The Billionaire's Secret: Enemies to Lovers Fake Marriage Romance (Big Bad Billionaires Book 2)

by L. Steele

  I face the mirror, meet his gaze in the reflection.

  His blue eyes flare. He leans back, folds one leg over the other.

  "Strip."

  "What?"

  He grabs his ankle, holding his leg in place. "You heard me."

  "You want me to take off my clothes?"

  He glares at me and a frisson of anticipation grips me. He lowers his brows and my fingers tremble. I draw in a breath, hold his gaze.

  "Unless you want me to…" He places his feet on the ground.

  "No, I… I’ll do it." I glance around for a space to put the dress.

  "Drop it."

  I let the fabric whisper from between my fingers. It pools in shimmering layers of crimson at my feet. I straighten. He’s seen most of you already, so what does this matter? That was…in front of a crowd. This… Alone with him in a room... It feels...more intimate. Like I am putting on a show for him, which I am. Which is daunting, and damn him, also more arousing… Which is what he intended me to feel, no doubt. Asshole. He probably knows exactly how it will make me feel. Doing one more thing out of my comfort zone. One step closer to the edge… Closer to the deep darkness that laps at my mind, calls to me, pulls at me, tugs on me.

  "Don’t keep me waiting." His voice lowers to a hush and my nerve-endings pop. I reach for the button on the back of the dress, undo it. Tug at the zipper, which slithers down, baring the skin between the two halves.

  Goosebumps flare on my skin. I sense his gaze following my gestures, as I tug one sleeve down my shoulder, then the other. The dress slithers down to pool around my ankles. I kick it out of the way.

  Don’t look up, don’t. I glance up at the mirror and our gazes clash. His eyes are darker, deeper, like pools of desire locked in droplets of ice. His nostrils flare; his chest rises and falls. Ah! So, he isn’t as impervious as I’d thought him to be either.

  Holding his gaze, I reach for the straps of my bra, undo them. They whisper down my breasts, catch on my nipples. I draw in a breath and my breasts heave. The nylon slides down my arms, baring my torso completely. His fingers clench around his ankle. His jaw tics.

  He jerks his chin toward my panties.

  What the—! I don't need to remove them to try on the dress.

  He glares at me and I shiver.

  He tilts his head, I dip my fingers into the waistband of my panties, watch as his shoulders tense.

  I lower the scrap of fabric down my thighs, to my ankles.

  The blue in his eyes deepens until it seems black. Color flushes his skin. "Stay there."

  I freeze, watch him in the mirror as he rises to his feet, approaches me. He pauses behind me. His gaze holds mine in the mirror. His big body dwarfs mine—me bent over, fingers entangled in my panties.

  "Hold your ankles."

  I swallow and my breathing deepens. He hasn’t touched me, but he peruses my position—open, bare, my most intimate parts on display.

  One side of his lips curls, "You do not want to challenge me, not now." Damn the man, and his ability to reduce me to a quivering mess.

  "Do it, Gigi."

  His voice slips into my skin, warms my blood, coils in those deepest, most secret places of mine, where I’ve never allowed anyone else. Not him either. Never. I steel my spine, curve my fingers around my ankles.

  He drags a knuckle down my spine and I shudder. My knees almost give way. I must have moaned or made some incoherent cry, for he stills.

  "Shh." He grips my hip to steady me. "You’re doing so well, don’t spoil it."

  A fire lights somewhere inside of me. He praised me and insulted me in the same breath. Only Saint could do that. Simultaneous push-me and pull-me, irritate me and pleasure me.

  I tip up my chin, open my mouth to speak. He dips a finger in my pussy.

  I gasp. What the—? "You could have warned me, you—"

  He slides his finger inside my channel. I huff. He adds two more digits. Too much, too full, he has to stop, he can’t do this, he…he twists his fingers, hitting that spot deep inside. My toes curl; my scalp tingles. My entire body seems to lengthen, my hips arching up, enveloping even more of his wicked fingers.

  He pulls out, only to stuff his fingers back in. A groan bubbles up my throat. I lower my head, my hair falls around my face, and I tighten my grip around my ankles. I cannot give in, cannot. He rubs his thumb on my clit and a trembling zips up my legs.

