Billionaires in Paris: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Dane, Cynthia

  I gasp, almost mishearing him. Every part of me is trembling. He’s so swollen that it’s a miracle he can move inside of me at all. “Yes,” I whimper. “I love you!”

  His mouth slams against mine. Ian is everywhere at once. Fucking me, kissing me, squeezing my body as if it’s his most precious thing. In a split instant I experience the most blessed epiphany I can have as a sub. It comes right before I climax, when Ian is thrusting oh so hard into me, his every inch filling me.

  I’m yours. Nothing else matters, because I belong to you. The world could end right now, and I wouldn’t care… because we have this moment, and I’m so damn happy.

  My orgasm has arrived. I’m falling off the bed, off a cliff, off the edge of the earth and into an abyss that means everything and nothing at the same time. My heart withers and blooms again. My soul is rejuvenated. My stupid brain alights in pure ecstasy. It’s finally happened. We’re one. Even so, my body was meant to do one thing to him.

  “Fuck!” Ian finally succumbs to everything he’s been holding back. “Katie!”

  He cradles me with one arm and unleashes the voice of his orgasm right into the crook of my neck. His relief spills into me, not once, not twice, but three times, each wave thicker than the last. What was once so foreign to me is now one of my most cherished moments during sex with my Dom and boyfriend. I know he agrees, because even after he lets me drop back to the bed, he’s slowly thrusting in and out of me as he softens.

  I’m still treading the abyss as he unties me and pulls off my blindfold. I’m so thankful for this subspace bullshit. I know it won’t last, but right now I feel so owned that having him wrap his arms around me and kiss me is a wonderful cherry on my sundae.

  “I love you,” Ian says again and again. “I want to make you so happy.”

  He says more romantic things as he explores the pinnacle of our union. Fingers dipping into me, forcing me to expel his seed on his hand and all over my thighs. It’s a sweet rush that forces me to acknowledge that I’m claimed by this man.

  I’m sucking the fingers that taste like us when he asks, “Do I make you happy? Does this make you happy?”

  My tongue pushes between his fingers, tasting both my essence and his. How could his not make me happy? I’m greedily licking up our wetness, for fuck’s sake! If he doesn’t watch it, I’m coming for his cock next!

  “I’m happy,” I mutter. His arm holds me close to his chest, my nose nuzzling his collarbone. “I’ll be even happier if you let me spoil you now, sir.”

  “Is that so?” He almost sounds intrigued.

  My brain and body agree that I should spend the rest of the night kissing every inch of his body, tasting myself, him, and the love we created together. Rub his tired muscles. Let him see my curves again. Purr against his skin and into his mouth. Then I’ll coax him erect again, this time finishing the job in my mouth as he lets out a sound I’ve never heard him make before.

  I only want to serve him. That is my happiness for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 9

  KATHRYN

  It’s the perfect kind of morning. I’m falling in and out of sleep as the sun shines through our hotel room windows. The Eiffel Tower twinkles in the same sunlight, greeting me every time I open my eyes. Before I turn toward my boyfriend, anyway, who is fast asleep on the other side of the bed and lightly snoring. Enough to be cute, but not enough to drive me to insanity.

  My body is relaxed and my mind calm. This is usually how I feel the day after an intense scene. There are still worries swimming in my brain, but what’s the point of thinking about them when I still have this lovely moment? I don’t really remember what happened after a certain point last night, but somehow I ended up in the shower and brushing my teeth. It’s all a great blur of being in Ian’s arms and experiencing him dressing me in one of his soft cotton T-shirts. He’s wearing one too. There’s no stopping me from curling up next to him and pretending that this moment is going to last forever.

  The most obnoxious ringtone in the universe pounds in my head. My eyes flutter open, hand on forehead and Ian stirring beneath me. He grumbles at me to deal with my phone.

  I know why I’m avoiding it. Doesn’t have to do with the fact it’s seven in the morning and I’m on vacation. Or that I’m still reveling in my sexual high from last night. No, it has to do with knowing whose ringtone that is. There are a few people in my life who have their own ringtones so I know exactly who is calling long before I pick up my phone. Ian, of course. Then my father. Then my assistant Anita. Ian’s mother Caroline is on the short list as well.

