The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance)

by Olivia Thorne

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  “Well… I mean…”

  He raises his eyebrows and throws up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. What could I do?

  I make a disgusted face. “Are you serious?”

  “Come on – I was drunk, she was naked – ”

  “Never mind!” I yell and close my eyes. I put my hand up, palm out. “I don’t – just, stop.”

  He stops.

  I take a moment to try to erase the image out of my mind – unsuccessfully – then sigh. “What happened then? I mean, AFTER that night.”

  “I tried breaking up with her two more times, but she was relentless. So, yeah, I wrote her a letter and left the country, and then I kept moving for the next three months, just to be safe. That was the only way to get the point across. She’s fucking obsessed.”

  “Yet she was the first person you contacted when we got back in France.”

  “No, I contacted JP – ”

  “Close enough. So tell me why.”

  “She’s a great thief. She’s as good at parkour as I am. She can handle a gun. She was on board 100% from the second she walked in the door. And she’s one of a handful of people in the entire world I knew I could trust. Are those enough reasons for you?”

  Actually… when he puts it like that…

  But there was still one other thing Dominique said that’s bugging me.

  It takes me a while to come out with it, though.

  “…she said you told her you loved her the first week you were together.”

  He looks pained. “Yeah. I did.”

  “Did you? Love her, I mean?”

  “I thought I did at the time. She was a lot like me, in the thrill-seeking department at least. I’d never met somebody like her before. So alive, so free…”

  Every word is like a dagger in my stomach. “Then why did you break up with her?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but – she’s kind of clingy?”

  I’m suddenly feeling a little bit better.

  “And if she doesn’t get her way, she’s kind of… bitchy?”

  Feeling even better now…

  “Then there’s the stalking, and her being obsessed and delusional… plus she’s kind of self-destructive…”

  I feel great.

  “Not to mention that, once you get beyond the thrill-seeking, there just wasn’t much there. There was no real substance to build a relationship on. It was like two addicts helping each other shoot up.”

  This is the best I’ve felt since Grant walked in the door after the catacombs and I threw myself in his arms.

  I finally feel like there’s hope.

  Grant looks at me in confusion. “Why did you think I want to break up with you?”

  “Because you told me you love me.”

  As soon as I say it, I know how crazy it sounds.

  The look he gives me confirms it. “Just a hint for the future: when a guy tells a woman that he loves her, most women see that as a good sign.”

  I laugh. God, it feels good to laugh again. “She told me you said you loved her, and then you broke up with her a few months later. I just… I thought you were doing the same thing with me.”

  He smiles, happy that the tension has been dialed down about eight notches. “Okay – so you do see how crazy that is, right?”

  Hold on there, pardner.

  When I was a little kid, our family had a really ugly dog. I used to love that dog, but I was under no illusions; it was butt-ugly. I knew it was ugly, and I would call it ugly, and my parents and I would joke all the time about how ugly it was.

  But none of the neighborhood kids were allowed to call it ugly. If they did, I was liable to start a fight.

  Let’s name it the I can call my dog ugly, but YOU can’t rule.

  I can call myself crazy… but YOU better not. Especially when YOU were the one causing all the crazy in the first place.

  I get frosty again. “I don’t think it’s crazy when you basically try to buy me off like a prostitute.”

  He winces, and his teeth set on edge. He was sooo close… but he blew it. And he knows it.

  “Look, I only offered to pay you to leave because…” He sighs. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know why I said that.”

  Now that I’m thinking about it again, I’m pissed. “Yes you do. Because you think that little of me.”

  “No… there’s a reason I said it, but it’s not because I think less of you.”

  “Oh? What was it, then?”

  He comes over and sits on my bed – one leg wrapped behind me, the other dangling off the mattress, so his entire upper body can face me as he speaks. The wire coils squeak and creak beneath us as he sits. “Because I was trying to make you so angry you’d leave me.”

  I gawk in surprise and indignation. “You were trying to do the whole ‘I’m not going to break up with you, but I’m going to be an asshole so you’ll break up with me’ thing? That’s pathetic.”

  He laughs. “Well, you’re so goddamn stubborn.”

  I’m back to feeling terrible. “Look, if you don’t love me – if that was just something you were saying – ”

  He grabs my shoulders and stares into my eyes. “I do love you. I do. But that just makes me more afraid of losing you.”

  I melt.

  What he’s saying… it’s so sweet… so romantic…

  But then I remember his actions from earlier, and the hurt comes back. “Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted me to be safe because you loved me, then?”

  “If I said I loved you, would there have been ANY chance you’d have left France without me?”

  Ah. Okay. Makes sense now.

  “…no…” I admit.

  “There you go.”

  I look at him wistfully – and with hope. “…you do love me?”

  “I fucking adore you. And it scares the hell out of me, because for the first time in forever, I have something to lose.”

  Wait – that doesn’t compute at all. “But you just lost your entire life. Your career, your wealth – ”

  “And look how much they meant to me, seeing how willing I was to gamble with them on being a cat burglar. But I’m not willing to gamble with you.”

  Oh my God…

  I’m so overwhelmed with love, and relief, and happiness that I start to cry.