  "Please…" I mumble. What am I begging for? Why am I asking him for more? Keep quiet, don’t show him how much this is affecting you. How could he have found his way right through to the secret core of me? "Saint, please."

  "How many?" His voice shoves through the noise in my head.

  "What?"

  "How many men have you had?"

  I crack open my heavy eyelids, try to peer through the heavy blanket of my hair.

  "Tell me, Victoria. How many have fucked you here?"

  Anger flares inside, then crashes with the desire. "What’s it to you?"

  His muscles stiffen, tension shimmers off of his frame. "Everything about you is my business. Tell me, or so help me, I am going to pull out my fingers and—leave you aching and wanting."

  I hesitate.

  His fingers leave me.

  My pussy spasms, needing, hurting. Empty, so empty. I cry out. "Three…you bastard. Three. Is that enough?"

  "Including your husband?"

  Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Fucking Saint. He had to ask that question, didn’t he?

  "Answer me."

  "What do you think?

  "I think Adam Rhodes didn’t give a bloody fuck about you," he growls.

  A chuckle trembles from my lips.

  "So, I’m right?" he asks.

  I nod.

  His gaze intensifies, "But he fucked you?"

  "He…did his husbandly duties, if that’s what you’re asking."

  His fingers tighten on my waist.

  "Did you love him?" His voice is impersonal as if he’s interrogating a business prospect. Cut. Dry.

  Everything is so fucking black and white for him. If he only knew the choices I’d had to face.

  "Did you?"

  "No."

  I hear him release a breath. Why should it matter to him if I’d wanted someone before him? Not that I want him either. Of course, not.

  "Thank you for sharing that."

  What the—? Is be being polite?

  "I gave you what you wanted." The words tumble from my lips. "Are you satisfied?"

  "Not yet." He brushes his knuckles past my slit.

  Pinpricks of pleasure dart up my spine.

  Damn him and his touch. Why is my body so damned responsive to him? Why did it have to be him who could elicit this reaction from me when no one else can?

  He teases his finger into my back hole and everything inside of me tenses.

  No.

  No.

  "Yes," he growls. "Here… How many have had you here, my impudent little wannabe sub?"

  "Ah!" I stutter.

  "Tell me, or I swear I’m leaving." The heat from his body recedes again.

  I gasp. "Stop. I’ll tell you." I sense him still.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  I swallow. My fingers spasm. My thigh muscles bunch. If I do this, I am giving away one more part of myself. Another secret that will no longer belong to me.

  Another thing he can hold over me.

  Another weapon he can use against me.

  "Now, Victoria."

  I gulp, then squeeze my eyes shut. "No one," I whisper. "You… You’ll be the first."

  15

  Saint

  * * *

  The first. The only? The fuck am I thinking? Why does it mean so much to me to mark her in a way that no one has before? I’ve had my share of women, certainly never expected any one of my partners to come to me untouched… So why am I asking something of her that seems so out of character? It’s her. She is shattering my control. I told her that I would break her
down; I hadn’t counted on the impact she’d have on me. I have to get back in the lead, have to wrest back my hard-earned self-restraint. Only one way to do it.

  I drop to my knees. Her entire body freezes. I lick her from her swollen nub all the way up to her star-shaped opening.

  Her shoulders shake. She moans and her knees seem to give way. I swoop down, wrap my fingers around her thighs. "Hold on."

  I drag my tongue up her clit, retrace the path to her back hole. A whine spills from her lips and it’s my undoing. I thrust my tongue inside her channel, lick her, flick my tongue in and out of her.

  Her entire body shudders and her breathing grows ragged. A trembling grips her, swoops up her legs. I don’t stop. I angle my head, haul her even closer until she’s riding my face. Her body tenses, her pussy clenches, and moisture beads her cunt. So fucking sweet, so soft. My dick lengthens; my groin hardens. I need to be inside her. I must. I fondle the curve of her hip, insert a thumb into her back hole.

