To Want A Billionaire (The Billionaire's Baby Series Book 1)
Page 7
“So, what’s the deal? You and Alicia are friends now?”
She looked at me like I’d just hawked a loogie at her. “Absolutely not. But today its about you. And our grandbaby.” She nestled in close and dropped her volume so only I could hear. “And, I pulled her aside earlier and told her if she puts aside the fact that we can’t stand each other for a few hours, I could too. Or we could take it outside and handle it like real women.”
I doubled over with laughter, the tears I’d been holding back rushing down my cheeks. “‘Best Grandma Ever’, hands down.”
“Damn straight,” she winked, surprising me with the cuss word. Everyone was full of surprises today, it seemed.
Her eyes softened and she gave my hand a squeeze. “‘Best Mom Ever’ too, I hope.”
“Damn straight,” I echoed with a smile, squeezing back.
Chapter Six
I was surrounded on all sides by pink, blue, and yellow tissue paper, onesies, pacifiers, bibs, and the remnants of the Sullivan’s Megan ordered. I was overwhelmed by the number of my fellow employees and complete strangers who had sent gifts for the baby, including a diamond studded rattle from Alicia, and the restored bassinet that my mother had tucked yours truly into from my parents. I’d opened presents and let Marco and his team of massage therapists work their magic. The moment I was alone, insisting that I needed a nap and Jacob and I could handle the clean up, I’d eviscerated an entire roasted chicken.
I was scribbling in my gift tablet, gnawing on a bone when a familiar voice filled the den.
“Quite the haul.”
Turning as red as the sleek knot at his throat, I tossed the bone in with the carcass on the plate beside me and scooted my hips to the left, like I was hiding the evidence. My butt started singing and I blushed even harder, realizing I’d set off one of the baby’s new toys. The ‘ABC Song’ filled the room.
“You’re home!” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and slapped a smile on my lips. I was on a floor pillow in the center of the den, which had worked out spectacularly while we all attempted baby yoga and opened gifts. Now, I was starting to think it was a terrible mistake, because there was absolutely no way me getting on my feet in a graceful manner was possible.
Jesus, Lay! It’s not like Jacob hasn’t seen you with the infamous Leila Bedhead, complete with morning breath. Or heard your very feminine, and disgustingly fragrant ‘toot’. Or seen you red eyed, snotty nosed, and gross when you were sick.
It must have been the hormones that made me wish I’d dashed up the stairs and waited for him in some sexy neglige with lip gloss and mascara, so he’d get the full effect of my bedroom eyes when I whispered, “I need you.” Because at the moment, letting my eyes devour him, inch by beautiful inch, another kind of heat was rippling over me.
His slacks were far more than ‘slacks’. They were glorious, the fabric sliding over his powerful calves, raking up the thighs I wanted to stroke my fingertips along as I reached one of my favorite erotic destinations. I wanted to linger at his groin, watching him grow and harden beneath my gentle and demanding touch. I wanted to tear off his belt, the same belt that he’d worn when he caught me burning the candle at both ends, and tease him with it. Run the leather across my bare pussy like his own private burlesque dancer. Watch the fire in his gaze rage with want and curiosity as he wondered where I was headed next.
I bit my lips as my eyes flicked over the buttons I wanted to destroy, tearing off the crisp shirt and jacket that kept him respectable. He was sexy as sin in a suit, in any form of clothing, and straight up evil without because he made me want to do bad things. Things like biting his golden flesh as my fingers glided over muscles. Every part of him was mine, and mine alone.
My hands would meet at his neck, arms pulling him close as I perked on my toes and brought my lips painfully close to his. I wanted to feel him stiffen with lust. Every breath, every moment he wasn’t inside me was painful and maddening. I’d make him wait for my kiss, my lips cutting to his ear.
“Did you miss me?” I’d whisper, my body, my heart already knowing the answer, but needing to hear the words fall from his lips. Words I’d never get tired of hearing.
“Every-”
“-minute we’re apart.”
The last words came from his lips. In real time, not soft focus words from my daydream. I was sure I was still fantasizing because I was in yoga pants and a gray Whitmore and Creighton tank top that used to be oversized, but was more like a crop top these days. The smell of roasted chicken definitely overpowered any pheromones I was putting out. Because I was feeling nostalgic and magnanimous after my mother unveiled the bassinet, I’d even consented to another throwback, letting her put my hair in two french braids, identical to my fifth grade school picture. I was starting to regret teaching my mother the wonders of modern technology and iPhones because she’d pulled up the ancient, highly unflattering picture for everyone to reference.
Basically, I looked...interesting. Sweaty, curls popping out of braids, and very pregnant. And yet, he was gazing at me like he couldn’t believe that he got the girl.
And from his audible response, part of my fantasy had been said out loud. The sexiest part. My question should have made him snort or roll his eyes and say, ‘Of course I missed you’, or give me a wary reminder that it had only been a handful of hours since we’d seen each other.
No—those bright blue eyes of his were all about a different kind of ‘handful’.
A handful of breasts.
A handful of Leila.
I planted my palms on the floor, ready to do some sort of vault to my feet, to him, but his voice shot out like a whip, sending pangs of need to that naughty, insatiable part of me.
“Stay right there,” he commanded.
And just like that, I knew that my Dom was home, and any fantasy, any ideas that had me wet, waiting, and hoping were about to be put to shame.
Jacob, in bold, living color, was hotter than anything I could conjure up.