  Then there’s Eva, my best friend, and also biggest pain in my ass when Ian is being an angel.

  “What. The. Fuck.” I sound like I smoke fifty packs of cigarettes a day. “Do you know what time it is here? This had better be good.”

  “I can do math, thanks.” Eva, likewise, sounds groggy enough to smoke some cigarettes too. It’s late at night back home and she’s finishing up grad school. She’s going to sound like hell come midnight. “Plus, I’m the last person you should be grilling. Guess what, buttercup, I called up to grill you! How the fuck am I the last person on this planet to know that you’re engaged?”

  I’m awake now. Damn fucking hell am I awake!

  “We had a pact, Kathryn! The moment you get engaged or elope in Vegas again, I’m the first to know. Not half of New England as of seven this evening.”

  “What are you talking about?” The covers fly back on the bed. Of course I’m not wearing underwear. Why would I be wearing anything but my boyfriend’s shirt? I love it when cold morning air smacks my pussy raw. Not to mention this cold as ice floor and my bare feet. Great. Where are my dang socks?

  Eva makes a terrifying sound back in America. “Are you not up yet? Am I the first person to call you? How has your father not blown up your phone? I know you didn’t tell him before telling me!”

  “Damnit, Eva!” I look around the room for something to check the internet on. Where the fuck is my tablet? Did Ian bring his netbook? Wait, right, Ian. He’s got a phone around here somewhere…

  Got it. With my phone plastered to my ear, I punch in the unlock code to Ian’s phone (he thinks I don’t know it?) and bring up the internet. He was last looking at some website about replicating his cat into a statue… God, I don’t even know what’s going on right now.

  “What am I looking for?” I ask.

  “You mean you’re not engaged?”

  “Why the fuck would I be engaged!”

  Ian picks up my pillow and slams it against his head. Whoops. Need to turn the decibels down a notch. “The news ‘broke’ on The Daily Social blog. You got papped, Kathryn. Big time.”

  I hate the fact the website comes up so easily in Ian’s Google account. This means he’s looking at that site a lot… but I’ll have to unpack that later, because right now I’m too busy going to the Local Celebrity News section of this fuck-breathing website and seeing pictures of Ian and me on our date yesterday.

  “Where are you getting that I’m engaged?”

  “Scroll down.”

  My thumb goes through half a mile of scrolling, bypassing creepy shots of me kissing my boyfriend and coming in and out of Parisian shops… including the lingerie boutique. “How sweet! Prince Charming Ian Mathers carries girlfriend Kathryn Alison’s bags while enjoying a romantic day in the City of Love. Sign of things to come?”

  I scroll

  It’s me. Just me. Coming out of the restaurant I met my mother at last night.

  With a big, fat, juicy ring on my left ring finger.

  It’s my grandmother’s engagement ring. Some snoops at The Daily Social have already crosschecked it with old photos of my grandmother at her engagement party nearly fifty years ago. There’s a picture of my mother coming out too. “Kathryn Alison sports her grandmother’s engagement ring on a very symbolic finger. Her estranged mother was spotted coming out only fifteen minutes before. Passing on a family heirloom? We’ll be the firs
t to publish the confirmed engagement as soon as we have it!”

  “What the fuck is this shit!”

  Ian sits up in our bed, eyelids heavy and hair in complete disarray. Eva laughs in the background of my phone. “Congratulations on your engagement? Sorry I’m the one who had to break it to you. What are you doing wearing your grandmother’s ring, though?”

  I had been so upset about my mother that I forgot to take that ring off until I got back to this room. How was I supposed to know that I would be papped and the picture used as “proof” of my supposed engagement to Ian? “I’ll call you back, Eva. For the record, I am not getting married anytime soon. We’re not engaged. I had dinner with my mother last night and she gave me that ring with no warning.”

  “Have fun cleaning that up.”