  She shudders, her thigh muscles spasm, and I recognize the giveaway sigh. She’s close. So close. I curl my tongue inside her and a low keening cry emerges from her lips. My vision tunnels and my muscles bunch. Close, I am so close. I drag my mouth from her, scramble up to my feet. Pivoting, I stalk away.

  "What the fuck?" Her startled exclamation follows me.

  I reach the exit, shove open the door.

  "Where are you going, you asshole?"

  I pause, "I think it’s your arsehole that’s pushing you to speak now."

  "You filthy, horrible, monster."

  The hair on my horrible neck bristles. I swerve and a wind disturbs my suit sleeve as a vase sails by. It crashes onto the floor, shatters.

  I turn, sweep a wary gaze over the disheveled woman, who’s walking toward me. She’s managed to pull up her panties in double-quick time—impressive. Other than that, she’s naked. Her tits bounce, her hips wiggle, and her dark hair flies around her face. She holds up the twin of the vase that she’d thrown earlier. I duck again…but am not that quick. The heavy artifact grazes my shoulder, before crashing to the ground.

  I stumble, then right myself. I brush my sleeve. "Are you quite done?" I drawl.

  She clenches her tiny fingers into fists. "I am going to kill you."

  "Join the queue. You’ll have a long wait, by the way."

  She bares her teeth and a snarl emerges from the controlled, always put together sophisticate she’d once been. This side of Gigi… I frown… It’s innervating, energizing… It’s fucking sexy.

  "Wanna fight?" My lips curl.

  "Fuck you, Saint."

  I can’t stop the grin that splits my face.

  She snarls.

  I raise my hand, "Now, now, Tory, we can work this out."

  "I hate being called Tory, fucking hate it."

  O-k-a-y. "Victoria."

  "I loathe my name. Stupid, prissy, old-fashioned." She walks forward, fists in front. "Are you aware of the number of stupid Posh Spice references I have had to endure?"

  I blink, glance around the room. What can I use as a shield? The table… Too heavy. Besides, it would hurt her if I held it up. Come to think of it…better not move from here, best to hold my stance, look her in the eyes. Her pupils are so black they seem to have expanded, until only a circle of stormy green remains.

  "It doesn’t help that I look like this."

  I risk a quick glance down to her perky breasts, the tiny waist, the flare of her hips and that juicy, sexy, core of hers. The pink cleft between her lower lips would be glistening, from her cum. Fuck.

  My cock thickens, my belly coils... Fuck, fuck, fuck, look up, look away, before you reveal how much her presence affects you.

  I squeeze the bridge of my nose, and she snarls, "You can’t stand to look at me, can you?"

  I snap my eyelids open, "Now, that’s not what this is about."

  "You fucking hate my body," she huffs.

  I tilt my head, "Not true."

  "My tits are too big.

  My fingers clench. "They’re gorgeous," I growl.

  "My waist is too tiny." She pouts.

  "It's fucking beautiful." I furrow my brow.

  "My hips are too large," she wails.

  I pretend to study her curves, then scratch my chin, "Now that you mention it…"

  She opens and shuts her jaw, then charges at me, "Why you jackass, you rotten excuse for a man…you."

  She flings herself at me, and I take the full impact of her weight. She throws her fists, catches me in the side, against my rib cage. She peppers me with her blows. I don’t react. I brace myself, allow her to hit me. "I hate you." Slam. "Bloody loathe you." She snaps her forehead into my chest. I wince…on her behalf. That had to hurt. She raises her arm again, then drops it to her side. "You’re dreadful. How could you do that to me? How could you…?" Her shoulders shudder and her tiny body sways. Wetness blots my shirt. I glance down at the back of her head.

  "Gigi?"

  She shakes her head, her crying intensifying. A hot sensation stabs at my chest. I scoop her up, cuddle her against my body. She’s so fucking light, so perfectly formed. Why the fuck hadn’t I noticed that before? Because I’d been too focused on myself. On what I wanted from her, on trying to figure out why the hell she’d come to me with that crazy proposition of hers… And I will find out… But meanwhile, I am going to hold her, until this storm she’s found herself in blows over.

  Her sobs increase in strength.

  Shit, the fuck am I supposed to do now?

