Katie
The second we walk into Walmart, I know he’s never been here before. I grab a cart and push it into his hands, boxing him in behind it.
“What the hell is this place?”
“It’s called Walmart, honey,” I say, already enjoying this. “Everything you could ever want. All in one place.”
I gesture around us. He doesn’t even look. His eyes stay on me, narrowing slightly.
“You’re a little shit.”
I shrug and start walking.
“Come on, Mr. CEO. We’ve got shopping to do.”
We make it to the men’s section, and I grab things—sweatpants, jeans, gym shorts—dropping them into the cart.
“Boxers?” I ask, holding up a pack.
“I don’t buy my underwear in plastic.”
“You do now.”
I slap them against his chest and keep walking.
“Snacks are next.” I turn the cart, but he stops it. “What the hell?”
“Your turn.”
I narrow my eyes, but he’s already steering us toward the women’s section.
“Michael—“
He ignores me, reaching for a white nightgown. It’s satin, barely there, lace tracing the edges like it’s meant to be taken off, not slept in. He holds it up.
“You can wear this tonight.”
I stare at it.
“Absolutely not.”
I take it from him and shove it back onto the rack. I grab a different one. It’s a dark blue sleep dress.
“This one,” I say, dropping it into the cart and walking away.
“That one comes off just as easily,” he calls behind me.
I keep walking. I duck into the chip aisle, reaching for Doritos, when his hand wraps around my waist and pulls me back against him. His mouth brushes my ear.
“Embarrassed, Doll?”
I snort. “Please. You’re just a perv.”
“You know that’s not true,” he murmurs, pulling me tighter.
I hate that my body relaxes into him. I lean back, just a little.
“Fine,” I say. “You’re not a perv.”
I toss the chips into the cart.
“What snacks do you want?” I ask him.
“You like Fruit Roll-Ups?”
I turn. “Fruit Roll-Ups?”
“What? They’re good. Beatrice used to buy them behind my mom’s back.”
I smile because now I’m picturing a tiny version of him sneaking sugar in that big ass estate of his.
“You spent a lot of time with her growing up?” I ask, pulling the cart into the next aisle.
“Tons. My parents traveled a lot. I love them, but they weren’t around much. When they were, it was all galas and dinner parties.”
He leans on the cart. I go up next to him and bump his hip with mine.
“Let’s get some Fruit Roll-Ups then.”
Once we’re back at my house and get everything inside, I dig through the bags and toss a t-shirt and sweatpants across the counter.
“You like this better than what I’m wearing?” he asks, holding them up.
I tilt my head, considering him for a second.
“Oh, absolutely,” I say. “I’m a big fan of the ‘not intimidatingly overdressed in my kitchen’ look.”
He shakes his head, stepping closer as he sets the clothes on the counter beside me.
“Plus,” I say, nudging his arm with mine, “I can’t cuddle on the couch with a man wearing a five-hundred-dollar suit.”
His hand braces on the counter next to me, boxing me in just slightly.
“More like five thousand.”
I tilt my head, staring up at him, and groan. “I hate you.”
He kisses my temple and starts down the hall, already peeling off his jacket.
“As long as I’m allowed to stay, I’m okay with that.”
I roll my eyes and grab the pizza rolls out of the bag. The ones he insisted on buying, because apparently I’m not allowed to spend my money anymore.
His exact words at the register—low, firm, and right in my ear, “Put your fucking card away.”
And I listened.
“Hey, that shirt was a little small. You got any bigger ones?” he asks behind me.
I turn around and every thought in my head just disappears. He’s standing by the couch in grey sweatpants, shirtless, and my eyes drop before I can stop them. The outline of his cock is right there—front and center. Not that I’ve ever seen one in person, but I mean, I’m not an idiot.
I drag my gaze back up, and that doesn’t help either. His abdomen is covered in tattoos, chest hair, and muscle layered under all of it. And his abs—fuck me. I want to lick them. I have no idea where to look first. He’s staring at me, and it takes a second to remember he asked me a question.
“Uh, yeah.” I turn, digging through the bags until I find a bigger size and pass it to him. “Here.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Totally fine.” I keep my eyes on the counter, lining things up that don’t need to be lined up.
“Okay, weirdo,” he says, sliding the shirt on and settling on the couch.
I grab our snacks and set them on the coffee table, flopping onto the couch and turning so I’m facing him, sitting cross-legged.
“What?” I ask, already chewing.
“You always sit like that?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Why?”
He studies me for another second.
“No reason.”
I give him a look that clearly says, You’re a dumbass, and reach for the box of Fruit Roll-Ups. I tear one open and toss it to him. He catches it, already ripping his open. I watch as he takes it, sticks out his tongue, and presses it into the sticky surface.
“What are you doing?”
He peels it back and sticks his tongue out at me.
“Look.”
There’s a smeared little butterfly on it. I blink and start laughing.
“It’s a tattoo,” he says, grinning.
I shake my head, still laughing. Michael Amato—billionaire CEO—is sitting in my living room, on my couch, giving himself a Fruit Roll-Up tattoo.
“You’re kind of cute,” I say.
He stops chewing his Fruit Roll-Up and tilts his head, eyeing me.
He leans in, planting his hands on the cushion right next to me.
I shift closer too, and our lips meet. His mouth is warm and soft at first, but he pushes his tongue past my lips quickly, sliding it against mine.
The strawberry flavor hits me right away, sweet and sticky from the roll-up, mixing with his breath as we kiss.
He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses forward, his body shifting over mine.
He guides me down until my back hits the couch cushions.
I let myself sink into them. My legs part a little as he braces his arms on either side of my head, his weight hovering above me.
Our mouths stay locked. His breath comes hot against my skin, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
As he presses down, I feel it: his cock hard and thick through his sweatpants, right against my thigh. It’s throbbing faintly with each movement, and it sends a rush straight through me.
“Okay,” I say, breaking the kiss. “Maybe we should watch a movie or something.”
He hovers there for a second, his hand brushing gently across my face.
“Okay, Doll. Whatever you want.”
He leans back, and I shift to the far corner of the couch, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. I stare straight ahead, but I can feel him watching me. I refuse to look.
Nope. Not happening. You met him two days ago, Katie. Absolutely do not fuck him yet.