  I shut off my phone and turn to Ian, who is rubbing his face and looking at me with the dullest eyes. Under normal circumstances he would ask me to come back to bed, but he can tell that these are not normal circumstances. “Dare I ask?” he grumbles.

  My anger must be palpable. By now, though, Ian is used to me having conniption and anxiety attacks over the seemingly smallest things. I’ve screamed bloody murder in his condo no less than a dozen times by now. (Don’t think I’m proud of this, by the way. I’m working on it. I swear.) “The Daily Social is reporting that we’re engaged.”

  “Whaaaat?”

  I bring him his phone. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Ian takes a good look at the pictures of us and reads the captions. “It’s speculation.” His phone lands in his lap. “Nobody could possibly think we’re…”

  His phone rings. We both look at who’s calling. Before either of us can say “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain At An Engagement Announcement,” Ian shuts his phone off.

  “She’s going to call back at least fifty more times, you know,” I say.

  Ian ignores me. “My mom can deal with it. Who I should be calling is my publicist. I’m assuming that’s what you want me to do, right?”

  Right. Our publicists. I run mine ragged when I show up in articles like these, but that’s what I’m paying her retainer for. She spends half her life in LA doing damage control for starlets, so why can’t I pay her double to keep the press off my ass? A girl appreciates her privacy!

  Ian pats the side of the bed. I sit, waiting for his arm to encircle my torso. When it does, I let out my pent up sigh. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says in that consoling voice of his. “We’ll call our publicists and then go get breakfast. The last thing we should do is go into hiding. Let alone when we’re on vacation, right? By the way,” I’m apparently not allowed to respond, “what’s the ring? Your grandmother’s?”

  Oh my God. He read about my mother, didn’t he? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Great. Now I can be caught in a lie too. “Um…” I begin. “Yeah, it was my grandmother’s engagement ring. I was trying it on. It’s in my suitcase right now. Not really my tastes.”

  “I figured. From those photos it looked like something that would make you gag.”

  At least he knows that much about me. One thing I can say about Ian is that he’s observant when it comes to my preferences. He’s the optimal guy for playing “hint hint” with. Too bad I don’t take full advantage of those games.

  “Katie.” He puts both hands on my shoulders. Instantly I’m soothed by his gentle, deep voice. “It’s going to be okay. These papers print that kind of junk all the time. They’ve been speculating about you being pregnant ever since we became public.”

  “What?”

  “All right, that was the wrong thing to say, but my point is that they don’t care about the truth. They care about supposed news and getting blog hits and selling papers. Half my publicist’s job is disseminating official information about us.”

  “…Really?” The thought of his publicist spending half his days trolling for news of us and “setting the record straight” every day is both romantic and exhausting to think about.

  “Yes. Really.” Ian takes my hand. Even though he’s the one who initiated it, I’m the one clinging to him as if the world is crumbling around me. Shit, I know that sounds really dramatic. But the farther I fall down these rabbit holes, the easier it is for me to lose my mind. I start thinking about everything bad that could possibly happen. So the world thinks I’m getting married. Maybe they’ll forget about it by tomorrow. Maybe they’ll run away with it, and the next thing I know Ian’s getting a phone call from my father asking to have “a talk.” What that talk would entail, I have no idea. “It’s going to be okay. My publicist will tell both The Daily Social and other gossip blogs that we’re not engaged. This will blow over before the end of the day.”

  I can read the look in his eye. “Not that I think there’s anything to be worried about, that is. I know you’re a wreck though. I’ll take care of it.” I don’t need him to share his judgments with his mouth to read them loud and clear in his eyes.

  “How is it you always know the right thing to say?”

  “I would take the compliment, but half the time I don’t say what I’m thinking, so…”

  My arms wrap around him, demanding a hug that will help me start my day. Hey, this guy helped me get through the night, so why wouldn’t he help me through the day, too?

  ***

  Going to breakfast was a bad idea.

  “Congratulations on the news,” the barista says with a slight accent. “I saw the article on my phone.”

  I take my coffee and croissant with a timid smile. “Thanks. It’s not true.”

