Beauty and the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club 2)

He protested, digging his feet in for a moment. “Today’s about your day of rest, Gretchen. I don’t want you waiting on me.”

She rolled her eyes, a semblance of her normal attitude returning. “Cooking’s not a chore, silly. It’s fun. Now, come on.”

***

Gretchen was right—she could make a mean omelet, and even he, who normally didn’t eat breakfast, cleaned his plate. She didn’t stop with the omelet. Before he could even suggest otherwise, she was preparing a breakfast smoothie and then chopping potatoes for home fries.

This kitchen, she told him, was a shame to waste. So she talked and told him about recipes and things her mother had cooked for them when they were children. She seemed to glow with internal peace while she turned on the oven and picked an overripe banana off the counter, then began hunting for bowls. “I swear, Eldon lets most of this food go to waste. I’m going to make some muffins for the cleaning crew. It seems a shame not to use up these groceries.” She paused for a moment, then tilted her head at him. “This is lame, isn’t it?”

He was surprised by the sudden shyness in her voice. “What do you mean?”

She gestured at the ingredients spread on the marble countertops. “Me. Cooking. You think it’s stupid and you’re probably bored.”

“Not at all.” It was the truth, too. Gretchen in the kitchen seemed to be a whirling dervish of ideas. “I like watching you work. I don’t mind.”

She gave a wry, self-deprecating snort and began to peel the ripe bananas, dropping them into a bowl. “That’s funny. You never want to watch me write.”

“You don’t look as happy when you write,” he pointed out, reaching over to snag a chunk of banana and tossing it into his mouth. “You look happy now.”

Gretchen gave him an almost shy smile, her gaze on the bowl in front of her. “Writing’s my job. I don’t do it because I love it. It just pays the bills.” She picked up a small bit of banana clinging to the edge of the bowl and nudged it back with the rest. “I thought when I first started that writing would be an amazing job. Spend all day in your pajamas and no one to answer to but yourself, right?”

“I suppose.” Years of business had taught him that there was always someone to answer to. He didn’t correct her, though, because he liked hearing her thoughts and perspective on things.

“Yeah, well, I get to spend all day in my pajamas, but it seems like I have more bosses and deadlines than ever before. And I’m not crazy about the work. Like . . . not at all.” She frowned to herself and grabbed the potato masher, then began to vigorously smash the bananas in the bowl. “I kind of hate it, actually. Fucking astronauts and their stupid bimbo girlfriends.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know. My ghostwriting work.”

He had no idea what she ghostwrote. He’d been told, but it hadn’t been important to him. Apparently Gretchen wrote about astronauts . . . or bimbos. What she wrote had never been important to him, though. Only Gretchen was. “So what would you do if you could do anything?”

Gretchen glanced over at him. “Be right here? With you?”

He smiled. God, he loved her.

For the entire morning, Gretchen cooked and baked in the kitchen. It seemed therapeutic and distracting for her to pull ingredients out of the well-stocked fridge and begin to make delicious treats. And while she baked, she chatted. She told him about how when she was a little girl, she was the eldest. The twins were Audrey and Daphne, and their mother worked two jobs to make ends meet. As the eldest child, Gretchen had been the one in charge of the food, and during the summers she’d watched cooking shows to learn how to prepare meals for her sisters. She’d enjoyed working in the kitchen and it had taken off from there. Now she baked for the coffee shop and loved to cook for friends.

By the time Gretchen looked fully relaxed, there was a fresh-baked set of banana nut muffins on the counter, something she referred to as a gingerbread soufflé, tiny, perfectly shaped white chocolate scones, and pudding-filled lemon cupcakes decorated with hints of lemon zest, freshly grated by Hunter. She seemed utterly content.

She was beautiful and incredibly sexy, and he found that he could watch her for hours and never get bored.

When the last pan was out of the oven and cooling, she began to whip up frosting. She glanced over at him and then dipped her finger in the frosting, offering it to him. “Want to taste?”

His cock jerked at the husky note in her voice and the soft look in her eyes. Ah, damn. Gretchen was thinking pleasant things, and it automatically made him hard to recognize that. Hunter leaned in and took her finger in his mouth, sucking on the fingertip.

A soft whimper of lust escaped her throat.

He licked her with languorous pleasure, his cock hard as a rock in his pants. When he released her finger, her gaze was still riveted to his mouth.

It seemed they were thinking along the same wavelength. “Is it too early in the day to throw you down on the floor and fuck you?”

Her entire body seemed to tremble with that. “God, no. Never too early.”

“Then come here,” he growled.

She moved toward him slowly, all cooking forgotten. Her hands reached for him automatically, moving to smooth along his jaw and the scars there. He didn’t flinch away at her exploring touch. Gretchen’s gaze was appreciative and hot with desire, not disgusted and flinching with revulsion.

