Billionaire Boys Club 5 : Romancing the Billionaire(84)

"I'll get you one," he told her, moving to sit on the side of her bed and pulling her down next to him.

"I don't want you buying me a housekeeper," she told him. "I'm a teacher."

"Then you shall remain an impoverished teacher and I will take the housekeeper," he told her, dragging her smaller form against his so he could nibble on her ear.

"Do you have a house here in Detroit?" It was difficult to concentrate with his tongue flicking against her ear. "I thought you lived in New York."

"I fly in to Detroit a lot for business and live mostly in New York. I usually stay in a hotel when I'm in Detroit, but if you're here, this is where I want to be, too."

"But what about my teaching?"

"I wouldn't ask you to give up your job for me." He brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, her cheek, everywhere he could kiss her. "I have a few private planes. I'll just fly back and forth a lot more, provided you'll fly with me occasionally. We'll make it work."

"I guess we will, won't we?" There was that hope, beating a frantic pattern in her breast again.

"I do have meetings every Thursday night that I can't miss, but if you don't mind losing me one night a week, the rest of them are yours."

"You'd relocate for me?" It sounded like he was going out of his way to convenience her. Her with the paltry job. He was a billionaire with an enormous company to run, and he was worried about inconveniencing her?

"Violet, you don't seem to get it. I'd do anything for you."

She turned to him and flung her arms around his neck. "I love you, Jonathan."

He fell backward on her bed, his arms going around her waist as she fell onto his chest. His eyes were mysteriously shiny again. "You know I'm never going to get tired of hearing you say that?"

"I'm scared of being in love," she admitted to him. "I'm afraid of putting myself out there and getting hurt."

"The last thing I want is to hurt you," he told her in a husky voice, gazing up at her with love.

"I'm starting to figure that out." Her fingers brushed through his hair and she leaned down to kiss him, then pulled back again. "But it's going to take me a while to get comfortable with things. I imagine I'm going to be difficult from time to time-"

"I like difficult."

"And I'll probably close you out when I get hurt or upset."

"I'll just have to push my way back in again."

"And I'm a terrible slob."

"It's a good thing I'm getting that housekeeper."

She laughed, feeling light and airy and wonderful. "I guess it is."

"Just as long as you never leave me again," Jonathan said, his fingers tightening on her waist. "I can put up with any difficult moments, any messy floors, anything you throw at me."

"I won't leave again. I promise," she said, and traced a finger through the stubble on his jaw. "I do love you."

"I love you more than anything in the world."

She smiled and snuggled against his chest, pressing her cheek against his heart. She loved hearing that. She had a feeling she was going to constantly need to hear it just to believe it, but Jonathan was good about telling her.

His hand slid down her body, caressing her hip. "Can I say how glad I am you didn't slam the door shut in my face?"

Her lips twitched with amusement. She felt so light, so wonderful, so utterly carefree at the moment. She loved him. She loved him, and he was all hers. For as many times as she wanted, for as long as she wanted. Violet felt a surge of possessive pleasure mixed with desire. Her hand moved down his front in a caress, gliding from his chest to his crotch. She felt him harden immediately under her hand. "You do seem glad. Nice and . . . glad."




 

 

Jonathan groaned, his hands tightening against her. "You're distracting me, aren't you?"

"Is that bad?"

"Hell no. Distract me all you want."

She couldn't stop smiling; her hand caressed his c**k through the fabric of his jeans thoughtfully. "Tell me a poem?"

"A poem?" he echoed, clearly distracted.

"Yes. Tell me something romantic." She stroked her hand up and down his cock.

He was quiet for a long moment; as he thought, her fingers dragged over the outline of his cock, and she circled the head through the fabric, causing him to twitch underneath her. "Do you . . . like Rossetti?"

"I'm sure I will."

"All right, then." He sucked in a breath when she dragged her nails over the denim, and then began. "'I loved you first: but afterward your love, outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song . . .' something something."