  I don’t know what the girl’s reaction is. I’ve since turned around and scuttled back to the bistro table where Ian is on the phone with his publicist.

  “…It’s her grandmother’s engagement ring, yes, but it doesn’t mean anything. We’re not engaged. Uh huh. That sounds great. Check in with me when it’s confirmed. Mm-bye.”

  He puts his phone in his pocket. A bright blue light signals he’s got about forty voicemails from his mother. Caroline will have to find out the truth with the rest of the world. At least she’s not flying out here like she did when she found out we accidentally eloped in Vegas… or as far as I know. We better change hotels!

  “You know,” he says after a long, ponderous silence. “It might not be a bad idea to announce we’re engaged at some point. It’s what everyone is expecting, anyway. We don’t have to actually get married. We could say we’re planning on a long engagement and leave it at that.”

  The logical side of me sees the sense in it, but I haven’t had my shots of espresso yet, so my brain kinda wants to quit everything. “Then they’ll start speculating on where we’re getting married. What I’ll be wearing. Whether or not I’m taking your last name. Bullshit like that.”

  “Katie.” Sometimes I hate hearing my name like that. “They’ve been doing that anyway.”

  “Exactly. So what is the point? To lie?”

  Ian averts his gaze and pops a piece of our shared croissant into his mouth so he doesn’t have to say anything. I feel terrible. After a night like last night, we shouldn’t be like this. I had felt so free and unconfined by society’s pressures. Weight lifted. Lights changed. Everything was exactly as it should have been.

  Then this.

  This goes deeper than public misconception. He’s right. It will blow over. He’s also right that we could curb some of the attention by going ahead announcing an engagement. It’s not like we don’t agree that something like that will happen eventually.

  Since we got over our initial bullshit and became a public couple, Ian’s been itching to propose to me. I know he has. He’s one of the few men I’ve met who has dreams of marriage and sharing a cute three-bedroom home with our cats and the cleaning lady who comes in every other day. He was one of the most merciless playboys when we started dating. The papers were all in a tizzy when we announced our relationship. We were incompatible! What was a serial sex-machine like him doing with a nice girl like me? (I’ve been good at keeping my previous li
festyle out of the press. Only fellow kinksters know what I’m really like.)

  Getting to know him has taught me a lot of things that most people may not know, though. Like how he’s a hopeless romantic who can change his lifestyle at a whim. He once went vegetarian for a girl, for fuck’s sake. I wouldn’t say that Ian is the kind of guy who lets his relationships dictate what kind of life he has, but he’s flexible and open to ideas. We’ve had the kids talk so many times we can recite it. I guess I find it hard to believe that a man who is so open to monogamy and the billionaire version of the white-picket fence with the little lady is okay with having no kids. Did he miss the part where we’re the only heirs in our lines? One day we’ll have to figure something out if we stay together.

  Nevertheless, none of that changes the fact I know he’s been thinking about marriage ever since he realized he loves me. I’m wearing a gold band on my right ring finger. So is he. He got them for us as a surprise long ago. They’re basically promise rings. A promise to stay together, or so he says. I know he’s waiting for the day I’ll switch it over to my left hand.

  There are lots of reasons I’m averse to getting married, or at least right now in my life. It’s not that I doubt his love and devotion for me. It’s not that I’m worried about protecting my personal assets – that’s why I have a great lawyer. No. I’ve got a shitton of issues I’m still trying to work through. I’ve come a long way since being with Ian. Honestly, I’d go so far as to say that I’ve gone too fast. Sometimes I need to sit back and take a look at the bigger picture surrounding me. I’m in a long term, healthy relationship. I’ve got a career that I’m proud of and a cozy apartment I can escape to when I need my space. I don’t have a lot of close friends, but the ones I have are perfect for me. I know how to kick back and have fun. I know what most of my issues are and am working with both my boyfriend and a therapist I see occasionally to figure them out.

  Marriage comes with a ton of baggage, and not merely legal baggage. Ian doesn’t have to worry about most of it. Men aren’t affected by the things I have to face as a woman with a certain image.