Paris with the Billionaire

I imagine them getting older and becoming interested in how the business world works, and me coaching them, teaching them how to be strong and honest—and brutal when they need to be.

Or perhaps they’ll want to pursue writing like their mother, or art, or water polo or horseback riding or archery. I don’t care what they want to do, as long as I’ve got them, as long as I’ve got a family.

I glance at the elevator to the suite. The lobby is busy this lunchtime, with lots of guests checking in and out, but nobody skirts close to where I sit because I’m surrounded by four of my security detail.

They’re good, polite men, and don’t try to intimidate the passersby in any way. They stand like statues.

Finally, the golden doors to the executive elevator open and my queen walks out.

I stand, my temples pulsing in shimmering lust, my body tightening at the sight of her.

I told her to wear something beautiful, but this exceeds my wildest expectations. She’s wearing a long, fluttery summer dress that reaches all the way down to her ankles. It’s golden, the color of the sun, and the fabric rests against her body so tantalizingly I find myself scanning the lobby to make sure that no other man is checking her out.

She’s let her hair fall wavy down to her shoulders.

When she gets closer, I see that she’s wearing a light touch of makeup, just enough to enhance her natural beauty that gleams through every single inch of her.

My security detail steps aside as she walks over to me, that tell-tell blush spreading across her chest and disappearing into her cleavage.

I almost roar as my eyes track the passage of that blush, my manhood tightening at the base. My helm throbs the same way it did last night when I pumped deep inside of her, her slit quivering with each thrust.

“You look incredible,” I growl.

I move forward and touch her hip, but only lightly.

If I apply any more pressure, I know I’ll lose control and savage her right here in the hotel lobby.

I’ll bend her over and push her dress up, revealing the round juiciness of her ass …

Fuck, her ass.

The way it bounced against my abs, the fullness of it dancing for me with each pump of my hips.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, looking shyly up at me. “Does that mean you’re going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

I smirk. “That’s a surprise, my perfect firecracker.”

“A good surprise?” she asks.

“Of course,” I growl, moving closer to her.

I can’t help myself. I wrap my arms around her and pull her close to me, feeling the irrepressible heat of her body through the dress. But I make sure to keep my hands high up on her back.

If I move any lower – if I feel her voluptuous hips and that bouncy ass – I won’t be able to restrain myself.

“So no hints?” she says, looking up at me with those wide, naïve green eyes.

But no—she’s not so naïve anymore.

There’s a budding womanhood beneath the naivety of those eyes, a flowering I can’t wait to nurture and watch grow as the years and decades pass, as she becomes a bestselling writer and our children flourish in a loving home.

“No hints,” I smirk. “But you’ll like it.”

I hope she will, anyway, but I don’t want to voice the uncertainty twisting its way through me.

“Hey,” she murmurs, reaching up and touching my face with her soft fingertips. “Are you okay? You seem … nervous? I mean, that seems impossible, for Forrest Ford to be nervous.”

“Maybe I am,” I say. “But they’re good nerves. Come on, let’s get going—”

“Sir.”

I turn to find Larry, a dark haired man with calm green eyes, standing a few inches from me. I can tell by looking at him that’s something wrong. He’s got the look security people get when they have to break some bad news but don’t know how.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s … ah …”

He glances at Fiona and then back to me.

“Anything you can say to me,” I tell him, “you can say to Fiona.”

“It’s Zack Sykes,” he says.

Fiona gasps from beside me.

“What happened? What has he done?”

“I just wanted to let you know that he’s loitering outside the hotel with several of his associates. He hasn’t tried to enter the premises yet – he wouldn’t dare – but I thought you should be made aware. We’re already making plans to exit through the rear entrance—”

“Exit through the rear?” I roar, shaking my head. “I’m not going to scurry away for that motherfucker. Wait here—all of you. Nobody interferes. I’m handling this myself like I should have back at the bookstore.”

“Sir, that isn’t a good idea …”

“Forrest, don’t,” Fiona cries.

“If any of your men get in my way,” I tell Larry, “you’re fired. Do you understand? This motherfucker.”