Claimed By The Billionaire Husband

As I read in a steady voice, Dominic alternated from looking toward the sky to looking at me. At one point, when I was reading a particular explicit passage, Dominic bit his lip and stared at me. Was he horrified? Turned on? I sneaked a little glance to see if he had an erection beneath his charcoal-gray suit pants. Dear God, he did have an erection. A huge one. This made me grin a little, but I didn't stop reading. He must have willpower of steel to be able to lie there for long minutes with a hard-on and not make a move to touch me. He didn't even extend a lone fingertip to my legs, which were inches from his body. It was actually kind of frustrating, and I squirmed a millimeter closer to him. I paused from reading to catch my breath. I was fully perspiring now, between the warm Florida air and my excitement. Already, my inner thighs were slippery with sweat and my own juices. I didn't know I'd get so excited by reading out loud. Or maybe I was turned on by reading to Dominic. "What do you think so far?" I asked, setting my tablet on my lap and trying to look serious. It was difficult keeping a straight face after reading all that. "Well, it's interesting, at least for me, because it's from a woman's point of view. I wouldn't expect a woman to have these...uh, desires. And yet, a guy wouldn't write about sex this tenderly. It's intimate. Well, this part is. You write good sex. Sexy sex." "Thank you." My mouth was parched, and I wondered if I should pause our reading and run to the bar for some ice water. I didn't really want to leave his side; that was the thing. I was enjoying this too much. "But one point, Isabella. Maybe you should have a little bit more showing and less telling in chapter two, when she's about to blow him in the car." I smirked and shot him a skeptical glance. Then I tapped on my screen, flicking back several pages. "Are you serious? I tried to show her emotions there." Dominic sat up, folding himself into a cross-legged position. He extended his hand toward my tablet. "May I?" I handed him the device, and he swiped, then looked up. He held out the tablet so I could see the screen and pointed to a line. "Here. I think you need to describe the tactile—the feeling of his cock in her hand—not only what's in her mind. I get the whole concept of deep POV and everything, but we need to feel what she's feeling. Does the reader really care about how she feels like she's different and wild because she's sucking cock in an SUV? No. They want to live vicariously, and that's written through the five senses." "Hmm." I bit my lip as I pondered this. He might have a point. I looked up to see the cabana curtains rippling in the warm breeze and fought the urge to respond with a snarky comment. "I'll take it under advisement." He chuckled, and that's when it hit me that I was talking to an intriguing man that I'd just met about sucking cock. I laughed, hard, throwing back my head. "What? I'm sorry," he said. "It's really excellent, please don't think I'm criticizing you. You're a wonderful writer. I slipped into critique-group mode there for a minute. I guess I miss being around creative people. I enjoy the banter and discussion." His grin was so adorable that I contemplated leaning forward on all fours and kissing him. I paused, shifting so that I was sitting on my heels, and he rested my tablet on the lounge bed. I looked around to see if anyone was walking by our cabana, and they weren't. The only sounds I could hear were the muffled voices of people reading their stories. I glanced at Dominic, and he was wearing that foxy, knowing smile. "What?" I asked. "Why are you—" "Staring at you?" I nodded. "You're striking. That long, curly black hair. Your skin. It looks like you've never been in the sun; you're so fair. And those eyes. Dark. Almost black." I nodded. He noticed. "Can I ask you a personal question about your writing?" I looked at him and tilted my head. "Is your story autobiographical or a fantasy?" The look on his face was curious, not seductive. Which both impressed and disappointed me. "Not autobiographical." I shrugged. "A fantasy? Maybe. Don't writers all fantasize about the things they put on the page?" "You know what I think?" That's when he reached out to sweep away a curl that had fallen in my face. My heart pounded against my ribs. "I think a fantasy is..." His voice trailed off. "A fantasy is what?" He smiled. "Well, maybe I'm feeling poetic tonight, but...I think a fantasy is what the heart whispers to silence a busy