Page 8 of Big Billionaire

Still, I fight it. She’s had a rough night. A rough few weeks. She doesn’t need a man like me complicating her life.

I take another drink, willing myself to remember that.

And then I hear her soft footsteps.

When I look up, she’s standing in the doorway, barefoot, drowning in my black shirt. Her hair is down now, tumbling over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that makes her eyes look impossibly large. The hem of the shirt brushes her thighs, leaving miles of bare skin on display.

My control shatters.

I set the glass down hard enough that it rattles against the bar, and I close the distance between us in three long strides. Before she can take a breath, I’ve got my hands on her waist, and I’m hauling her flush against me.

She gasps, her fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of my shirt. That tiny sound shoots straight through me.

I lower my mouth to hers without hesitation.

The first brush of her lips is soft, too soft—so I take more. I slide my hand down her back, anchoring her against me as I deepen the kiss. She tastes like something I’ve craved my entire life without knowing it, sweet and warm, her mouth opening under mine with the slightest coaxing.

Her knees press into me as if she needs the contact to stay upright, and I answer by dragging her closer, letting her feel exactly how much I want her.

She lets out a soft, breathless whimper that nearly undoes me. I swallow it greedily, my tongue tangling with hers, staking my claim in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

When I finally pull back, it’s only because I need air, not because I want to stop.

Her lips are swollen and pink, her breathing uneven. Wide, glassy green eyes stare up at me, pupils blown, innocence and heat warring in their depths. A strand of hair has fallen acrossher cheek, and I resist the urge to tuck it away just so I can touch her again.

She looks like she has no idea what just hit her.

And I know I’m not done hitting her with it.

She stares up at me, cheeks flushed, lips still parted from the kiss. “What…was that about?”

I don’t hesitate. “That was me claiming you,” I tell her, my voice low, steady. “You’re mine, firefly.”

Her eyes go wide, a soft gasp catching in her throat. “How…? I never thought…you liked me.”

“I don’t only like you,” I correct. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

She blinks at me in disbelief. “I…I like you too!” she blurts. Her eyes go even wider at her own words, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, cheeks flaming.

It makes me smile. A real smile.

I step in, closing the small distance between us, and curl my fingers around her wrist to gently pull her hand away from her mouth. “You like me too, hmm?” I tease, letting my gaze sweep over her face. “You know what that does to me, hearing you say that?”

She squirms under my stare, shifting her weight from foot to foot, as if my attention is too heavy for her to bear. “Stop looking at me like that,” she murmurs, eyes darting away.

“Like what?” I tilt my head, deliberately making it worse. “Like I’m thinking about everything I’m going to do to you?”

Her blush deepens, and she bites her lip. I decide right then that I’m going to make a habit of pulling that reaction from her.

“How long, firefly?” I ask. “How long have you liked me?”

Her gaze drops to the floor. “Since…the first time I saw you. On my Inauguration Day at the Academy.” She glances up shyly. “You shook my hand…and congratulated me on my scholarship. But you probably don’t even remember.”

Oh, I remember.

I reach up, brushing my knuckles along her jaw. “I remember everything about that day. You were in that pale pink leotard…hair pulled into a perfect bun, eyes so bright they stopped me in my tracks. I stood there, watching you, and thought,God help me—I want her.”

Her breath hitches visibly.