Page 45 of The Bet
He holds up a hand, as if to say: pause. “It’s not a control thing,” he says, but then reconsiders. “Not really, anyway. But—there’s a reason. More than one, actually. You want the real answer?”
I nod, heart pounding.
The handsome man looks at the window, then at me, and his expression is so naked that for a second I want to hide under the table.
“I’m a very wealthy man, Andie,” he says. “And that’s not a flex, it’s just a fact. When you’re wealthy—when you look like me, and have the lifestyle that I do—women try to get pregnant on purpose because a baby ties you to someone for eighteen years. Thirty, if you’re really unlucky.”
I blink, not sure how to process this. “You’re saying—what, that women try to trap you so they can live in the lap of luxury?”
He nods, unblinking. “Yes. They’ve tried, and it’s happened more than once.”
I wrap both hands around my mug, the ceramic cool under my fingers. “Wait, do you have kids? Other than Stella, I mean? Did Stella’s mom trap you?”
He sees where I’m headed and shakes his head. “No, no unexpected children that I know of, at least. Thank god. And I was married to Stella’s mom, so there was no entrapment there. The marriage didn’t work out, but I got an amazing daughter out of it, so that’s not it. But in the past couple years, I’ve only done anal since I haven’t been in a serious relationship.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “So that’s why.”
He nods. “It started taking on a pattern, and after the third ‘accidental’ pregnancy scare, I stopped trusting anyone. Even myself. I never finish inside a woman unless I have absolute proof she’s on something permanent, or unless it’s somewhere—” He raises an eyebrow—“safe.”
The realization is both shocking and weirdly logical. It makes me feel sorry for him, but also kind of sorry for myself.
I look at him, really look, and say, “That must suck.”
He shrugs, mouth tight. “It’s not hard, but it’s a rule I keep. You learn to adapt. You have to, or you get destroyed.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I just reach out and rest my hand on top of his. He doesn’t move away.
After a moment, I ask, “So last night… you made an exception for me?”
He’s silent for a beat, then says, “Yes. Because I couldn’t help myself. And because it was your first time.”
I bite my lip, a swirl of warmth and embarrassment running up my chest. “So what about now? Now that it’s not my first time. Is it back to… you know?”
He looks at me, eyes heated. “Do you want it to be?”
I bite my lip and think. “I mean, I enjoy being with you both ways, and I think I’d like to do both straight and backdoor? Is that okay?”
He smiles, then says, “Yes, absolutely. I like all of you, Andie. Not just your ass, all of you. Though, I do love your ass.”
He runs a hand over my thigh, then squeezes, just above the knee.
I make a little noise, not sure if I want him to stop or keep going.
He leans in, lips at my ear. “Do you want me to touch it?”
My buttocks clench as excitement races through my veins. I can barely breathe. “Yes.”
He pulls my stool closer with his foot, then runs his hand up the back of my thigh, his thumb pressing into the muscle. When he reaches the hem of the shirt, he lifts it, exposing me, then traces a finger down the crack of my ass. I shiver, my whole body clenching around the touch. Oh my god, is this really happening? Am I really in a billionaire’s penthouse, vibrating as he runs his fingers lightly over the rim of my anus?
“You feel so good,” he rasps, eyes meeting mine, intense hunger in his gaze. “You’re so fucking sexy, Andie.”
Then it happens. He circles my rim once more and pushes gently inside, just the tip, and I gasp, the muscles fluttering in memory. He circles, teases, then pushes deeper, slow and deliberate. I moan, loving the penetration in my ass.
“God, you’re so tight,” he says, voice rough.
I grip the counter, knuckles white.
“Is that good?” he murmurs.
