The Billionaire's Baby Negotiation

She’d been too afraid of his rejection.

And she would have him now, in honor of eighteen-year-old Olive. She would not tell him that she had fantasized about him. She would not tell him how long she’d wanted him.

And she would not allow him to believe that they were inevitable.

She’d been taught to guard her feelings all of her life, and she could see the benefit to that now.

She felt shaken and vulnerable already. Guarding the deepest part of herself was necessary.

He could believe in the attraction. The physical aspect of it. But she couldn’t expose her sweet, girlish fantasies of him. Couldn’t let him know about that soft, secret part of herself.

Except then he pushed a second finger inside of her, his blue eyes boring into hers as he thrust them in and out of her willing body.

“You are enjoying this,” he growled.

She moved her hand to cup the front of his pants. “So are you.”

It was an effort, not to react to what she found there. Hard and so large that the virginal nerves she didn’t think she possessed rose up hard.

He moved his hand away from her, and she felt bereft when he left her body. But then, he reached around and undid her bra, and there was something about finally being exposed to him like this that only amped up her arousal.

She pushed his jacket from his shoulders, then his shirt. Then she moved away from him, kicking off her shoes, and pushing her pants and underwear down her hips, relieved. That finally she was naked in front of him.

Finally.

She sat on the black, velvet couch in the living area, in that perfect, ladylike manner she had been instructed to sit in charm school. And it amused her. To act prim even now.

His lips curved into a smile, his hands going to his belt. And every part of her went liquid at the sight. He undid it slowly, moving the belt through his palms, and snapping it, the sound sending a jolt of anticipation and desire through her body.

“You are something, aren’t you?” he asked.

“How long have you fantasized about me?” she asked, because he was happy to try and force her to admit that this was a long-held desire, so why shouldn’t she push for the same?

“Probably not a good question to ask.”

He began to undo the closure on his pants. Kicked off his shoes and socks, and stripped off everything else.

His erection was thick and long, and while she had been absolutely certain that nothing about the man would be diminutive—plus there had been those online rumors—she wasn’t certain she had been prepared for him to be quite so... Much.

“Spread your legs,” he said.

She met his gaze, because she was never one to back away from a challenge, most especially a challenge issued by Gunnar.

She sat poised on the edge of the couch, and opened herself for him. He stood there, devouring her with his eyes, and even though he was not touching her... She felt that blue lightning as if he were stroking her.

She moved her hand, ready to ease the ache herself.

“No,” he said, and that stopped her midmotion.

“You will not come until I say you can.”

“That’s quite misogynistic,” she said.

“I think some people call it a game, Olive. If you play games with me, you follow rules. Do you understand?”

She was shivering now. Uncontrollably. Because this really was her every fantasy. Every dark, shameful need brought to the surface, bright and sharp.

He walked toward her, every inch the conqueror, and reached out and took hold of her chin. Then he leaned down, and he kissed her.