  I’ve had women cry out in passion, weep when I’ve brought them to orgasm, wail when I’ve fucked the hell out of them. But this...weeping woman… One I’ve begun to appreciate more than any other female in my life… Holdonabloody second. I've barely spent any time with her, so why does she affect me so much?

  Do I understand her better than anyone else outside of the Seven?

  Yes.

  Fuck, what does that mean?

  Nothing. I can have girlfriends… No, not like that… I mean, girls who are my friends. Yeah… No, she isn’t a friend. She is… Something… Somebody I am going to take on as a sub, remember? Yeah, got it. I cuddle her close and she wraps her arm around me. I stalk over to the chair I’d vacated earlier. Sit down with her in my lap.

  I rock her and pat her hair, but her crying only seems to grow louder.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  The band around my heart squeezes. Gotta do something. What does one do to quieten someone who’s crying? I rock her back and forth, back and forth. She digs her fingers into my shirt, her nails digging through, into my skin. She’s still weeping…but it’s not as intense as earlier, right?

  I continue to rock her, hum under my breath. She sniffles. Her crying lessens. I hum again…then croon the song.

  She hiccups, then falls silent.

  "Your pitch is off-key, by the way." She sniffles.

  "I'm tone deaf," I reply cheerfully. But at least she's stopped the waterworks. Man, that was close.

  She peers up at me from under her eyelashes, "Did you sing—"

  “While my Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles?" I crack my neck. "Seems that way."

  "Why?" She asks.

  "It worked, didn't it?" I scowl, "Couldn’t stand by and watch you have a bloody meltdown."

  She huffs, "I meant, why The Beatles?"

  "Why not The Beatles?"

  "You hate The Beatles."

  "I hate tears even more, besides, when a naked woman—"

  "—Almost-naked," she protests.

  I chuckle, "Almost naked woman throws herself at me… I had to catch you. I couldn’t have you hurting yourself."

  Her gaze flickers.

  I fit my knuckles under her chin, so she has no choice but to glance at me.

  "Only I am allowed to do that, Gigi."

  She swallows.

  "No one else can hurt you, except me," I lower my chin, "you feel me?"

  Her pupils dilate. Her chest heaves, then sh
e nods. "I understand… Sir."

  My dick hardens at that. Shit, what am I doing, cuddling her? I fucking hummed a song for her? Bloody-fucking-hell!

  I lean forward and she presses a hand into her chest, "It’s okay, Saint, I won’t tell."

  I frown.

  "I won’t tell the Seven or anyone else. It’s our secret."

  "What the fuck you talking about?"

  She darts me a look from under those sooty eyelashes, "That you secretly have a thing for The Beatles."

  "I don’t have a 'thing' for those knobheads."

  "Yet you knew the words to their song."

  "Who doesn’t?"

  She stares at me.

  "What?" I scowl.

  "Not everyone knows the correct words to that particular song."

  Shit, is it getting hot in here?

  "Admit it." She sits up in my lap.

  "No."

  "You secretly like them… You think it’s ‘uncool’—" she makes air quotes with her fingers. "—to say so."

  I set my jaw, "I don’t."

  "It won’t take away from your macho, hotter-than-hell image."

  I lean back in the seat. "You think I’m macho?"

  "Umm." She shuffles her feet.

  "Answer me."

  "Maybe…" She chews on her lower lip and my gaze traces the action. Bare lips with all the lipstick bitten off. Mascara trails down her cheeks, her eyelashes are spiky from the tears she’d shed, she’s not wearing clothes… And yet, she’s trying to coerce me into revealing something more about myself. It’s not a big deal…but…if it means so much to her, hell if I’m going to give it to her so easily….

  "Yes or no, Gigi?"

  She throws up her hands. "Fine, yes, you’re macho as hell, fucking sexy, the most virile man I’ve ever met."

  "Don’t forget overpoweringly charismatic."

  She draws in a breath.

  "And an asshole."

  "You mean, alphahole?" I smirk.

  She tosses her head.

  "And dominant."

  "Your ego is so large that—"

  "It’s bigger than Beatlemania at its height?" I smirk.

  She blinks, "See?" She stabs a finger in my chest. "So, you admit they were a phenomenon?"