How Not to Be Seduced by Billionaires by Marian Tee Read Free Book Online Page B

had to force myself to open my eyes.
                “I want you to come now.”
                My breath hitched.
                “I want you to come by impaling yourself with my fingers – get it as deep as you can inside you. All right, sweetheart?”
                I could only gaze at him in muted desire.
                “Say yes,” he gritted out.
                “Yes.”
                “Then do it now.” And almost as if we had rehearsed this a thousand times, he shoved his fingers in just as I lifted my hips to meet his thrust. I bit my lip hard as I convulsed around him, aware of the wetness trickling out and to my upper thighs.
                Dizzy with pleasure, I watched Constantijin take a handkerchief from his pocket and dip it in water. After a moment, I felt the cold touch of the fabric on my thighs. My legs parted on its own as Constantijin efficiently cleaned me under the table while his other hand drummed a lazy beat on the table, his golden gaze burning bright with satisfaction.
                “You are right, sweetheart,” he murmured when he pulled his hand away, seemingly satisfied with how he’s cleaned me up. His lips curved in a knowing smile when he heard my legs immediately snapping shut the moment he withdrew his hand.
                Still trying to keep my legs from trembling and wondering if I could actually walk a straight line after the very first orgasm I had in my life, I asked shakily, “I’m right about what?”
                “This friendship of ours.” He came to his feet in a fluid movement, utterly gorgeous and unflappable, not one bit of him betraying the fact that he had just gotten me into engaging in a public act of sex with him.
                He smiled at me again. “I like this kind of friendship, Yanna. I look forward to more of it.”

 
    Lesson #5
    Don’t let yourself be rattled by your billionaire.
    He’ll see it as a come-on and find more ways to rattle you even more.
     
    My weekend was spent lazing around in Alyx’s home. She hadn’t wanted to charge me for rent, but I had insisted. All our meals consisted of take-outs from nearby delis and fast food chains, since both of hadn’t a clue of cooking. When she left Sunday to meet up with another set of friends, I quickly used the time to Google more information about Constantijin. I couldn’t help it. He was already an obsession – but one I couldn’t bear anyone knowing about. 
                Just this week alone, more photos of Constantijin came up, with a different arm candy for every event he attended. From the gossip rags, I also learned that he had left the country to sail with his friends, two other billionaires who were almost as gorgeous as he was. A famous celebrity paparazzi referred to them collectively as the Three Pussketeers. I totally agreed, even though the name also made my heart twinge.
                God, I was pathetic. Any more of this and I was, like, so applying for some kind of hard casing for my heart. It had to be tougher to survive more attacks of seduction from Netherland’s #1 playboy.
                I came in as early as I could to work on Monday, but Charli was already ensconced in her ultra-savvy chair when I got to our office. She also had a new set of Post-Its stuck to our LCDs, and she was fast becoming like Donald Rumsfeld in that sense. In Woodward’s State of Denial – I had this weird thing for political controversies and cover-ups – the author had revealed how Rumsfeld, who was still the Defense Secretary of the US then, would issue white sticky notes whenever he had new responsibilities and duties for his people. They called them snowflakes, and most of those sticky notes had been about the war in Iraq.
                Glancing at my own set of snowflakes, I had to wonder what kind of war Charli was waging on