He strode to me with purpose, finding a path without stepping on or breaking anything, or letting his eyes leave me. I was transfixed, almost wondering if I should pinch myself, just to be on the safe side. This man wanted me: not the sexualized, fantasy version of me in my head. He wanted me.
He stopped directly in front of me, tissue paper whispering beneath his feet. The slacks that had sent me on a tizzy filled my view. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip when I realized that I was level with his crotch. His belt buckle smiled at me and I smiled back, waiting for him. Craving him.
“How can I please you, sir?” All the desire, all the want, everything, saturated every syllable. Screw bedroom eyes because my voice was pure sex—husky, low, and so erotic that delight fluttered through my body and it just couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop...until he said the word.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his fingers working over his belt like a man possessed with the very thing that possessed me.
Need. He needed me as badly as I needed him.
Opening my mouth was an easy task because when his cock thrust into view, my jaw dropped because it still took my breath away.
“Show me how much you missed me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I could have exploded then and there because there was a vulnerability in his voice that told me we had something in common. Somehow, he was in shock, too. All but pinching himself that I was his.
“Oh, Jacob,” I said softly, leaning forward slightly, stabilized by the pillow. His fingertips, danced in and out of my braids, marveling and tugging at them in a way that told me he found them sexy, not dorky like I did.
I traced the tip of his cock with my tongue. I couldn’t get enough of the taste of his skin, of his desire as I swirled my tongue like a cyclone. I gripped the base of his cock and slowly worked my mouth down his thick shaft. There was no way I could take his whole length, but from the way he gripped me, going rigid like controlling that was all he could do, the only thing
that was keeping him from shattering, I knew I was taking enough.
Enough to thoroughly show him just how much I missed him.
“Leila, that feels so-”
He stopped.
I stopped.
The whole world seemed to freeze for a moment, because I had a mouthful of my husband stuffed between my lips, nipples piercing right through my shirt. Jacob’s fly was open, his hands cradling the side of my head...and someone was at the door.
I was the first to get back to the every important task at hand. And mouth.
I suckled him, gripping his balls as I teased the underside of his cock. “I’m perfectly good with pretending we’re not home if you are.”
“The moans you’re about to unleash will certainly give us away,” he countered with a look that told me the best was yet to come.
He cast a vote in favor of my course of action, thrusting himself a little deeper in my mouth. That stubborn, naughty part of me reared its head as I started pumping him in time with my mouth. He was my Dom, but at the moment, I was the master of him.
And then the intercom buzzed again.
Not the polite chirp that normally filled the room, because visitors generally knew to just punch the button once. Whoever was downstairs would not be ignored. They laid on the button, over and over, until there was no denying that the mood was officially ruined.
Jacob didn’t even bother to zip up, storming to the panel with the video feed, eager to find out and get rid of whoever was impatiently waiting downstairs.
I almost reached for something to snack on, because this was gonna be good. I settled on taking a few gulps of the water beside me, waiting for the verbal smackdown.
It never came.
I peered in Jacob’s direction, confused because he was just standing there, still as a statue, burning a hole into the screen.
“Who is it, babe?”
His hands dropped to his fly and he zipped himself, tucking his shirt back in. Back to respectable, then it was back to stone.
Since he didn’t bother answering me, I gathered my strength and hauled myself to my feet. “I thought the plan was to ignore them, not me.”
My joke went unnoticed, and the closer I got to Jacob, the more dread filled my body, erasing everything else.
I wasn’t sure what was on that screen, but it was enough to render Jacob completely silent.
I glanced at the screen and saw a familiar, blonde bob and powder blue sunglasses.
“Oh, it’s just Alicia.” I hit the button to give her access, patting Jacob on the shoulder. “You haven’t seen her new hair, huh? It’s actually kinda cute.” I pulled my shirt down a few inches, in denial about the fact that it would only ride back up. “Don’t tell her I said that, though.”
I wasn’t sure if I was still coming down from the high of being with Jacob, or the busy day with the shower, but all sorts of obvious red flags flew right over my head, until the elevator doors slid open.
Questions like, why was she back when she’d just left a few hours ago? She wasn’t the type to just show up, out of the blue.
And why was she wearing sunglasses at night? She despised all things celebrity culture and the only people who whipped out sunnies when there was no sun in sight were people who wanted to be noticed.
When I saw Alicia, I understood why Jacob was rendered speechless.
Alicia still wore her dress from earlier, but it was a wrinkled and stained mess, like she was wearing it when she embarked on one hell of a bender. The blonde hairdo I’d complimented was in disarray, for once giving us something in common. But that wasn’t what made me take a few steps back like I didn’t even recognize the person in front of me.
She snatched her shades from her face and just let them fall to the floor. Her stormy eyes, usually narrowed and filled with disdain, were swollen and red. The look in her eye was one of desperation.
When she finally spoke, all things Alicia Whitmore had been stripped from her voice.
“I need to talk to you. I need to talk to you now.”
~
Thank you for taking the time to read To Want A Billionaire. Please consider leaving a review! xoxo, A.C.
The Billionaire’s Baby Series
To Want A Billionaire, #1: September 9
To Need A Billionaire, #2: September 23
To Crave A Billionaire, #3: October 7
To Trust A Billionaire, #4: October 21
To Love A Billionaire, #5: November 4
About the Author
Ava Claire is a sucker for Alpha males and happily ever afters. When not putting pen to paper or glued to her e-reader, Ava likes road tripping, karaoke, vintage fashion, and fantasizing about her favorite book boyfriends.
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Stay tuned to my blog for up to date information on my works in progress and release schedules!