The Billionaire's Claim: Obsession

I let her pick her bagel first. I grabbed a bunch of different types since I don’t know what she likes—something I want to rectify. She takes an egg bagel, and I get a plain one.

I cut and toast them, hers first. After spreading a generous amount of cream cheese, she takes a big bite, then moans around the food.

The satisfied sound causes my dick to swell as though we didn’t roll around in bed for hours last night.

Five orgasms—a new record.

Right now, my half-hard cock says we should go for six.

She swallows. “I haven’t had a good bagel since I came home.”

“How come?” I want her fed before seducing her again.

“Mom’s not a fan of carbs.” Exasperation crosses her face. “She thinks they’ll make me blow up.”

“Pssh.” Liza is model slim with curves in all the right places. Her mother’s gotta be crazy to think she needs to watch her diet. “Eat what you like.”

Liza polishes off the last bite. “Seriously? You aren’t going to scream and run the other way if I blow up like…” She spreads her arms, elbows straight.

“More of you to kiss and lick.”

Her eyes sparkle. “That’s nice. And such a smooth line.”

“It’s not a line.”

And it’s actually not. I mean it. I’ve had beautiful girls, awkward girls, confident girls, bratty girls, sweet girls, but none of them measure up to Liza. She has the power to make all other women fade away, and it has nothing to do with her weight or appearance. It’s something as fundamental and innate as the air we share.

If I were the woo-woo type, I would say it’s her soul.

Liza looks away for a moment, biting into her lip. There’s a fleeting sadness in her that comes and goes, and I don’t like it. I raise a hand, trace the curve of her cheekbone with my thumb and then, very carefully, cradle her face. She places a hand over mine, her eyes fluttering closed. She looks so vulnerable, so lovely.

Before I can pull her in for a kiss, she takes a deep breath and gives me a smile brilliant enough to make the gears my head stutter. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Her phone rings, and she glances at it. A frown creases her brow. “I have to go. My ride’s here.”

Slight panic and denial mix together. I don’t want her to go.

If she leaves now, this is the end.

She bites her lower lip again, then hesitates for maybe a fifth of a second—the amount of time it takes to fall for someone.

She takes a napkin and jots down ten digits in neat handwriting. “Call me.”

After placing a kiss on my cheek, she walks out, leaving only the scent of my soap behind.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth

After the taxi takes me back to the bar, I drive my Maserati to Uncle Salazar’s mansion. I prefer to stay with Marcella in the three-bedroom condo her parents leased for her, but that wasn’t an option when I returned to the States.

“Marcella?” Grandma Shirley snorted. “That girl and her family are beneath you, Elizabeth. You’ll come stay with me. There are plenty of empty bedrooms.” She’s been living in a small mansion since her husband’s death.

I didn’t bother to look to Mom for help since I know where her loyalty lies.

“You should do as your grandmother says. She knows best, and Marcella just isn’t the right kind of friend.” Of course, Mom knows this despite never having met Marcella. “You can do better.” She placed a sycophantic hand on Grandma’s shoulder.

At the end, it was Uncle Salazar who said I ought to stay with him since his place is bigger—by ten bedrooms. “A teenager doesn’t want to be under somebody’s eye all the time, Mother,” he told Grandma. “Even if it is her doting grandmother.”