mind." "That's...beautiful. Wow." "No, you're beautiful. That's really why I can't stop staring." His voice was low and growly, and parts of me liquefied. He then huffed out a little laugh. Thankfully, he didn't take his finger out of my curl. "Damn. I can't believe I just said all that. I think I just had a flashback to my emo-creative-writing days. Please excuse me." "You're excused," I whispered. His words made my toes curl deliciously. He was also a little self-deprecating, which I appreciated because it balanced the undercurrent of his arrogance. "But there's something about you, Isabella. And it goes beyond you reading to me about sex. I think." "You think, but you're not sure?" I laughed, and he did, too, breaking the tension that had built up. "Well, I'm really not a woman who reads erotica to strange men. I usually read tamer stuff." "So you're saying I'm special?" He released my hair. Dammit. I paused, thinking of his question. "You seem smart and curious and interesting. Trust me, those qualities aren't easy to find in men." "They're not easy to find in women, either." He let out an easy laugh. Okay, he was starting to be too good to be true. But whatever. I hadn't been with anyone in almost a year, and Dominic was too enticing. And too close to my body in this semi-private, gauze-draped, red-hued cabana. I briefly tried to remind myself that he wasn't truly my type, that he probably usually dated women who organized charity balls and shopped at Saks. If he was even really single in the first place. But my doubts flew from my mind when I caught his scent again. I leaned toward him, feeling my legs slip against one another and my lips tingle with the anticipation of a kiss. The little smile faded, and he again reached out and tangled all of his fingers in my hair, tugging me ever so slightly toward him. "I've never kissed a woman in a cabana before." His eyes were half-lidded and obviously sensual. "I've never kissed a man at Story Brothel before." "Can I be your first?" he murmured. "With pleasure." He licked his bottom lip and pulled me closer. His sweet and musky scent, combined with the whiskey, was intoxicating. Our lips were inches apart, and I could feel the whisper of his hot breath on my skin. Then a shriek came from the direction of the bar. "Dominic! Dominic!" He shut his eyes. "Shit. That's Laura." "Laura?" I plopped back on my heels, shock surging through me. What the hell? "My sister." "Oh," I exhaled. "What's wrong with her?" He ran a hand over his short hair. "Well, from her tone, I can tell she's panicking." "She's what? Why?" "She has a severe anxiety disorder, and sometimes when she drinks, she has an attack. This has been going on for years." My jaw dropped as the woman's breathy, panicked voice grew closer. Biting his lip, his expression faded from sad to sorry. "I've got to take her home. I apologize." He scrambled out of the cabana, and I followed on all fours, parting the curtain and peering out. As he slid his feet into his shoes, the tall blonde woman ran up, sobbing. Several people poked their heads out of their cabanas to watch. "Sis. Hey. It's okay. Let's get you home." He squeezed her shoulders, then rubbed her upper arms. "Give me thirty seconds, okay? Okay?" She nodded and stammered something about how she was having a heart attack and that she needed to get to a hospital. In a gentle voice, he reminded her to breathe. When he'd first said his sister was having a panic attack, I'd been skeptical. But seeing this woman's obvious terror up close was disturbing. What had happened between her and Sarah? I climbed out of the cabana and stood next to her. "Hey," I said in my softest voice. "You'll be okay." Just then, Sarah rushed over. "Want me to call an ambulance?" Dominic shook his head. I turned to him as he shrugged on his jacket. "Why don't I go with you to help?" He paused and looked down. He seemed even taller now because I wasn't wearing shoes. His anguished eyes bored deep into mine. "Thank you, Isabella, but no." He ran the backs of his fingers down my cheek, which sent heat coursing through my veins. Before I could say anything else, he turned and put his arm around his crying sister, and they quickly walked away, followed by Sarah. I tunneled back into the cabana, not wanting to face the stares of the others. Flinging myself on the bed, I lay on my back, shaking, feeling more turned on than I had in years and wondering what the hell had just happened. I inhaled deeply, taking in Dominic's vanilla-oak scent that lingered on the pillows and in the humid air.