Paris with the Billionaire

I shudder and grip my knees, letting out a tortured, tangled cry.

“It’s okay,” Forrest murmurs. “You don’t have to say anymore.”

“I want to,” I say. “I need to. I’ve got this far.”

“So what happened next?” he asks, his voice surprisingly soft, even if there is a tremor beneath it.

“I put my hand in my pocket and clicked send on my phone. I’d told Kelly – she’s my twin sister, but non-identical – what I was doing. She didn’t approve, and she made me promise I’d text her if anything happened. She was waiting nearby and she came running over.”

I laugh at the memory, shaking my head.

“Kelly is so different from me. She was waving this baseball bat around, yelling at him. She scared him off. After that, he wouldn’t quit. He kept sending me letters. One time he even left a freaking dead rat in my locker. We had to move in the end.”

All the heartache of the story explodes out of me and I turn to him, pressing my face against his chest. I can feel the muscles of his chest through the fabric, the solidity of his skin.

I grip onto his shoulders and squeeze tightly, digging my fingernails in.

“I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my face and leaning back. “I’m getting your shirt all wet.”

“Hush,” he says. “You don’t have to apologize. Thank you for telling me, Fiona. But I’m not like that. I’m not like him. I’d never do such a pathetic, sad thing. This bastard, this Zack Sykes, he better hope we never cross paths.”

“His dad’s in the mafia,” I murmur.

Forrest laughs, a growl bolstering the sound.

“That doesn’t mean a damn thing when my lady’s involved,” he snarls.

“Forrest,” I murmur, as we clasp hands and Paris sparkles beneath us.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something else, you know, while we’re getting it all out there …”

“Go on, firecracker,” he urges.

I lick my lips, taking a deep breath.

I have to tell him.

There’s no way I can’t, not after what we did last night.

“I’m a virgin,” I say, bowing my head.

Chapter Eight

Forrest

I like to think I’m good at keeping my cool.

I have to be for my work, never letting anything faze me in business meetings, never letting other people see the swirling tortured oceans swimming behind my calm eyes.

But now it’s like there’s a volcano in my gut, rumbling, getting ready to explode.

This Zack Sykes bastard, Fiona’s virginity, my secret – the secret that could shatter her – it all smashes together with the violence of an asteroid hitting land.

I turn to her and tip her chin, moving her gaze up until we’re looking into each other’s eyes. Hers are wide and brimming with heartache and naivety with virginal trust searing beneath it all.

“That only makes me want you more,” I growl, my cock throbbing despite all the emotion dancing in the Parisian air.

“What?” she gasps.

“It makes me want you more,” I growl, sliding my hand behind her head and gripping her hair, softly and yet possessively.

I could guide her to my aching manhood right now, fuck that pretty little young mouth until she’s creaming from that alone.

I need to calm the beast inside of me.

I have to wait until she’s ready.

But my balls pulse like my seed is rebelling against that notion.

“Are you serious?” she moans.

“Yes,” I growl. “I’m claiming you, Fiona. That means you’re not allowed to be with other men. You’re not allowed to flirt with them. I own you, completely. You belong to me. So of course this makes me want you more, you sexy fucking thing. This means I’m going to own your pussy, truly own it.”

I pull us both to our feet and then loop my arms around her waist, squeezing onto her hips as I crush my lips against hers. She gasps as I push against her, as all the desire and need in my body tries to explode out of me.

I slide my hands down to her ass, squeezing her sweet round juiciness through the gossamer-thin fabric of her dress, palming her perfect flesh.

She moans and shivers against me, all her virginal want coursing through her, telling her to give herself to me as badly as my predator’s instincts command me to take her.

I break off the kiss, which is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

My own words ricochet around my mind.

Honesty is the most important thing.

I have to tell her.

I can’t keep her in the dark.

She deserves the truth.

I can’t trick her like that motherfucker Zack Sykes did.

“Forrest,” she murmurs. “Is something wrong?”

“I hope not,” I sigh, smoothing my thumb over her reddened cheek, still blossoming from her tears.

I don’t want to make her cry.

I don’t want to hurt her.

Fuck, I’ve gotten myself into a mess here.

“But I need to tell you something,” I sigh. “You’ve bared your soul to me, Fiona. It’s only right I do the same.”