Twin Babies for the Pucking Billionaires
Finn
I love Chicago but I hate the Chicago rain.
I text Declan, letting him know he’s lucky he missed this event.
The room is filled with pretentious assholes, the beer is warm, the air is cold and the only saving grace has been the woman I’ve been trying not to stare at all night.
She’s here with that douchebag Ryan. I look around, trying to spot the now-familiar floor-length black dress, but she is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Ryan.
This was supposed to be a benefit event and being Declan’s second in command, I was tagged to come on his behalf. No one told me the place would be crawling with Blackhawk team members.
You see, I’m the co-captain of the Chicago Icebreakers, the best hockey team in the city. It’s a fact that I’m sure our biggest competition will deny.
Of course, they’d be wrong.
I look around, trying to spot our coach and when I don’t see him, I decide to call it a night. I’ve paid my dues after all.
I step out into the rain and my jacket is instantly soaked. That’s when I spot her.
I thought she was long gone. Jesus! How long has she been out here in this weather? She’s shivering, her mascara running down her cheeks. I approach her cautiously, pulling off my jacket as I get closer.
“Hey,” I say, offering my jacket. “You look like you could use this.”
She looks up, her hazel eyes wide and glistening. “Thanks,” she says softly, taking the jacket. Our fingers touch and I swear to God, all the blood in my body rushes south. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
“I’m Finn,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Finn Bennett.”
“Millie Taylor,” she replies, pulling the jacket tighter around her. “It’s actually Amelia, but everyone calls me Millie.”
Her lips are red and swollen, like she’s been biting them. I can’t help but imagine what they’d feel like under mine. Christ, I’m such a perv, but she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.
“You okay, Millie? What are you doing out here?” I ask, concern lacing my voice.
“Waiting for a cab.”
It is close to ten at night by now. There’s no way she could have found a cab at this hour. Her only option would be to order an Uber. “You look like you’ve had a rough night.”
She laughs bitterly. “That’s an understatement. My asshole of an ex just dumped me here with a dead phone.”
“Fuck, that’s rough. Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?” I offer, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. “It’s the least I can do.”
She hesitates, eyeing me warily. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Maybe I’m just a nice person.”
She looks up at me, the corner of her mouth lifting in half a smile. “Then what the hell are you doing living in Chicago?”
“ Ditto. Look, my car is parked right there,” I point at the black Range Rover that the valet dropped off for me. “How about we get out of the rain? I’ll drop you off.”
“Promise you won’t kill me?”
I lift my hands in mock surrender. “I promise. I have my whole career ahead of me. There is no way I’m taking up being a serial killer now.”
“You know serial means more than one. Right?”
“Millie!” I groan, loving the way her name tastes on my tongue.
“Thanks, Finn,” she says, her voice softening. “I’d appreciate the ride.”
We walk to my car, the rain pouring down around us. I open the passenger door for her and she slides in, still clutching my jacket. I get in and start the engine, glancing over at her.
“So, where to?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“Just take me anywhere but here,” she says, her voice small.
“I thought you were worried I would kill you.”
“Ah well! The last place I want to go is home. So…”
“You got it,” I say, pulling out of the parking lot. “I know just the place.”
As we drive, her scent floods the car. It’s sweet, like vanilla and something floral. It’s intoxicating. I can’t help but glance over at her every few seconds, trying to be subtle about it.
“So, what do you do?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“Actually,” she says, “I’ve been thinking about starting an influencer business.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? You’d be perfect for it. You’re beautiful.”
She laughs softly. “Thanks. But I want to do more than just post pretty pictures. I want to focus on mental health and social media.”
“Why mental health?” I ask, curious.
She hesitates, then shrugs. “It’s personal.”
Before I can ask more, the radio starts playing a Taylor Swift song. “Love Story” I think it is. She starts humming along.
I smile, reaching over to turn up the volume. “I love this song.”
She looks at me, surprised, then starts singing along. “ We were both young when I first saw you...”
I join in, even though I know I sound terrible. She laughs, shaking her head. “You’ve got a terrible voice.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, laughing with her. It’s a nice moment, just the two of us singing badly together.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks at me. “So, where are you taking me?”
“It’s a nice, quiet place I’m fond of,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “But it’s my secret hideaway, so you can’t tell anyone.”
She crosses her heart. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”
“What do you think about ice cream?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Love it,” she says with a grin.
“Good,” I say, pulling into the parking lot of an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. It’s only drizzling now. The rain is calming down.
“Pablo’s Parlor? How have I lived in this city all my life and never heard of this place?” she asks, looking around. “Also why are they open so late?”
“I found out about it through my best friend,” I explain. “When I moved to Chicago from Arizona, I was homesick. Didn’t know anyone. One of the guys from the team, who’s now my best friend, brought me here. His family always came here when they were younger. As for being open late, I think they know that people escape work parties and need something to help them feel better.” I laugh.
“Your friend sounds nice,” she comments after laughing along with me for a moment.
“He’s the best. I hope one day you get to meet him. Now, can we go in?”
She smiles. “Okay.”
We walk inside, the bell above the door jingling. The place is cozy, with old-school booths and a glass counter displaying all the ice cream flavors. The smell of waffle cones fills the air. The owner, an older woman named Marge, beams when she sees me.
“Finn! Back again?” Marge calls out, her eyes twinkling.
“Yeah, Marge,” I say, grinning. “Brought a friend this time.”
Marge’s eyebrows shoot up. “First time for everything, huh? What can I get you two?”