She saw him beneath the scars.

Hunter’s arm went around her waist, dragging her against him. Her eyes widened and she smiled, placing a hand on his already erect cock through his slacks. “It doesn’t take much to get you going, does it?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he told her, wrapping his other hand in her hair and tilting her neck back. He leaned in and pressed a kiss there, running his teeth over her skin.

She shivered against him, her hand automatically clenching around his cock. “Oh, Hunter, that feels amazing.”

“I want to make you feel good,” he told her, licking at the delicate cords of her neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Sex. Right here, right now.” Her hand pumped over his cock, rubbing through his clothing as if she could give him a handjob through the layers.

He groaned in response, sliding the yoga pants down her hips. “Yes. God, yes.”

She froze in his arms. “Wait. What about the staff? What if they see us? Maybe we should hide somewhere.”

He groaned at the thought. He wanted to sink into Gretchen right then and now. But she was right. “We need condoms, too.” Fuck. He needed to learn to keep one on him at all times. “Fine. We’ll go to your room.”

“So far away? It’s an entire hall or two down,” she teased. “I don’t know if I can walk that far.”

He grabbed her under her thighs and lifted her into the air. “Then I’ll carry you.”

She squeaked in surprise, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist, her arms going around his neck. “I was joking. I can walk.”

Hunter thrust against the juncture of her sex, settling her against his erection. “But I like to carry you.”

Gretchen sighed, and she automatically leaned in to kiss him, her thighs squeezing tight around him. “I’m out of objections.”

He kissed her back, his tongue slicking against hers in a wild tangle. With her lifted into his arms, he began to walk slowly out of the kitchen, each step pushing her against his aching cock. He turned his back to push open the swinging kitchen door, then continued down the hall. All the while, she moaned and continued to kiss him, clinging to him.

The walk down the long hall of the east wing to her room seemed endless. Why was his damn house so big? And yet, him carrying her back to her room was exquisitely pleasurable. Every step pushed Gretchen’s warmth against his cock, and her thighs squeezed against his hips. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and her mouth sweetly accepted every thrust of his tongue.

It was delicious torture.

She moaned loudly when they got to her door, and he had to pause to twist the doorknob and push the door open. “Don’t stop moving,” she told him, rolling her hips and working against his cock.

He groaned, his entire body stiffening with need. “Gretchen, don’t.”

“Don’t do this?” She tightened her hands around his neck and ground her hips against him, her lips brushing against his scarred cheek. “I want you deep inside me.”

Hunter staggered into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He carried her to the bed and laid her down onto her back, immediately rolling on top of her.

“Mmm,” she said, working her hips again. “I liked it when you held me. Felt so close to you.”

He sat up, stripping off his shirt and jacket. “We don’t have to stop. We can make love like that, with me holding you. I just need to get a condom on.”

She gave him a surprised look, and ran a hand along his bare chest, tracing the muscles of his pectorals. “I’m not too heavy?”

“Not at all.” He undid his belt, releasing his pants to the ground, quickly followed by his boxers. “Shall I show you?”

“Absolutely,” she breathed, her voice excited. She began to strip her own clothing off with rapid hands, dragging her shirt over her head as he moved to the dresser and got out one of the condoms. He unwrapped it and rolled it down his aching length, resisting the urge to take himself in his hand and ease the ache a little. He’d be seated deep inside Gretchen soon enough, and that would be sweeter than any pleasure he could give himself.

When he turned around, she was laying on the bed, completely naked. She spread her legs wide at the sight of him, a beckoning gesture that he couldn’t resist. But instead of going to her outstretched arms, he leaned in and nuzzled at her pussy, licking the delicate, slick folds and enjoying the choked gasp that she gave in response.

“You taste so sweet, Gretchen. Sweeter than anything I’ve tasted.” He pushed his tongue through her wet petals, flicking it against her clitoris. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then don’t stop.” Her hands twisted in his hair, holding his head in place while he tongued her. “Oh, God, don’t ever stop.”

“But you’ll come,” he said raggedly, and sucked on the small button to make up for the fact that he’d paused.

She cried out, her back arching, and then whimpered a protest when he pulled away. “Why are you stopping?”

“Because I need to be inside you,” he said, his voice rough with need. “Right now.”

She made another wordless sound of protest, but he grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he commanded, even as he placed the head of his cock against her slick core.

Gretchen did, and he lifted her back into his arms again, tugging her against him.

The movement caused her weight to slide down, and then she was sheathed around him, her heat enveloping him like a glove. The feel of her was indescribable and he groaned at the sensation.