Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
She shifts against me, ass pumping against my shaft.
“You can do it,” she whispers.
“You cheeky girl.”
I try to make it sound like banter, but I can hardly talk. My voice is shaking. My shaft is a solid rod of pure pleasure as I focus on her plump ass.
“You can,” she insists. “For me, Tommy. Doesn’t it feel good?”
She’s got so much power over me now. It’s more powerful than any world leader or rival billionaire could, more than any specter from the past with a grudge, and more than any nasty memory. Just my woman, stroking, tempting… I take a breath and shake my head.
“There’s only one place my come belongs,” I tell her. “In your tight. Virgin. Hole.”
She whimpers as I shove myself forward, pressing my shaft through our clothes.
“Soon,” I growl.
A moment of uncertainty flashes across her face, and then she nods. “I’m ready. I can do it.”
I step back, and she tilts her head, a flash of victory replacing the uncertainty. I don’t have to say anything. We both know I’m moving away because, if I don’t, I won’t be able to resist claiming her again.
“This is beautiful,” she says, walking to the edge of the glass. “I feel like I’m on top of the world.”
“Me too.”
I join her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders, purposefully avoiding her back, chest, hips, ass, or, hell, any part of her. She’s so sensual. Even the contact with her shoulder has me aching.
“I never could’ve imagined any of this when I first came here,” she says. “The graffiti, being kidnapped by a billionaire…”
She laughs, shoving me playfully, and I grin down at her.
“Do you think we’re sick if we can joke about that?”
“Hey, it wasn’t a full kidnapping, right? More like half of one because I wanted to be there.”
“But if you’d wanted to leave, Ami, I would’ve kept you there. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
She rests her cheek against my chest. “It’s nice to feel protected.”
I always will.
I can’t say it. Not yet, for some reason. What the hell am I waiting for? I felt confident a few minutes ago. I had no question about her motives. Even now, I know there’s something real here, but that clinging feeling, all those memories, all that misery from my old man’s lie… Here I go again.
“I’m so happy I found you,” I say, pushing away negative thoughts and focusing on this moment instead.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Amelia
“So you had a good day?” Emma asks.
“It was magical,” I tell her. “We did the London Eye. We visited Buckingham Palace.”
“I already know that,” she replies, smiling at me from the laptop screen.
I’m sitting in the small garden balcony area of the flat. Flat! Hey, I got one! Tommy had to take some business calls, so I’m relaxing with some soda and snacks, feeling more at home than I can believe, but Emma’s tone has jolted me out of it.
“How?” I ask.
“Haven’t you seen the photos?” Emma says. “I thought you must’ve known. Hang on. I’ll send you a link.”
My belly tightens as I click on the link. It’s me and Tommy outside Buckingham Palace, posted to some tabloid website, with the headline:
The Billionaire and the Intern
“What the heck?” I snap, studying the photo.
I’m leaning against his chest outside the palace, with his arm wrapped around me, security surrounding us.
“You must’ve known somebody might snap a shot,” Emma said.
I sigh. “Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about anything beyond that moment. I know how silly that might sound, but I mean it. We were only hugging for a second. Jesus, now everybody’s going to know. Mom and Dad are going to—”
I break off, laughing when the call notification appears, the vibrating green phone bursting to life with cinematic timing.
“Is that them?” Emma asks.
“Yep, Mom’s calling. I should answer it.”
“What are you going to say?”
“No idea. The truth?”
“Good luck.”
I hang up, then answer Mom’s call. She and Dad are sitting in the kitchen, one of her mannequins just about visible in the studio in the background with a big styled wig on it. Mom, at least, doesn’t look angry. More excited. She’s got dyed red hair with small hippy-style gems interwoven into it. She’s thirty-nine, having me when she was twenty, and Dad was thirty-three.
Is that already a defense mechanism, thinking of arguments? People are often shocked Mom and Dad are together. He has neat salt-and-pepper hair, a trimmed goatee, and wears a sweater with a shirt collar, his hands folded.
“Having fun in London, Amelia?” he says.
“Don’t use that tone with her, Charley,” Mom says.
“Samantha, please.”
The exchange isn’t too taut, but there’s some tension there. I didn’t mean everything when I told Emma I would give them the truth. For example, I should probably leave out the part where Tommy made me orgasm on the Eye and then took me to a designer store, where I posed for him in lingerie. Then he had to leave, raising his hands.