ve got you right now, don’t I?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, tell me what you’re wearing.”

  There was a little pause on the other end. “Phone sex?” She sounded scandalized.

  She . . . also wasn’t hanging up, was she? That meant she was intrigued. “Yeah. Maybe I need brushing up on it, too.”

  “If it’s anything like the rest of your technique? Probably.”

  Oh, so tart. He loved it. He loved the mock-outrage in her voice and the fact that she wasn’t abandoning him at the thought. “So . . . tell me what you’re wearing.”

  “Clothing.” She laughed. “You’ve got to do better than that.”

  Did he? “All right, then. I’ll get more specific. What kind of panties are you wearing?”

  Greer hesitated for a moment. “Nothing exciting, I’m sorry to say. Beige granny panties.”

  “Fuck, that’s hot.”

  “It is?” A giggle escaped her, and that small laugh made his cock jerk in response. Just listening to her laugh was pure masturbation material. He loved it. Hell, he loved everything about her.

  And it was time she realized how much. “You wearing beige panties is sexy to me because it tells me that you don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks. I love that about you.”

  Instead of sounding pleased at the compliment, she gave an unhappy little sigh. “Yeah, the few times I tried to change to get someone else’s attention, it’s never worked out in my favor.”

  “You mean me, don’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I think it worked out just fine. Look at all the attention you’re getting from me.” His hand moved up his shaft, and he squeezed just under the crown of his cock. He pictured her hand on his skin, her fingers exploring him. A tremor of pleasure shot through his body and he had to bite back a groan.

  Her breath caught. “Are you touching yourself right now, Asher?”

  “I am. That bother you?”

  “Why?” Her voice was breathless.

  “Because you’re sexy as hell and I get hard every time I think about you. Why wouldn’t I touch myself when I talk to you? When I hear that sexy little laugh you do?”

  She got quiet.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.” Don’t hang up. Don’t hang up.

  A long pause, then her voice returned, but quieter than before. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking if you’ll tell me exactly what you’re doing.”

  Ah, fuck. She wanted to visualize it, did she? He’d give her everything she wanted and then some. “What do you want to know, baby?”

  Greer hesitated, then said, “Where’s your hand at, Ash?”

  “It’s on my cock.” Asher gave it a quick stroke, working the length expertly. “I kept picturing you curled up in bed and my dick got hard, so I decided to stroke it while I talked to you.” He heard her suck in a little breath. “Just being around you gets me hard,” he told her, continuing on. “Thinking about you does it for me. Hearing your voice? Even more. I had to wait to answer your text because I was in the elevator and I knew if I started thinking about you, I’d get hard.”

  He could have sworn he’d heard her lips part. “Oh.”

  “So I came into my apartment and headed straight for the bed so I could think about you while touching my cock. Imagining you touching it.” Fuck, he almost came just saying the words aloud. Precum dotted the head of his cock and he pictured her leaning in and tasting it, tasting him.

  She was awful quiet.

  “Am I shocking you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she breathed, and her voice was so sultry. Damn.

  “But . . . you’re not hanging up.”

  “I’m not,” she agreed faintly. And then her breath caught a little.

  Ah, fuck. “You touching yourself for me, Greer?”

  He heard her inhale. “I . . . maybe.”

  Asher groaned. “You need to describe it to me. Where’s your hand? On your breast or in your panties?” His own was working his cock, a lot faster now that he knew she was into this, too.

  “Panties.”

  Fuck. Perfection. “Are you wet? Is your pussy all slick at the thought of me touching myself when I think of you?”

  She whimpered, and the sound nearly made him come undone.

  Was she too shy to talk dirty back to him? All right, he’d take the lead. “I’m picturing you in one of those little sweaters that you like, and some pants. No, wait, a skirt. And you’ve got it pushed up around your waist with your legs spread so you can play with your pussy while I talk to you. Am I right?”

  She made a soft sound that might have been agreement.

  Close enough. He’d keep going. “I’m picturing you all slick with honey. So slick that when your fingers touch your skin, they just glide over it like a whisper.” His own cock was as hard as granite, his balls tight against his shaft, desperate to spill in his hands. He wanted to coax more of a response out of her before he lost his load, though. “If I was touching you right now, I bet I’d find you soaked. Your pussy and your thighs would just be creamy with your honey, wouldn’t they?”

  Her breathing escalated. She was quiet, but he could tell she was listening, and judging by the small, soft sounds she was making? She was into it.

  “I can’t stop touching myself picturing you, Greer,” he told her, and his hand worked his cock harder. When he got to the head, he’d squeeze tight, trying to pull himself down off the ledge long enough for her to get what she needed out of this. “I’m picturing coming up behind you and lifting that little skirt of yours and finding your panties all soaked at the thought of me touching you. Hell, I wish you were here right now and it was your hand on my cock instead of mine. I’d love to watch you stroke it for me.”

  “Y-you would?” Ah, Christ. There was so much tension in her soft little statement. Her breathing was faster than ever, her voice husky and almost as raw as his.

  “Hell, yes,” he growled. “I’d lie back and just let you touch me however you wanted. You could use me how you liked . . . and if you put those sweet, honey-smeared thighs in my face, I wouldn’t complain. I’d just hold them tight and start licking.”

