Auctioned to the Billionaire

“This is for you, Jax.” His head snaps around from staring at the lush floral watercolor he’d given me. For the first time in nearly an hour, a slow smile spreads across his features. “What?” I ask hoarsely as he takes his glass from my outstretched hand, sending electric through my fingers with his touch.

“For starters, you hung the gift I had to fuck you into taking on your living room wall. And then you just called me Jax. You never call me that,” he points out. I rest one hand on my hip and shrug. “It’s usually Mr. Cade, Jackson, dear god.”

“Asshole,” I say with a little smile, letting boldness take over me.

“Yes, that too.”

Crawling onto the couch, I straddle him. He sinks deeper into the cushions and stretches his long legs out in front of him. His blue-green eyes burn into mine for a long time before I murmur, “I’m sorry they hurt you, Jackson.”

He sets his drink to on the side table and twists his fingers through my hair, bringing our faces close together. My throat tightens as his minty breath warms my face, and I shift until my knees are pressed to the back of the couch. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I don’t like seeing you hurt. Because I think it’s pretty fucking awful that a father would marry his son’s wife. I mean, I knew your dad was a shithead after that stunt he pulled with me at York’s but—”

“What stunt?” he demands, darkness clouding his features. Nervously, I lick my lips. I had assumed that Alexander had let it be known what an “ungrateful little bitch” I was for spurning his advances, but Jackson looks utterly confused. When I tell him what happened before Alexander gave up on personally collecting money from my father, that tic from the car ride is back, more violent than ever. “I wanted to strangle him before but now I want to fucking murder him. He put his hands on you, Felicity?”

An anxious laugh pushes past my lips. “Calm down. I didn’t say he tried to attack me in an alley, Jax. He just…” He had made me feel cheap. I’ve always hated dealing with customers who believe that if they throw down a few twenties, I might be willing to climb into bed with them. That experience with Alexander, though, was the worst. Putting on a bright smile, I tell Jackson, “He just touched me.”

“Just touched you,” he spits out.

“If it makes you feel any better, I knocked his drink on his lap. I’m surprised he didn’t remember me from that.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better,” Jackson growls. Dropping my dark hair, he circles my waist possessively, resting his hands on my ass. “I don’t want any man touching you. I don’t even want to think about another man looking at you, Flick. You’re good, sweet. Good and pure and so perfect. I wanted to break that motherfucker’s hand the day I caught him with his hand on your ass at York’s. I should have.”

“Jax,” I whisper softly, but his eyes hold mine captive as he continues.

“If you think I wouldn’t feel the same way about my father, you’re wrong.”

My stomach flutters at his words. When I dated Justin, he hadn’t given two shits about where I was or who I was with. There were so many times one of his friends would make an inappropriate comment about my boobs or ass in front of him, and he’d let it roll right off like he hadn’t heard a thing. But the man sitting in front of me—this beautiful man with his strong hands and his incredible tongue and his ferociously sexy voice—he wants to protect me. To make me his.

“I’ve never been with anyone like you,” I murmur against his lips. I bounce against him, smiling into our kiss when I feel him hardening beneath me.

“You haven’t been with anyone at all, Little Flick.” His reminder sends a tremor through me. “Why couldn’t I have met you before her?”

Oh, my heart can’t take this. Looking for a distraction so I won’t give myself away for feeling too much, too soon, I slide my hand beneath his shirt. I splay my hands over his chiseled chest, spreading them so wide I send buttons flying all over the couch and my living room floor. He never stops looking at me.

“You have me now,” I whisper.

He goes quiet, letting the uneven sound of our breathing and the throb of my heart in my eardrums whisper around me. His lips twitch, like he has more to say, but after a while, he merely shakes his head. Instead of talking, he kisses me. It’s gentle, the kind of kiss I’ve seen in movies during lovemaking, and I fall all over myself for him. Hooking his hands under my thighs, he picks me up, twisting our bodies around so that he’s on top of me.