“So, what’s your favorite flavor?” I ask as we approach the counter.
“Mint chocolate chip,” she says without hesitation.
“Good choice,” I say, nodding. “I’m more of a cookies and cream guy myself.”
We order our ice cream and find a booth near the window. The rain is still falling lightly outside, creating a soft patter against the glass.
“So, tell me more about this influencer thing,” I say, taking a bite of my ice cream.
“Well,” she begins, “I want to create content that helps people. Show the real side of things, you know? Not just the highlights.”
“That’s cool,” I say, genuinely impressed. “Why mental health, though?”
She looks down at her ice cream, then back up at me. “Someone close to me struggled with some issues for a long time. It took a long time for her to even get diagnosed. I have watched her struggle. They still do, sometimes. I want to help others who are going through the same thing.”
I nod, feeling a new level of respect for her. “That’s really admirable.”
“Thanks,” she says, blushing slightly. “What about you? What made you move to Chicago?”
“Hockey,” I say with a shrug. “Got drafted, didn’t know anyone here. It was a big change.”
“Must’ve been tough,” she says sympathetically.
“It was, at first,” I admit. “But now I love it here.”
As she licks her ice cream, I can’t help but notice how turned on I am watching her. She catches me staring and gives me a shy smile.
“You come here often?” she asks.
“Yeah, but I’ve never brought anyone here,” I admit, feeling a bit exposed.
“Really?” she asks, looking surprised. “Why not?”
“Guess it’s always been my little secret,” I say, shrugging.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this attracted to someone I just met.
“Can I take a photo of you? It could be the first post on your journey.”
She smiles. “Okay.” Then she reaches for her phone before cursing softly.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“My phone’s dead, and Jade will kill me,” she says.
“Who’s Jade?”
“My best friend. I was supposed to text her as soon as I got home.”
I smile. “You can call her with my phone.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t remember her number.”
I chuckle. “Okay, I can still take your photo and send it to you. My car has a charger you can use.”
She nods. “Okay.” She fluffs her hair. “Do I look okay?”
I notice a small smudge of ice cream on the top left corner of her lip. “You have something…” I lean in and swipe at it. Our eyes lock as I bring my thumb to my mouth and suck. Her eyes grow hooded, lowering to look at my lips in a way that makes my cock twitch.
“Ready for the picture?” I ask, barely managing not to groan.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I take a few photos, then show them to her. “You look perfect.”
She looks at the photos, then back at me. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Okay!” I say, pulling out a hundred-dollar bill and placing it on the table. I stand and offer her my hand. “Ready?”
She nods, her hand slipping into mine. I guide her back to my car, assisting her as she settles into the passenger seat.
As soon as I sit down, close the door and turn, the atmosphere changes between us. Our gazes lock and I find myself staring at her lips. She returns the look, her eyes flickering with anticipation.
Dammit! I can’t resist any longer.
I lean in, capturing her lips with mine. The kiss is electric, intense. She’s soft and warm, her tongue cool from the ice cream.
The sensation sends a shiver down my spine and I swear I could lose myself in her right here and now.
I think I might come just from kissing her.
I pull her closer, our breath mingling.
“You taste so good,” I whisper against her lips before diving back in, my tongue tangling with hers.
The rain picks up, drumming on the car roof, cocooning us in this heated moment. I trail kisses down her neck, sucking on her soft skin.
“May I?” I murmur, my voice rough with desire.
Her eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide with lust. She nods. I drag the collar of her dress lower, revealing the top of her breasts. I kiss and suck, feeling her body arch into mine. The Range Rover is spacious, but right now, it feels like a cocoon of heat and need.
I drag her onto my lap, feeling the heat between us intensify. “Fuck, Amelia, you’re driving me crazy,” I groan as she grinds against me, her warmth seeping through our clothes.
“I have a place across town,” I manage to say between kisses.
“I can’t wait,” she whispers back, her hands busy unbuttoning my shirt, her fingers grazing my skin, leaving a trail of fire.
“We can get a hotel room,” I suggest, even though I don’t want to stop.
“Do you want us to stop?” she asks, her voice a breathy whisper as she unbuttons my shirt, her hands sliding inside, warm against my skin.
“No,” I breathe, my need for her is overwhelming. I reach for the condom in my wallet, tearing it open. My hand slips between her legs, sliding her panties to the side and finding her hot and wet. “Fuck, you’re so ready for me.”
“It’s all for you,” she murmurs, her voice husky.
It’s all frenzied passion as I sheathe myself, pulling her down onto me. The seat lowers and she slides onto me, her body fitting perfectly. We rock together, our movements desperate and needy.
“You’re so fucking hot,” I groan, my hands gripping her hips, guiding her. Her hair falls around us as we move, our laughter mingling with gasps and moans. “Come for me, Amelia. I need to feel you.”
Her body tightens around me, her orgasm hitting hard. Her cheeks flush and I follow right after, the intensity of our connection overwhelming.
I kiss the palm of her hand as she climbs off my lap, blushing. I grab some wet wipes, cleaning myself up and securing the used condom. She pulls some tissue from her purse and makes short work of cleaning herself up as well.
“Let’s get a hotel room for the night,” I say softly, my voice still thick with desire.
“Okay,” she agrees, her cheeks still pink from the orgasm.
I take a mental image of her—her hair falling in soft waves, her lips swollen from my kisses, her cheeks flushed.
I kiss her gently. “Let’s go.”