The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride

“Don’t—!” I say.

…but it’s too late.

She’s gone, leaving me holding my dick—literally?

?in the living room.

The jarring sound comes again. I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them when the clamoring doesn’t stop.

The familiar ceiling of my bedroom. Slanting sunlight coming in through the windows. What the—?

Breathing hard, I look down. I’m still holding my dick in my hand. And I’ve made a mess on the sheets.

Fuck. What am I? Sixteen?

The phone keeps ringing. It’s five thirty. I answer it. Probably Benedict with some emergency. Then I remember he’s off. Is it Yuna, then?

“Declan,” I say, my voice rough.

“Dude, what’s going on? I thought we were going to run together this morning?” It’s Aiden, sounding very annoyed.

I start to put my free hand over my eyes, but stop when I realize it’s wet and sticky. Ugh. I wipe it on the sheet, which will have to be laundered in any case. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Did you? Because you sound like you’ve been running. Did you go out by yourself?”

“I was running to get the phone.” No way am I telling him I had a wet dream about Yuna. Aiden would never let me live it down. “And I was working late, reading a script for a meeting with a director on Friday,” I add, “which is why I overslept.”

“Ohhh, I see.” Aiden’s voice is a parody of understanding. “I figured maybe your new assistant jumped you and cracked your femur or something.”

I wish Yuna had jumped me. Actually, forget jumping. We could just have what we were doing earlier in my dream. With some modifications. Like going to my bed. And me stripping her and having my way with her. It’s a crime I didn’t get to see her come, even if it was just a dream.

“She’s a good and, uh, proper assistant,” I manage.

A good, proper assistant who I had a wet dream about. Jesus.

“I’m going to run later,” I say. “Anyway, we should get together. My treat for missing the run today.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know a time after I check my schedule.”

“That works,” I say, then hang up and toss the phone on the pillow next to me.

Yuna’s going to be here in about three hours. I should try to get my body under control.

And most definitely not think about her mouth and what it can do with my dick.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Declan

Yuna shows up by the time I’m done scrambling my egg whites. Nobody can miss the tok tok of her wedge-heel sandals. And she’s in a flaming red dress that reminds me—uncomfortably—of how hot she looked in my porno dream.

I lay out a bagel and some cream cheese, plus a bowl of cut fruit for her. Then, to make sure I don’t do or say anything impulsive out of a coffee-deprived state, I start sipping my first cup.

She takes a bite of a bright red strawberry and smiles. “Mmm. You feed me the tastiest things.”

Agh. Coffee shoots up my nostrils. It’s surprisingly painful. I cough a few times.

And my dick is instantly hard.