Read Online Shopping for a Billionaire 3 by Julia Kent - Free Book Online
Authors: Julia Kent
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Genre Fiction, Romantic Comedy, new adult, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, New Adult & College, bbw romance
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get off on dreams of threesomes with Iron M an and Loki .
My Batman joke really was just a joke, though.
Declan i s better than t he Avengers and the X- M en combined. As I stroke the fine weave of his wool suit pants, his thigh shifts under my measured touch. Rippled steel bands react under my palm, the soft inner thigh flesh yielding the tiniest bit as I grasp him, feel his response. He inhales slowly and rests his chin on the top of my head, closing his eyes.
He’s enjoying this. Letting me explore him, confirm he’s real and under my inventory. Here’s his forearm. There’s his biceps. And the chest is right here. The scruff on his cheek makes contact with my cheekbone and I soften into him. Our bodies fit beautifully together. We fit together.
We.
We can’t say a word to each other right now unless we want the pilot to hear, so we sit in silence. His hands mimic mine, soon finding my curves and valleys, swells and peaks. The way he touches me makes me feel desired. Appreciated. Not just wanted, because anyone can be wanted.
He makes me feel cherished .
“ Check out the Red Sox game,” he says, pointing to the well-lit Fenway Park. It’s an early game for the season. Everyone seems so tiny, so insignificant, and yet thousands—tens of thousands—of people are all congregated to watch the game, to party, to be one with the energy of the crowd.
For a split second, I wish Amanda were here. Sex in a limo with a near-billionaire! And a hot man who looks like a Men’s Health cover model. Watching a Red Sox game from above, flying over the gleaming city lights.
Me— Shannon —with Declan McCormick.
And then…my own mind does a 180- degree turn. Sometimes the clearest moments come when you least expect them, and this is one of those times.
You can’t believe it because yo u won’t let yourself believe it. Let go of your own self as an obstacle and imagine how much more you could do and be.
And be cherished.
Tears threaten the inner corners of my eyes. My throat aches with a sickly, bitter taste. I lean in to Declan and press my ear against his heart, the fine cloth of his s hirt cool until my face warms it. A tear mars the perfect whiteness of his shirt and I don’t care.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Steady and strong, his heart continues at its regular pace. I wonder if he’s always like this. So calm, so confident. Without being smarmy or a blowhard, Declan manages to embody so many qualities I’ve wanted in a man, but thought were mythical.
He’s nothing like my own father, who is a sweet, non-judgmental man. But Dad isn’t the dominant type. I’ve never seen him move through life making split-second decisions and assessments of character and behavior and filtering a person in or out based on their response. Dad doesn’t walk into a room with a feeling of command. He’s many wonderful things, but Jason Jacoby is anything but the leader of a pack.
And that’s okay. Really. B e cause I can love my dad but want a man for myself who is completely different.
“We’re almost there,” Declan says, pointing through the window at the scattered lights below. I’m so deep in my thoughts that somehow I manage to forget to look outside, to see the show unfolding beneath us. Complete darkness has descended over the city; it’s a moonless night, so up here in the sky, the air has a whiff of intrigue to it. Without the bright white orb in the sky to shepherd us, the chopper’s movements feel more than a little surreal, like riding Space Mountain at Disney, except there is no enclosed building, no track, no line.
We move down, more of the city rolling out before our eyes. A long patch of nothingness spills into view suddenly. The copter shifts downward and we’re flying fast over water. Declan kisses my ear and I see the white caps of waves cresting, my body drained. I’m tired and spent, yet wired and excited. It’s not from the copter ride.
It’s from knowing
My Batman joke really was just a joke, though.
Declan i s better than t he Avengers and the X- M en combined. As I stroke the fine weave of his wool suit pants, his thigh shifts under my measured touch. Rippled steel bands react under my palm, the soft inner thigh flesh yielding the tiniest bit as I grasp him, feel his response. He inhales slowly and rests his chin on the top of my head, closing his eyes.
He’s enjoying this. Letting me explore him, confirm he’s real and under my inventory. Here’s his forearm. There’s his biceps. And the chest is right here. The scruff on his cheek makes contact with my cheekbone and I soften into him. Our bodies fit beautifully together. We fit together.
We.
We can’t say a word to each other right now unless we want the pilot to hear, so we sit in silence. His hands mimic mine, soon finding my curves and valleys, swells and peaks. The way he touches me makes me feel desired. Appreciated. Not just wanted, because anyone can be wanted.
He makes me feel cherished .
“ Check out the Red Sox game,” he says, pointing to the well-lit Fenway Park. It’s an early game for the season. Everyone seems so tiny, so insignificant, and yet thousands—tens of thousands—of people are all congregated to watch the game, to party, to be one with the energy of the crowd.
For a split second, I wish Amanda were here. Sex in a limo with a near-billionaire! And a hot man who looks like a Men’s Health cover model. Watching a Red Sox game from above, flying over the gleaming city lights.
Me— Shannon —with Declan McCormick.
And then…my own mind does a 180- degree turn. Sometimes the clearest moments come when you least expect them, and this is one of those times.
You can’t believe it because yo u won’t let yourself believe it. Let go of your own self as an obstacle and imagine how much more you could do and be.
And be cherished.
Tears threaten the inner corners of my eyes. My throat aches with a sickly, bitter taste. I lean in to Declan and press my ear against his heart, the fine cloth of his s hirt cool until my face warms it. A tear mars the perfect whiteness of his shirt and I don’t care.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Steady and strong, his heart continues at its regular pace. I wonder if he’s always like this. So calm, so confident. Without being smarmy or a blowhard, Declan manages to embody so many qualities I’ve wanted in a man, but thought were mythical.
He’s nothing like my own father, who is a sweet, non-judgmental man. But Dad isn’t the dominant type. I’ve never seen him move through life making split-second decisions and assessments of character and behavior and filtering a person in or out based on their response. Dad doesn’t walk into a room with a feeling of command. He’s many wonderful things, but Jason Jacoby is anything but the leader of a pack.
And that’s okay. Really. B e cause I can love my dad but want a man for myself who is completely different.
“We’re almost there,” Declan says, pointing through the window at the scattered lights below. I’m so deep in my thoughts that somehow I manage to forget to look outside, to see the show unfolding beneath us. Complete darkness has descended over the city; it’s a moonless night, so up here in the sky, the air has a whiff of intrigue to it. Without the bright white orb in the sky to shepherd us, the chopper’s movements feel more than a little surreal, like riding Space Mountain at Disney, except there is no enclosed building, no track, no line.
We move down, more of the city rolling out before our eyes. A long patch of nothingness spills into view suddenly. The copter shifts downward and we’re flying fast over water. Declan kisses my ear and I see the white caps of waves cresting, my body drained. I’m tired and spent, yet wired and excited. It’s not from the copter ride.
It’s from knowing
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