The Billionaire's Big Bold Wish (The Billionaires Club)

So I struggle in his arms, twisting and turning, trying to get loose before I slip up and get too close, need too much. Better he thinks I'm a brat than knows just how desperate I am to be touched. To be loved. And not just by anyone, but by him. He's my Achilles heel, the chink in my armor…my soft spot. For as long as I've known him, it's always been him.

"Let me go," I growl at him.

"No."

"Justice, dammit." I bring my foot back, trying to kick him in the shin.

He's much quicker than Willis. Somehow, he senses the move and manages to dodge me.

"Settle down before I bend you over your bed and turn your ass red, Milan," he growls in my ear. "I'm not going to hurt you."

No, you're just going to break me.

"You're not my father," I snap even as I feel myself softening toward him, even as I feel myself giving him what he wants. Part of me wants to fight just to see if he follows through on his threat. Part of me wants to feel his hand on my ass. Part of me is smart enough to realize he'll actually do it. That part wins. I stop fighting him.

"You're right, I'm not your father," he growls. "But that's not what you want from me, is it? We both know what you call me when you're alone at night, Milan. Does saying it make your little cunt ache for me, baby girl?"

His erection nudges my back, and oh my god. This isn't happening. It can't be. He doesn't want the things I want. He can't…can he?

He slides one rough hand down my body until his fingertips meet my thighs.

My dress inches upward little by little.

"Stop me if I'm wrong," he says softly.

I sob wordlessly, trying to resist him, trying to deny the truth. I can't. How do you stop your heart from beating? I don't know. I don't know what game he's playing or how he found out about the dirty things I fantasize about either…but he knows.

I won't say the word though. No matter what he does to me, I won't do it.

His fingertips glide up my thighs and my soul quivers, pleading for him to go higher, to touch me where I ache.

"Let me go," I whisper, one last desperate attempt to keep him from getting too close.

"Never, princess."

"Justice, dammit."

"Say it, Milan."

"No."

"Say it, baby girl," he whispers. Justice is larger than life to me. He's always so controlled. He rules his kingdom with an iron fist. He doesn't ask for anything. He certainly doesn't beg. But he's begging me now. I hear the almost imperceptible thread in his voice, a vulnerability I think he'd torch the world to keep anyone from seeing. But he's letting me see it.

I crack down the middle…and cave.

Please, don't break me.

"What do you call me when you touch yourself, baby girl?"

"D-daddy," I whisper, confirming my darkest secret, the one I've fought so hard to keep him from ever discovering.

The sound he makes then…God, it hurts. It's dark and rough and desperate and so damn beautiful all at the same time. His hand slides up my inner thigh, his thumb touching the seam of my panties.

"Wet," he growls.

He's not wrong. They're soaked through because of him, for him.

"Does it hurt, pretty baby?"

"S-s-so bad," I sob before I can stop myself.

"You like fighting me," he murmurs.

His lips touch the side of my throat, and it's my turn to make that noise. It bubbles up from that place deep, deep down where I've tried to hide my feelings for him. It erupts in a keening whine that has him moving even closer to me, as if instinctively trying to protect me.

"You want to know a secret?" he asks, planting little kisses all over my neck. His thumb slides back and forth over the seam of my panties, so close to where I need him, but not quite close enough. "Your daddy likes it too, princess."

My legs collapse beneath me.

"Shit." He catches me in his arms, swinging me up and cradling me against his chest.

For several long moments, we just stare at each other. Both shocked, I think. Both trying desperately to read the other's thoughts. I'm not sure what's more surprising to me. The fact that he called himself my daddy at all…or the fact that it sounded exactly right coming from his lips, as if he's said it before.

Is it possible…?

"Justice," I whisper into the charged silence.

"Pack a bag," he says at the same time.

I blink at him.

"You're coming home with me."

Just that quickly the mood between us changes. He's the bossy billionaire again, and I'm the brat who defies him like it's a biological imperative.

"Put me down."

He quirks a brow.