Beautiful Rose (Elixir Billionaires #1)

45. Zander

45

ZANDER

“What do you want for dinner?” I holler from the kitchenette of my hotel suite. We’re back after a long day of work.

These past few days in Cherrywood have been…blissful.

Every evening, Rose and I leave the office together. Sometimes I show up at her building just to pick her up since my days are spent holed up the upcoming site. Sometimes I’m at her office for an afternoon meeting. Twice, she’s paid me an unannounced visit with lunch at the new site, and I fucking loved it.

Rose asked Clementine if she’s fine living in their house alone, and it seems Clem is more than happy about it. In fact, her excitement at having the house all to herself made me wonder if she ever wanted a roommate at all.

Life couldn’t be better. Some days, like today, I make dinner for us in the kitchenette.

“I don’t know.” Rose enters the room, wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe. “What are you in the mood for?” she asks, drying her hair with a white towel.

I get up from the couch and stand behind her, taking the towel from her hands .

“You. I’m always in the mood for you.”

She snickers and turns around in my arms. Her eyes are glazed, her cheeks a rosy pink. I’d wager a bit from the shower and a bit from me. “Um, I meant to eat.”

“Me too, baby. I’m in the mood to eat you.” I bite her earlobe.

“But I’m not on the menu.” Her trembly voice is filled with that sexy lilt that calls to my body.

“No, you’re not. You’re prepared just for me, and I’m going to savor you bit by bit, piece by piece.” I kiss behind her earlobe and descend lower to her neck. “You’re tailored to my taste buds—a bit juicy, a bit fruity.” I open her bathrobe and taste those beautiful rosy nipples. I get down on my knees, kissing her stomach. “A little mellow, a little lush.”

“Zander! Did you…just call me lush…while kissing my stomach?” Her brows knit in confusion as she pulls back from me and closes her bathrobe. “You think I’m fat?” Her eyes widen, and her cheeks turn scarlet.

But I don’t think it’s because of me this time. Or maybe it is.

“Am I fat?” She runs to the mirror and turns side to side, looking at her flat stomach.

“No, couch girl. You’re not fat. You know that.” I stand behind her, rubbing my hands over her stomach through the robe. “You’re perfect.”

“Oh my God, you’re patronizing me! You think I’m fat.” Her eyes are as wide as saucers. “Isn’t that the one thing you shouldn’t say to your girlfriend? Even I know this.” She stomps her feet in anger.

Fuck. How did this happen?

We were having fun. I was about to get her naked on the bed, and now she’s leaving the room, marching toward the balcony.

“Rose. Baby, wait.” I run after her. “You know I didn’t mean that. I got lost in the moment. And it just came out of my mouth.”

“Then why didn’t you say slim, fragile, or delicate? Why lush?” She shakes her head, her wet hair waving around.

Good question.

Think fast, Zander, if you want any chance at fixing this.

But holy hell, if only my brain would work.

Her anger is having an opposite effect on me.

Why are her simmering eyes and flailing hands such a turn-on?

“Don’t be angry, couch girl. You know I find you perfect.” I try to touch her, but she shifts away from me.

“Yes, now I know that you find my lush body very perfect.” She storms back into the room before shutting the balcony glass doors on my face, leaving me outside.

I try to follow her, but the doors won’t open. Did she just lock me out?

I can’t help but fucking smile like a lunatic, even in this situation. She locked me outside. After a fight. If this isn’t marriage, then I don’t know what is.

I would certainly count this as progress.

I wait a few minutes, knowing she’ll open the door eventually. She is my Rose, after all.

Minutes later, I’m still on the balcony, lying on the recliner, looking at the night sky filled with twinkling stars, when the glass door is pushed open. She walks to me, fidgeting from one foot to the other, seemingly confused about what to do. So, I decide for her.

I grab her hand and pull her into my arms. She falls on my chest and looks up with a worried gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I—I don’t know what got into me.”

“I’m not sorry at all. I am ecstatic.” I stroke her face gently and smile at her.

“You are? Why?” Her cute button nose wrinkles .

“This was our first fight. We’re moving forward, couch girl. And, also, because I get to have make-up sex with you.”

“You are incorrigible.” She snorts, playfully hitting my chest.

“Only for you,” I say, rubbing her ass through her soft pajama bottoms as she lies on top of me.

“Are we good?” She looks at me from under those bangs, which stay clipped back during the day.

“We are the fucking best.” I kiss her hard, my heart in a perpetual state of high since I arrived in Cherrywood. “I need to make you mad more often.”

“Why?” There’s a squeak in her voice when my hand slips inside her pants, rubbing her silk panties.

“Because today I learned how hot you look when angry. With a scarlet face, red ears, and wild eyes, you’re a siren calling out for every part of me.” I take her hand and push it inside my track pants. “Feel what you do to me, couch girl.”

She starts caressing me through my boxers before drawing them lower. Then her hands touch my bare skin, her fingers brushing against my pubic hair, firing all the neurons in my brain.

“Rose.” A moan escapes me.

“Does this turn you on too?” she asks innocently. Too innocently, that tease.

Before I can reply, she starts pumping my dick—not lazily, not lightly, but solid, hard pumps like I showed her. Sometimes it’s a fucking blessing that she has a photographic memory.

I push my own fingers inside her panties and start rubbing her clit.

“Ah, Zander,” she moans.

I take her mouth in a kiss, damping our mewling noises. I push two of my fingers inside her, curling them, and at the same time, I rub her clit with my thumb.

We both work our hands in unison. Whenever the pleasure is too much and my hand slows down, she tightens her grip on me, reminding me that she wants the same pleasure.

Finally, she comes apart with a loud cry, pulling her mouth away from mine. I groan with pleasure and shoot my load in my boxers and all over her hands.

Minutes later, when our breathing has returned to normal, she asks, “Do you think someone heard?”

I shrug. Someone definitely heard. But I don’t give a fucking damn.