Page 51 of The Billionaire's Promise

"No, I don't think you should," I said, trying not to smile as he traced a circle around my nipple, the flesh tightening into a point at his touch. I reached between our bodies and wrapped my fingers around his erection. He was mostly hard, and he surged in my grip.

"You might pull a muscle if you get too much more exercise today," I said seriously. "You should let me do all the work."

"You did all the work last time," he said, flipping me onto my back and rising over me after grabbing a condom.

"That's not how I remember it," I said, wrapping my legs around his hips. He kissed me, his mouth gentle, seeking, the kiss so much more than a prelude to sex.

I hooked my feet behind his ass and tightened my legs, pulling him into me, urging his cock against my pussy. He rocked into me, spreading the gathering moisture until we were both slick with it and he could press inside with slow, delicious pressure.

So slow. He filled me with deep, deliberate thrusts, kissing me the same way. Deliberately. Carefully.

Dragging out the pleasure of it until I was shaking, tears spilling down my cheeks, the intensity of our connection overwhelming. The orgasm took me in one long wave, pulling me under until I was gasping with pleasure, my arms wound around his shoulders holding him tightly.

I couldn't tell Vance what was in my heart. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I held him to me, my body trembling beneath his, hoping that he knew, hoping that some hidden part of him knew how much he was loved.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

VANCE

Family meeting tonight. 7pm. Bring Maggie and Rosalie.

Aiden. I'd talked to him the day before when he'd met me at the Sinclair offices to look at the photograph. I assumed he was calling the meeting to discuss it with everyone else. Fine with me. We didn't have plans for the night, and I'd take any chance to hang with my family and show off my girls.

Magnolia was at home, supervising the installation of the security system. She was getting the works—motion triggered video, panic buttons, driveway sensor—anything the Sinclairs could think of that would keep her safe. I had Rosie with me, though she was currently fast asleep, giving me some much-needed quiet time.

We'd been slacking at work. Most of the prep for the show was finished, and we didn't have any investments that needed direct input. If Rosie hadn't entered our lives, we would have jumped into a new project as soon as the show was set up, but for the past few weeks, we'd been enjoying a looser schedule.

Still, shit piled up. A few days of ignoring my email, and my inbox was clogged—fires to put out, calls to return. I'd been making good progress when Aiden's text had popped up on my phone. I took a second to text Magnolia before getting back to work.

Dinner at W House? 7pm? Everyone will be there.

She answered back immediately.Sure. Pick me up?

I'll be back before that. Almost done here.

K. How's Rosie?

I sent her a picture of Rosie in the floor gym, passed out on her back, one little hand still in the ring she'd been tugging when sleep had gotten the better of her. Magnolia sent back an emoji of a ribboned heart, then,Better get back to work before she wakes up.

Slave driver.

Don't make me crack the whip :)

Yes, Ma'am.

I put my phone down and tried to get back to my to-do list, but now I was distracted by the image of Magnolia in black leather, cracking a whip. She wasn't the dominatrix type, but she would sure as shit be hot in black leather. She’d almost made me come in my pants with that black lace lingerie the day before. Jesus.

Lately, it seemed like fucking Magnolia Henry was the cure for everything that had ever gone wrong in my life. Seeing that picture of my parents had been enough to leave me desperate for a drink, every beat of my heart, every breath tasting of raw pain.

I'd never shake that memory. It was burned into my brain. But the picture made it real in a way it hadn't been in years. Alcohol was my friend. Alcohol would chase off the memories. The guilt.

If Magnolia hadn't been there, I might have done it. I'd like to think Rosie would have been enough to make me stop and think. I could lie and say my daughter was the reason I hadn't gone straight to a bar. And she was part of it. Sure, she was. But Magnolia was the rest. She was the real reason. I had to stay sober if I wanted Magnolia.

Rosie would never remember if I fucked up and got wasted. She was barely four months old. But Magnolia would. She'd be my friend no matter what. I didn't doubt that. But she'd never let me back in her bed if I started drinking again. I couldn't think of many things worse than being kicked out of Magnolia's bed. Not now that I'd had a taste of her.

The thing was, with her there, my body freshly sated with hers, her gentle smile and open heart, I knew I could handle the memories. That certainty settled in my bones when she woke me from the nightmare.

It was a familiar hell, the dream of finding them, lifeless in our home, still warm, blood leaking from bullet wounds in a slow drip. I was used to coming out of the nightmare alone, used to heading straight for the bottle, or more recently, the gym, to burn the pain from my body and to sweat out the memories.