Free HONEY GIRL (Part 1): BILLIONAIRE Book Two by Juliette Jones Page B

hold would demand submission,
but I’d squeeze him with my body, pressing back against him invitingly, taking
everything he gave.  Making demands of my own.  My own pleasure would tug at
his, drawing the ecstasy out of him in clenching, undulating pulls, until he
flooded me with his liquid heat.  He’d stay inside me.  We might sleep a little
more.  This time when he woke me, I might feel him at my breast, suckling
lazily, feeding on me like I was offering him some kind of spiritual sustenance
that was drugging to him.  When we were fully sated, we’d get up.  We’d shower
together.  He’d wash me and I’d wash him, my careful fingers soaping him
everywhere.  We’d make love again.  Because we couldn’t get enough.  Our hunger
for each other was relentless.  Eventually, we’d venture out into the day. 
We’d eat at a restaurant and talk.  We’d walk a little, and he’d buy me
something he saw in a window.  Gold earrings.  A cashmere sweater.  A leather
coat that cost more money than I’d made in my life.  We’d visit a museum or a
gallery, see a movie, or just walk.  We might meet his brother somewhere and
have a drink together.  And then the two of us would return to his limo and
make love, starved all over again.
    Not
today.
    Today
we’d be working.
    I dressed
in one of the many outfits he’d bought me.  I chose a sleeveless sea-green silk
tunic that matched the color of my eyes.  It was a fitted wrap-around that was
simple yet elegant, professional but feminine.  I brushed my long blond hair
and pinned it up in a French twist.  Gold hoop earrings, my gold watch and my
new ring were the only (real) jewelry I owned – all given to me by Alexander. 
I couldn’t help wondering how much he’d spent on my engagement ring.  It was
beautifully designed, a solid, rose-gold band inlaid with the largest,
glintiest diamond I’d ever seen.  It looked very, very expensive.
    I
wondered how Alexander’s staff would take this new development: that his new
assistant was also his new fiancée.
    Putting
on some light makeup, I walked back into the bedroom.
    His
eyes were open.
    He
rolled onto his back and slung one arm behind his head.  The way he moved was
insouciant, utterly self-assured.  So purely Alexander.
    Damn.
    His
body was unreal.  Big and bronzed and hair-dusted and fully aroused.
    “Lila,”
he said, his lazy, sexy charisma hitting me where it always did.  In the most
intimate place imaginable.  That sleep-roughened edge to his voice reminded me
of his rasped growls and lust-driven oaths … when he was inside me, groaning
my name as we climaxed together, my body spasming around the hard, beautiful
bulk of him.   “Come here.”  He patted the bed.
    I
went to him and sat down.
    His
fingers entwined with mine and he played idly with my ring, looking into my
eyes.  “Let’s get married soon.  I don’t want to wait.”  The combination of his
sincerity and his staunch manliness was riveting to me, almost unbearably
alluring.  “Something small.  At one of my houses.  Whichever one you want.  At
the hotel in Paris, or on the beach in Key West.  Or maybe in my vineyard in
Malibu, overlooking the ocean.  I think you’ll like it there.  Water Mill is
quiet this time of year.  We could do it there, if you don’t want to travel too
far.  Or in Maine, on my island.  It’s very secluded.”
    “They
all sound nice.”  I’d never been to any of those places.  Except Paris, of
course.
    “Or
we could do it right here in the city if you want to.”
    “I
really don’t mind where I marry you, Alexander.  As long as I do.”
    His
slow smile just about killed me.  “You weren’t here, in my bed with me, where I
need you,” he accused gently, that alpha glint touching his expression. 
“You’re dressed,” he added, sulky with the observation.
    “I’m
getting ready.  Since I start work with you today.  Remember?”
    A
smile played at the corner of his