Page 88 of The Damaged Billionaire's Obsession

“Okay, we get it, shut up.” She ducks her head to hide the beginnings of a smile.

“So, what did you think about not being on top?” I ask.

“Now you’re fishing for compliments.”

“More like feedback.”

“Well, Ethan, you’re so big—”

“Whoa, that’s dangerous feedback, babe. It’ll get you fucked again.”

“It’s true, I was a little terrified.”

I stop, shocked that she actually admitted it. “That wasn’t the only reason you were scared, though, was it?”

Bonnie stays silent, which confirms my suspicion. Something happened to this girl, something traumatic.

I keep my answer light when she doesn’t elaborate. “All the better to feel me throughout your trip to Clonmel, babe. Speaking of, how long do you think you’ll be there for?”

“Why do you care?” Bratty Bonnie is back.

“Bonnie Russo, how would you like to get spanked?”

“No! Never.”

Oh, but you are going to get spanked. It’s written somewhere in your near future, babe. You’re too fucking sassy not to make me snap one day.

“Answer me, then. When are you getting back?”

“I don’t know. I would like to stay until the funeral.” I see her eyes cloud with sadness, and I kiss her temple.

“Okay, baby. Call me if you need anything.” Then, quickly, I correct myself, “Call me even if you don’t need anything.”

I see her lips thin. So stubborn. She won’t call, not unless she’s in dire straits.

“Okay, we’ve got a few hours to burn. I’ll reheat your breakfast, and then, we’ll shower.” I hesitate for a second, just now remembering something important we should have discussed beforehand. “By the way, birth control?”

She flushes. “Oh, please. Happens all the time. I’ve got it covered.”

I manage to hide my snort.

Happens all the time. Really? You’d let a random guy you’re fucking for a power trip come inside you? No way in hell, brat.

Why Bonnie feels the need to fib about her sex life is beyond me, but I only grunt in response, pulling her from the bed so I can take care of her.

Chapter 26

Bonnie

I don’t let myselffully analyze why I feel zero guilt about the first-class seat Ethan booked me to Dublin. Or the luxury airport transfer to Clonmel—his text about the driver waiting for me only came in once I touched down in Dublin.

Maybe it’s my preoccupation with the delicious soreness between my thighs, which has me clenching them together again as I remember this morning, that has me so agreeable.

Perhaps it was the dizzying tour of his home and the promise of a full tour of the grounds, stables, and nearby lake when I return.

Or the way he dropped me off at the airport with a parting kiss that left me breathless and my toes curling in my new pumps.

I’m not sure how he managed it, but by the time I had breakfast, a few changes of clothes and shoes, some even in leather, were laid out on the bed. He’d taken my size from my dirty clothes, so they were a perfect fit. I’ve never been so pampered in my entire life, which is precisely why I should be feeling all kinds of guilt right now.