  Grant leans over and kisses me.

  And then we make love.

  50

  He begins by kissing me gently on the lips. After a few seconds of that, he pulls back to smile at me. I smile, too, despite the tears in my eyes. He wipes away the drops that have spilled down my cheeks, his thumb caressing my skin. Then he reaches behind me and pulls me into a hug. I shift my entire body so I can face him, and we just stay like that for a moment – our arms wrapped around each other, our heads resting on each other’s shoulders.

  He strokes my hair, gliding across it in a calming way before his fingers continue past my bra strap and down my back, where his touch tickles against my skin.

  The way we are sitting, my legs rest between his. The side of my knee touches the fabric of his underwear, and I can feel his cock, flaccid but still very large, draped off to one side of the seam in his boxers.

  After about ten seconds of holding me, I can feel the pressure against my leg of his cock starting to grow. Not quite hard yet, but thicker… firmer.

  He doesn’t do anything, though, besides comfort me.

  But I want more than to be comforted.

  I move my hand to his boxers and touch the tip of my finger to his cock… then slowly trace my way down the length of his shaft.

  The reaction is immediate.

  His cock swells even faster, pressing insistently against my touch with a few massive throbs.

  He breathes in loudly enough for me to hear. Not quite a gasp, but definitely close.

  He moves my hair aside from my shoulders and begins to kiss my neck. I lean my head to one side to give him
whatever he wants.

  At the same time, my finger slips underneath the edge of his boxers to find his cock. It’s so long by now, I don’t have to go far.

  I touch the softness of his head, feeling the round, satiny curve… then I drop down beneath and find the little ridge of skin beneath the crown and start stroking it very, very lightly. Just a whisper of a touch.

  His cock strains against the cloth, completely hard.

  He groans and bites my neck lightly, nibbling my skin.

  His hand finds my right bra strap, slips it off, and pulls down the cup to expose my breast. He begins to stroke my nipple, circling it, as he licks and kisses his way up and down my neck.

  My head is thrown back, my whole body awash in sensual pleasure. With my eyes closed, the only thing I have to guide me is my sense of touch, and I use it for all it’s worth.

  I push back the cloth of the boxers’ leg to expose half of his cock. Since it’s pressed against his leg by his underwear, I can’t encircle it with my hand, but I use the tips of my fingers to stroke him.

  My other hand, meanwhile, travels to his body, where I feel his warmth, the soft hairs on his chest, the clearly defined muscles that bulge beneath his skin.

  He is becoming more insistent, more turned on. He unfastens my bra and lowers his head to my left breast, greedily sucking on the already erect nipple. I gasp and shiver, but I don’t lose contact with his cock. It burns beneath my fingers, the temperature of blood and passion. As I caress his tip, I feel the wet drop of pre-cum beading there, and I spread it all over his crown, using it to slick him down and pleasure him even more with my touch.

  He leans me back on the bed, and suddenly all the springs are creaking beneath us.

  We look at each other in surprise, then laugh.

  “This is going to be noisy,” he says.

  I lock my wet fingers around the head of his cock and massage him slowly. “I don’t care,” I whisper.

  He gets that look on his face – like he’s in physical pain, but it feels sooooo good. He backs away to give himself some room, hooks his fingers through the top of my panties, and pulls them down my thighs. I help him by raising my legs in the air, and he takes the opportunity to run his fingers over the mound of my sex.

  Ohhhh…

  I am so fucking wet.

  The springs creak as he gets off the bed and peels off his boxers. I pretty much put him in a Chinese finger-puzzle by pushing the leg of his boxers up so far, and it takes him a second to extricate his fully hard erection. When he finishes, he stands there completely naked, his cock straining upwards toward the ceiling.

  He climbs back onto the bed on his knees, the metal bedframe groaning. It’s loud.

  “You sure?” he grins.

  I take his cock in my hand and pull him insistently towards me. “I’m sure.”

  He gets that look of pain and pleasure again as I guide him between my legs, then inside me.

  Oh JESUS.

  Suddenly I’m the one caught between pleasure and the tiniest bit of pain.

  His crown is already slick with pre-cum, and I’m soaking, so he just eases inside, quick as you please. He takes a quarter thrust to wet his skin with my juices, then a half-stroke, then three-quarters.

  I groan and feel my body greedily envelop him, my pussy caressing every inch of him. He sinks into me all the way until our bodies press against each other.

  He puts all his weight on me and grasps my hair in his fingers, and looks deep in my eyes as he begins to slowly pull out… then slide back in… ease back out… then push back in. I grab his ass with my hands and feel his pelvis rocking back and forth, slowly driving that gorgeous cock deep inside me.

  I stay locked on his eyes as much as I can – except when he gives a quick, surprise thrust and hits that spot deep inside me, making my eyes roll back in my head with pleasure. Every time, I come back to reality, kiss him, and look him in the eyes again – until another perfect stroke makes me cry out and dig my fingers into his flesh.

  I’m so wet it’s unreal. I feel like I must be soaking the bed beneath me. It’s a good thing, though – he feels bigger than I’ve ever felt him before, and I need every bit of help as he fills me up, over and over, with every stroke.

