Fifty Degrees of Shade - The Billionaire's Badass Mate - On hold for a bit!

3. Animal Attraction

I close my eyes in case what's really happening here is that I fell asleep on the sofa, and this is nothing but a bad dream. When I open them, I will be sitting elegantly, legs crossed at the knee, exuding competence and grace.

A hot, wet tongue laps at my ear; my nose wrinkles.

Um, excuse me?

Not wanting to catch an accidental glimpse out the windows, I steadfastly keep my eyes shut and bat away the offending tongue. I've never been much of an ear person. I prefer my hot, wet licking a bit further down, anatomically speaking.

I know I should probably clobber Mr. Shades for taking liberties with my ear. But what if it turns out that he just thinks I'm dead and is trying to revive me with an aural tongue lashing? I've never met a billionaire in person, so maybe this is typical behavior. Like whenever a young, ordinary-looking college student in her plain zip-up-the-back finals dress comes to your high-rise, falls off your couch on her hands and knees, and is catatonic for too long, you must lick her ear to bring her back.

Poor Mr. Shades! His breath smells foul. Does he even own a toothbrush? Better not mention this. Science shows us that interviewees are 75% less likely to be hired when disparaging the interviewer's breath.

The ear bath resumes, and I decide it's time to leave all this mortification behind. Somehow I will make it up to Clarissa. Take her out for dinner or train her to drink something less revolting than Earl Grey.

Here's the plan: I'll crawl toward the elevator. Since I'm already on my hands and knees, this shouldn't be too hard. I bet I can get there with my eyes closed the whole time. Maybe if I never set eyes on Mr. Shades, later on, when I'm alone in my room and negative thoughts start creeping into my brain, it will be easier to pretend it never happened.

"Bella, no!" Mr. Shades commands from somewhere not next to my ear. The licking ceases.

But what is super weird is that his commanding tone awakens something deep inside me. Something essential I didn't know existed till this moment.

The need to be controlled.

But who the hell is this bitch, Bella?

My eyes fly open. I suck in a breath as my eyes scan Mr. Shades's hot bod—from his long, thick, beautiful feet to his long, thick, auburn hair. My heart thrashes inside my chest. He can't be over thirty. Because it would just be gross if I was attracted to an old dude. His gaze pierces my soul. He has the most beautiful golden eyes I've ever seen. I mean I've never seen golden eyes because are those even real? But if I ever had come across golden eyes before, his would be the most beautiful.

But why am I waxing poetic about his eyes, when holy crap! His chest! He's nude from the waist up and possesses more hard ab muscles than I've seen in any anatomy textbook. I'm a little confused about why he's doing an interview half-naked, but since he can really pull off the look, I'll let it go.

I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear while surreptitiously wiping my ear dry with the heel of my palm. Then Mr. Shades holds out his very large hand to help me up. My, his fingers are long. I cannot help thinking about what they would feel like trailing down my neck, between my breasts, and ending up at my nub where they will tease me into an orgasm so powerful, the windows in the apartment will shatter into a million pieces.

Obviously, in my fantasy, we will be nowhere near the windows when this happens.

When I grasp his warm hand, shivers run through me. Even though now I'm upright, he still towers over me. We're so close our chests are nearly touching. My body drifts toward him as if gravity is pulling us together. Or magnetic energy? Honestly, I don't know which force is correct because I'm a biology major, not physics.