  Her breath caught in a little half gasp. So she liked the thought of him licking her, did she? God, when he saw her again, he was going to hold her down and tongue her pussy for hours on end. Endless, endless hours. “Should I start with your clit, Greer, baby? Or would you want my tongue deep inside you, thrusting like I’m going to do with my cock?”

  She made a little mewing noise on the other end of the phone.

  “You touching yourself for me, baby? Spreading that wetness all around?”

  Her whimper sounded like a yes.

  “Play with your clit for me, since I can’t be there to do it for you. Rub your finger all around the hood and tease it good. Get your pussy all wet and juicy for me—”

  Greer whimpered again, and it turned into a little high-pitched whine. Her breathing stopped.

  It was silent on her end of the phone. Then, her breathing started again, deep and panting. Ah, fuck. “Did you just come for me, baby?”

  “Oh my god,” Greer breathed on the other end of the phone. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

  She sounded so shy and awed at the same time. He loved it. He pictured her holding the phone to her ear, her legs sprawled in her bed with her hand in her panties. That was all it took for him to finish, and finish fast. With that mental image, he stroked his hand hard up and down his cock, working the head, and came with a hiss of breath. Hot come splattered on his clothing and his
hand, and he kept pumping his cock, seemingly coming forever. When he finally felt the last quaking moments of the orgasm finish rolling through him, Asher groaned.

  “Did you just . . .” Greer let the words delicately trail off.

  “Hell yeah. All over the damn place.”

  She giggled. “I’m picturing the horrific tragedy of cleaning your maid is going to have in the morning.”

  He chuckled, amused that she was making such a filthy joke with him. “Okay, not that bad. Just . . . it was a strong one. Probably the best orgasm I’ve had.”

  “Mmmhmm.” The skepticism had returned to her voice. “We back to flattery, Ash?”

  “Nah. Just telling the truth. And here’s another truth for you, Greer, baby: When I see you again? I meant every word of it. You’d better be prepared to have me go down on you for hours.”

  It was gratifying as heck to hear her suck in a breath all over again.

  Chapter 8

  It was going to be another damn day before Asher could return to Vegas, and it was killing him to miss all this time with Greer. It was only one more day, but he wanted to touch her. He craved the feel of her skin and the sight of her smiles. He’d managed to wrangle phone sex out of her again last night, but she refused to Skype. Too shy, he guessed, and it made him feel protective of her . . . and made him vow to be that much dirtier in his talk. The moment he wrapped up his last meeting, he was taking a flight back to Vegas and getting out of the city and away from his business that should have been running itself.

  Asher glared at his CEO as the man bluffed his way through another high-level meeting, and wondered if he’d been too quick to pass off control. But, damn it, he didn’t want to spend sixteen hours a day for the next ten years grooming the company for someone else to take over. He wanted to live his life. He wanted to spend time with Greer.

  He wanted to see his baby born.

  While the meeting (the third one of the day) droned on, he picked up his phone and started to Google Dutch baby names, and then Indian ones. Staring at a long list of choices didn’t help much, though, considering he had no idea if the baby would be a boy or a girl. It didn’t matter to him, because he’d love either one, but he liked the thought of a baby girl with Greer’s dark hair and eyes. At what point in the pregnancy would she find out the sex, he wondered, and Googled that, too.

  As early as twelve weeks. Huh. He pulled up a calendar and counted back. It had been over twelve weeks. He immediately texted Greer.

  Asher: Got a moment?

  There was no response right away, which meant she was probably busy with something, and he impatiently put his phone aside and tried to focus on the meeting. It was probably a good thing she wasn’t answering, since he wasn’t supposed to care about the baby. That was getting harder and harder to pretend, though. He wanted to ask about it every time he talked to her, wanted to know if she was feeling well or if the baby had started moving and if she could feel it. He wanted to experience it with her and hated that he was being held back.

  As the meeting droned on, Asher rubbed his jaw, staring down at his silent phone.

  “Mr. Sutton?”

  He glanced up and looked over at Ishikawa, his recently hired CEO. “Yeah?”

  “Did you want to temporarily adjourn the meeting to go over the latest reports?”

  Asher nodded and got to his feet. Any excuse to get him out of there. “I need to take care of a few things actually, so I’m going to hand this off to you.”

  Ishikawa looked pleased, and the others on the board a little concerned. Fuck it. The man had to take control at some point. Asher grabbed his phone and laptop and left the conference room. He returned to his office where he could have a little privacy and was disgruntled to see that there were still no messages from Greer. Normally she responded faster.

  He decided to contact Stijn’s assistant. Augusta sounded annoyed to hear from him, but he didn’t care. “Is Greer at the castle today?”

  “Last I checked, she was upstairs napping. Do I need to install a video camera to monitor her actions?”

  Sarcasm. Fun. “I’m just checking on her.”

  Augusta made a noise of assent. Or maybe irritation. “She’s probably just tired. Been napping every day lately.”

  “She has?” Worry threaded through him. Maybe he needed to push Stijn and insist that he get Greer an assistant. She was pregnant, after all, and this wedding—the wedding he’d concocted—was a lot of work.