  After a few minutes he pulls out. I don’t understand why until he flips me over on my hands and knees, the bed creaking beneath me – and then slides back inside me, doggy-style. I cry out unexpectedly as his swollen head caresses new spots inside me.

  He reaches one arm under me and cradles my left breast in his massive hand, letting the motion of our fucking cause it to brush against his palm, my hard nipple tracing a path across his skin.

  He takes a couple of minutes to give me easy, slow strokes, making sure I can take him. Then he begins to increase his speed and the depth of his thrusts. The head of his cock is hitting deep inside me now, and every stroke makes me cry out with ecstasy and the tiniest bit of pain – a throbbing, deeply satisfying ache that only adds to the bliss, that only highlights how fucking heavenly the rest of it feels.

  I’m screaming out with every thrust, his pelvis smacking into my ass, when I come the first time. An overwhelming wave of pleasure slams through my body and makes me lose all control. My arms collapse and I fall facedown onto the mattress and just try to survive the overpowering sensations flooding through my body.

  He slows down, letting his thrusts become shallower, as my cries gradually die out. Then he pulls out of me again.

  “You don’t have to stop,” I whimper, and then I realize he has no intentions of that as he lies down on his back and pulls me on top of him.

  I straddle him with my quivering legs and raise myself as high as I can while he guides his wet, throbbing member to my lips. Once he feels himself enter me, he gently presses down on my shoulder with one hand, and I siiiink down on his shaft with another groan of pleasure.

  I take my time and slowly grind my hips, getting used to the feeling of having complete control over something that big and thick inside me. Then I begin to move up and down slightly. A few inches at first, then a couple more. I keep increasing the distance I go up and then down on his cock, until I’m as far as I can go at the top. He’s still inside me, with no danger of his head slipping out. Then I slam back down, taking him deep inside me with a cry of pleasure.

  I start working him good, bobbing up and down, taking his full length inside me again and again and again. He’s loving it. His eyes are wide, his body is tensed from head to foot, his hands are grabbing my breasts. Deep grunts emanate from his throat every time I slide all the way down on his shaft and smack into his pelvis.

  Then he gets a look on his face like he’s losing control, or about to. He lifts his ass in the air and starts thrusting into me. I’m so overcome with pleasure that all I can do is stop and feel him inside me, my eyes closed in ecstasy as my mouth opens wide in a series of wails. He pulls me down roughly against his chest, my breasts against his pecs, and kisses me hard. He thrusts over and over inside me, his hand clutching my ass, his muscular legs pressed between mine as his cock surges thicker and harder and deeper –

  “OH FUCK!” he bellows, and I can feel him coming inside me.

  The sensation pushes me over the edge. Suddenly my body is out of my control again as pleasure lights up every nerve. I’m screaming, he’s groaning. We buck back and forth, struggling to squeeze every drop of pleasure out of the moment, until his contractions slow and mine become a gently undulating wave instead of mountainous peaks of bliss. I collapse on top of his chest, my legs weak and quivering. He holds me and we kiss as the last lingering spasms of his cock make me tremble inside and out.

  51

  We’re lying there in the blissful afterglow, snuggled against each other in the tiny single bed, laughing whenever our movements cause the springs to squeak, when a stray thought enters my head.

  “It is kind of weird that you gambled everything – your career, your fortune – on what’s basically an illega
l hobby,” I muse.

  “Well, it makes me feel alive. Nothing else really does.”

  Warning bells start going off.

  “…nothing?” I ask, shocked.

  He laughs. “Well, what we just did obviously does…”

  “But nothing else?”

  I guess he thinks I’m fishing for a compliment, because he tries to kiss me. “Nothing else until I met you.”

  I straight-arm him and back up to the edge of the twin bed so I can look him in the eye.

  Something tells me I need to see his eyes when I hear his answer.

  “Hold on. Nothing makes you feel as alive as being a thief?”

  He gets an irked look on his face. “Don’t use the word ‘thief.’”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s cheap.”

  “Uhhh, and accurate.”

  “No, it’s not. A thief is somebody who bashes out the windows in a pawn shop and steals a television. That’s not what I am.”

  “No, you just sneak inside rich people’s houses all fancy-like and take the Monet, instead.”

  “Fuck you,” he laughs. His tone is kind of joking… but kind of not.

  “What are you, then, if you’re not a thief? Is the label ‘cat burglar’ so much better?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “How so?”

  “Because a $10,000-an-hour escort is not a streetwalker.”

  “Maybe not, but they’re both prostitutes.”

  He sits up on one elbow. Now he’s scowling. “You have a lot of fucking nerve, you know that?”

  I know that the moment is going south fast – I can see it slipping away – but I just can’t help myself. He called Dominique delusional, but this is what he believes about himself?

  “Why,” I ask, “because I’m trying to get you to admit what you really are, without the romantic, rose-colored lenses you look through?”

  “You’re just as bad as I am.”

  Riiiiiight. “In what way?”

  “What you do is just as illegal as what I do.”

  “I work in an internet security firm – ”

  “And you hacked Interpol the other night. Remember that? Or how about the NYPD, when you got the police report?”