Beauty and the Billionaire

I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit to enjoying having him close. He went to college out of state, and it was few and far between we got to see him. Long gone are my insecurities that I wasn't a true Osborne. This is my family, and I would do anything for them, as they would for me.

Grant is already killing it. It’s not surprising since he’s so much like Oz. At least when Oz was younger. All the kid ever does is work—for now at least. With our obsessive personalities, I’m sure a girl will knock him on his ass one day.

“Go already. Shocked you made it this long.”

I’m up out of my seat, heading out of the office. Grant’s laughter follows behind me. It’s Saturday, so the place is dead, and it takes me no time to get out of the building. I’d only come in to kill time. Our two oldest are at camp for the next week, and our littlest is with Mom and Dad for the weekend.

Faith and Whitney had a spa day planned for today. After that, she and I are supposed to go out. I’ve been waiting for her to text me all afternoon to come and get her. How much is there to even do at a spa? She’s already fucking beautiful.

Over fifteen years and I still can’t get enough of my bunny. She gives me life. She woke me up, pulling me out of my anger with her gentle touches and sweet smiles. Not only giving herself to me but showing me what I had all along right in front of me. A family.

I check Bunny’s location one more time as I pull up to the front of the hotel. I toss my keys to the driver, making a beeline to the front desk. I decided to get a room here, unable to wait a second longer to be inside my wife. I hatched the plan on the car ride over. Why the hell not? We’re kid free, and I’m going to enjoy my wife.

My phone goes off in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from my wife. It’s a picture of her in a robe. The top is parted enough for me to see some of her cleavage. My cock goes rock hard at the thought of fucking her. Her cheeks are rosy, and she has a small smirk on her face. She’s got a glass of champagne in her hand. Under the picture it says she’s about to get a massage.

Why does she need a massage? My hands are more than willing, and I can give her a happy ending. It takes me a second to see the man behind her in the picture. He too is in a robe. “The fuck?”

“Where is the spa?” I snap at the kid behind the front counter of the hotel.

“That way sir. Follow the signs.” He points in the direction.

I’m going to buy this spa and every other in this city and burn it the hell down. I push through the glass doors into the spa.

“Where’s my wife? Mrs. Osborn,” I bark a bit too loudly.

“In the spa waiting room, sir,” the woman behind the front desk says, her eyes wide. I see another sign that points the way. I follow it. “You can’t go back there, sir, without a wristband,” she shouts after me.

“I won’t be long.” I storm down the hallway and right into the waiting area. The room is filled with a handful of people. I spot my twin in a corner, her legs crossed under her as she reads a book in her hand.

As for Whitney, she’s standing next to some beverage table as a few men try to snag her attention. I bet my life she doesn’t even notice them. She has no idea the attention she attracts without trying.

“Bunny,” I growl.

Her head pops up, her eyes going wide at seeing me. A smile pulls at her lips as she cocks her head to the side. “That was fast.”

I grab her. She lets out a small squeal. I give death glares to the two dumb fucks that were checking her out. They suddenly become very interested in their phones. They aren't even good enough to even try to steal a peek at her if they so easily back down.

“Should I call someone?” The same girl that was standing at the front desk of the spa asks, a look of panic on her face.

“Nah. That’s her husband and I’m not related to him,” Faith says, never even looking up from her book. She fights a smile as I carry my wife out of the spa and toward the bank of elevators that will take us up to our room.

She keeps her arms wrapped around me, not a bit surprised at my actions. She doesn’t say a word, even when I step onto the elevator and take it up to our floor. I keep waiting for her to say I’m dramatic or call me a caveman.