  “Yeah, and today was a doozy.” Augusta snapped her gum. “Can I help you with something in particular, Mr. Sutton?”

  “Doozy how? What happened?”

  Augusta cleared her throat. “Something about the girls not liking the designs on the tablecloths. And then there were the centerpieces. And the people providing the tables and chair rentals tried to back out. She was up here in my office for a few hours faxing contracts and arguing with people.”

  That sounded . . . rotten. “What can I do to help?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  Yeah. Good point. “If you see her, tell her I need to talk to her.”

  “I’ll take down the memo, Mr. Sutton.”

  “Same message for Mr. Janssen,” Asher told her. He needed to talk to Stijn. It would do Asher no good to try and squeeze time in with Greer if she was working herself to exhaustion for her father’s ridiculous wedding. “It’s imperative that I talk with him. Today.”

  Because his Greer was not going to wear herself out for this stupid shit. Even if he had to tell Stijn to cancel the wedding. Asher was fairly certain—or at least hopeful—that Greer had gotten over her seething hatred of him and had moved on to simply mistrust. He could work with mistrust. There was no longer a need for the wedding to go on. He hung up his phone and let his assistant know he was unavailable until further notice. Ishikawa could handle all meetings from this point onward.

  He opened his desk drawer to find a pen, and to his surprise, a framed portrait of Donna stared back at him. Fuck. He must have shoved this in his desk a while back, unwilling to toss it away. He pulled the picture out and studied it for a moment. Donna was smiling, her red hair blowing in the breeze, her yellow bikini bright against the Mediterranean background. They’d taken this on vacation after he’d graduated from college. Even in this picture, though, she looked bored. Complacent. He remembered her wanting to go out every night rather than spend time in the room with him.

  Funny how he’d been okay with that just a few short years ago.

  Without another thought for the woman he’d once thought he’d loved, he dumped the photo in the trash.

  Hours passed, and by the time Asher’s phone rang again, he was on edge. More so when he saw that it was Stijn and not Greer. “About time,” he snapped at the Dutch businessman when he answered.

  “Can I help you with something, Mr. Sutton?” Stijn sounded equally annoyed. “Augusta tells me you had an urgent message for me.”

  “Yeah. This bullshit wedding we’re putting on? Call it off. Tell Greer you changed your mind or something. She’s running herself ragged trying to please those three girlfriends of yours and I don’t like it. Cancel things and I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.”

  “You want me to cancel the wedding?” Stijn’s accented voice was flat. “After demanding that I have one?”

  “That’s right. Like I said, I’ll hold up my end of the bargain and give your business the shot of cash you need.”

  “I’m not canceling.”

  Asher’s eyes narrowed and he paced in his office, glaring at the Manhattan skyline visible through the windows behind his desk. “What do you mean, you’re not canceling?”

  “I mean that our sales have been exceeding expectations ever since the wedding was announced. We have received several endorsement deals and I am in talks with another company to monetize the story. This has been the
perfect media event that I needed for Dutchman magazine.”

  Was he serious? “You don’t even want to get married. Calling it off will get you just as much attention as an actual wedding.”

  “Did you need anything in particular, Mr. Sutton? I need to go to dinner with my fiancées.” Stijn sounded bored.

  Asher gritted his teeth. “I’m telling you. Call this off. I changed my mind. I’m not giving you any funding if you don’t pull the plug on this shit.”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me, Mr. Sutton? Because if you neglect to hold up your end of the bargain, I shall have no choice but to tell my daughter that you manipulated the entire scenario simply so she would be forced to spend time with you.”

  Mutual blackmail? Anger shot through Asher. He was fucking cornered. The moment Greer found out Asher was pulling the strings, she’d go right back to ignoring him, all so she could have a scrap of attention from her father. “Fuck you, Stijn. Don’t you say a thing to her.”

  “I’m glad you’ve come around to my point of view, Mr. Sutton. I look forward to seeing you at the rehearsal dinner.”

  Asher hung up and then flung his phone across the room. That cocksucker. He wanted to play hardball? Asher could buy his pissant little company and slash and burn it. He could make Stijn choke on his sales if he liquidated his stock and sold his shares to a competitor. He could do a dozen things to make the man’s life miserable, because Asher had enough money to do so . . .

  And then Greer would hate him. Again.

  Fuck.

  He stormed across the room and picked up his phone.

  Like it or not, he’d have to ride this bullshit out. Even if he did, though, he was going to make sure that Greer was taken care of. She was his top priority.

  She was his only priority.

  ***

  Greer left her doctor’s office and got into a cab, stifling a yawn. She gave the driver the address and settled into the backseat, lost in thought.

  Here she was, back in New York City for the day. She’d flown in at dawn to keep her appointment with her obstetrician, and scheduled lunch with Taylor and Gretchen while she was here. She’d go over some quick wedding updates with Gretchen, scarf some food, and then fly back to Vegas so she’d return in time for a planning meeting with the band scheduled to play at the wedding. After that, she needed to talk with the pastor to smooth some ruffled feathers, interview photographers, and a dozen other small things eating away at her time.