The Billionaire Swap novel · Chapter 7 of 16

Chapter 7: The Yacht

I looked up at him.

A man walking a poodle went around us on the sidewalk and pretended not to stare.

"Okay," I said.

Stuart laughed against my mouth.

"Is that all I get? Okay?"

"You get okay," I said. "And you get the other side of the bed."

He kissed me again.

We drove the van back to the depot faster than he'd ever driven it.

He held my hand on the train the whole way west and didn't say a word.

He didn't have to.

His thumb kept moving over my knuckles, over the plain silver ring, around and around.

By our stop I couldn't sit still.

We started up the six flights side by side, like normal people.

We made it to the second landing.

Then he stopped, turned, and kissed me against the railing.

The paint was chipped under my hands.

Somebody's television was playing a game show behind a door.

"We're in the stairwell," I said into his mouth.

"I know where we are."

He kissed me again, harder, and I forgot about the game show.

Third floor, I pushed my hands up under his red jacket and pulled his shirt loose from his jeans.

His skin was hot and his breath caught when my fingers found it.

"Abigail."

"You said you didn't want the sofa."

"I don't."

"Then walk faster."

He laughed, and it came out shaky.

Fourth floor, he pinned me to the wall beside somebody's welcome mat and kissed my neck until my knees went.

I heard myself make a sound I had never made before.

It echoed all the way down the stairwell.

He lifted his head and looked at me.

"Say that again," he said.

"No."

"Please?"

"Fifth floor," I said. "Maybe."

On the fifth floor he picked me up.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me the last flight, both of us laughing and gasping, my shoes knocking the railing.

He got the key in the lock on the third try.

The door swung open.

He kicked it shut behind us.

He put me down in the middle of the living room, next to the sofa with his blanket still folded on the arm.

We both looked at it.

Then he looked at me.

He took my face in his hands again, slow now, careful again.

His eyes were very dark.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he said. "Any time. I mean it."

"I don't want to stop."

"Abigail..."

"I've said okay to everything my whole life," I said. "This isn't okay. This is yes."

His breath went out of him.

I took his hand and walked him to the bedroom.

The curtains he irons were drawn, and the afternoon light came through them gold.

I pulled off his red jacket and dropped it on the floor.

His hands went to the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head.

The air hit my skin and I shivered, but not from cold.

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes moving over my face, my shoulders, the thin silver necklace still resting against my collarbone.

"You're shaking," he said.

"So are you."

He was.

His fingers trembled as he unbuttoned his own shirt, and I reached out and did it for him, pushing the fabric off his shoulders.

His chest was lean and warm under my palms.

"Stuart."

"Abigail."

He said my name like it was the first line of something.

Then he bent and kissed me again, slower this time, his hands going to the clasp of my bra.

He fumbled.

I laughed against his mouth.

"Are you nervous?"

"I'm trying not to be an animal about this," he said, his voice rough. "You have no idea."

"I want the animal."

He went very still.

"Say that again."

"I want the animal."

Something in him snapped.

He unhooked my bra and pulled it off, and then his mouth was on my breasts, his tongue hot against my nipple, and I gasped and gripped his hair.

"Oh."

He pushed my jeans down and I stepped out of them, and then he was lifting me again and laying me back on the bed.

The sheets were cool under my back.

He stood over me, undoing his belt, and I watched his hands.

I had never watched a man do that before.

Not like this.

Not when it meant everything.

"Take off your pants," I said.

He did.

His cock was hard, thick, and my stomach went tight looking at it.

He climbed over me, one arm braced beside my head, and kissed me deep.

His other hand slid down my stomach, over my hip, between my legs.

"Christ," he breathed when his fingers found me. "You're so wet."

"That's your fault."

"Good."

He touched me slowly at first, learning me, and I arched up into his hand.

Then he pushed one finger inside me and I made that sound again, the one from the stairwell.

He made a low noise in his chest.

"You like that."

"Yes."

"Tell me what you want, Abigail."

I opened my eyes and looked up at him.

His gray eyes were dark, his face tight with restraint.

I reached up and touched his jaw.

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