Page 17 of The Billionaire Mismatch

“We can go to the couch,” I say as I look up at him. “But if I’m being honest, I’m not really interested in talking.”

“Really…” he asks, taking both our glasses and setting them on the counter. “What are you interested in?”

There’s a beat of static between us.

“Following your lead…” I say, and his eyes grow wilder before his mouth crashes against mine.

From there, I’m not sure how any of it happens. Maybe Kiersten was right. Maybe I’ve been single for too long and it’s starting to show. Maybe sake is my tequila, and it leads to mischief. Or maybe Luca Laurent really is just that intoxicating. Right now, as his hands travel down my ass and he grips my thighs to hoist me up into his arms, I’m going with the latter.

Should I be doing this? Maybe not. But also, I’m supposed to go with the flow. And things are definitely flowing. As Luca takes me over to the couch, our lips stay locked, the kiss going deeper and deeper, but not in a messy way. So many men, men my age to be specific, are sloppy. Pushy. Over the top. Luca is neither. He’s sure of himself, unrushed but also hungry. The way one might enjoy a decadent dessert.

As he lays me down on the couch, he cages me in with his arms, giving my lips a rest and moving on to devour my neck.

“Oh, God,” I moan. Slowly he kisses his way down to the swell of my breasts, and I thank God for the second time tonight that I wore this dress before moaning again. Apparently, I have erogenous spots that I didn’t know existed. And Luca’s tongue is determined to wake every single one of them.

“For the record, I never do this,” I say, realizing just how cliché that sounds. But it’s true. I mean, I’m not exactly a virgin or anything, but I definitely don’t usually go this far on a first date. Especially not at the guy’s house. I very much never recommend going to a strange guy’s house on the first date. But in my defense, Luca isn’t entirely a stranger.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says as he nibbles on the soft spot of my neck below my ear.

“Oh, I never said that,” I tell him, my voice an octave or so too high. “Eight years aged or not, I don’t think either of us came here to drink wine,” I say.

Something resembling a smirk crosses his lips for a brief second before he tugs my dress down and pulls it off my body.

I am neither a curvy girl nor skinny. I’m kind of just somewhere in between. I have hips, but hardly any boobs. Though I like to think what I do have is perky. I have arguably fair skin, save for a birthmark the shape of the country of Italy on my ribcage. In short, I’m average. Short and average. But that doesn’t seem to matter to Luca right now, despite the fact I am sure he has done this with supermodels. The fact that his eyes are wild and alive right now tells me he is into this. Into me. And the feeling is more than mutual.

Once my dress is gone, he works the latch on my bra, stripping me of that as well and leaving me exposed other than my black lace panties. For a moment, he just stares at me, his eyes trailing slowly over every inch of me as he takes me in, almost like he’s trying to memorize my every curve so he can look at it again later.

“Damn, you’re gorgeous,” he says.

Not hot. Not sexy. Not all the words men use when they just want to take what they need. Gorgeous. It’s like saying sexy and beautiful all wrapped up into one. This man is like a Rubik's Cube with all the colors rubbed off. I can’t seem to figure him out from one turn to the next.

I bite my lip, feeling the blush in my cheeks, and link my thumbs into my panties before sliding them off.

“How about now?” I ask, my voice velvety.

A low growl rises from Luca’s throat.

“Fuck,” he says before lowering himself down between my legs. He kisses my thighs, showering them with gentle nibbles that set my nerves on fire before planting a kiss on my mound. I gasp softly at the first touch, and immediately my body aches for more. Full disclosure, I’ve only had a guy go down on me one other time. I was twenty-one, and it was my birthday. I know, it’s the beginning of a “great” story. He had no idea what he was doing.

But as Luca opens his mouth and his tongue laps over the length of me with learned precision, I can confirm that is not the case.

My thighs spread subconsciously, allowing him to pleasure me even more deeply as he traces the grooves of my most sensitiveparts. His tongue is both soft and rough, and the friction is perfect. I’m afraid I am going to have to throw my new seventy-five-dollar toy in the trash after this.

“You’re delicious,” he says into me, sending a shiver through my body as his tongue explores every centimeter of me. He teases my opening, making a soft, gravelly mmm sound. “You’re so wet for me…”

Uh…yeah.

Before I can respond, not that I really know what to say to that, his tongue finds my clit. By the way he presses into it, flicking and teasing, I think it’s fair to say it wasn’t an accident. He knew where it was all along and was just waiting until I was already on the edge.

“Fuck,” I let out as my back arches against his Italian leather.

“Mm hmm,” he murmurs, and if I had to guess, he’s got a small, cocky smile on his lips. I don’t even care. As he works his magic, kissing, flicking, nibbling, sucking, I can feel my body shuddering, like an earthquake rumbling inside of me about to hit the surface. And when the orgasm hits, it is nothing short of a magnitude nine. It breaks through me, shaking me again and again, my hips crashing into his mouth with each wave until I am left in pieces on his couch, panting and flushed.

“Damn,” I whisper.

Luca sits up and wipes his mouth with a smirk. The smirk I assumed he was wearing and, at this point, honestly, deserves. Then his eyes grow darker as he stands to shed his clothes.

“Catch your breath. Because we aren’t done,” he says.