The Wrong Move (The Hendricks Billionaires Book 2)

Prologue

GIANA

I can’t tearmy gaze away from him.

Caught up in the excitement, I shiver as tingles shoot along my spine. The screams surround me, reminding me I’m not his sole admirer.

He bunches his jersey in his hand mid-torso.

Byron is nervous.

His broad smile hides it, and he laughs in his defenders face. Not quite his face, as he is almost a foot shorter than his opponent. The same opponent he just dropped a three-pointer on to give us a two-point lead.

Us.

Euphoria fills me every second I’m with him. Over the last year, we have become closer, confiding in each other, our dreams and our fears, and our parents’ expectations. But none of it matters right now, as the clock is counting down to the last seconds of the game. Our high school basketball team has never been invited to the championships. Who knew a tenth grader could lead us to our first?

We steal the ball from the visiting team, and Byron sprints down the court, one arm raised high, wanting the pass. The ball is thrown in the air. Byron leaps higher than his opponent and grabs the ball. He shoots while still in the air, and the crowd gasps in unison as the clock ticks down.

The ball swishes through the net.

Standing beside our friends, I jump up and down, screaming like we won the lottery. In high school basketball terms, we have.

“We’re going to the championships!” Paige yells, holding my shoulders and jumping up and down like she’s on an invisible pogo stick.

Mason leans in and hugs us. “I knew he could do it.” We all lean our foreheads together, proud of our friend.

We break apart, still smiling, and I find Byron dwarfed by his teammates. The smallest and skinniest player on the court has more determination than the rest of his team combined.

Byron has had to work harder than all the other players. Focused and ready to give up everything just to play ball, he started the season only getting a few minutes a game, and now he’s a starting-five player. With two more years of high school, he has time to improve and be offered a college basketball scholarship.

The crowd sings the school anthem as the players jump about in a circle, arms linked over each other’s shoulders as they chant their team motto and the referees shake the coaches’ hands. Then the players disperse, some going to their girlfriends for a hug on the sideline and others waving to their parents, who have been shouting and cheering them on. Byron has neither—no girlfriend and his parents rarely attend games. A high school final is not a priority for them. He only has us and the entire school backing him.

He rips off his jersey and swings it around his head revealing his scrawny midsection and protruding ribs. I don’t care that he doesn’t have the muscled body of the senior players. He’s my friend, and I’m proud of him.

Please look up. Look at me. I’m here for you.

Grabbing a towel from the bench, Byron wipes his face before wrapping it over his shoulders. He glances up into the crowd toward our seats and waves to Mason.

Mason points his finger at him and holds it up as if to say number-one player. Byron grins, and I let out a sigh. My heart swells with something else, something I feel in my bones.

I am here for you, Byron. Look at me.

Byron scans the crowd, smiling as fans shout his name, my hands still clapping in beat to the team’s chant. Then his gaze finds mine. It’s as though he heard me calling his name in my head.

Byron stills. The intensity of his gaze steals my breath, and I stop midclap. A slight approving smile parts his lips as he nods subtly. Our interaction lasted mere seconds, yet it was enough to send heat to my core, to excite me more than the win. The team gathers around Byron, and our moment is lost.

Paige side-bumps me. “Someone is getting laid tonight,” she sings in my ear.

“Stop it,” I snap. “He doesn’t think of me like that.”

Paige’s pinched eyebrows portray confusion. “You’re the one girl he trusts and wants to be with…”

I turn my attention back to the court. My body tingles, her words not lost.

Sex.

We have hugged, trusted each other with our secrets, talked about our future dreams, and reminded each other dreams are that of the brave.

Taking the next step with Byron is not about being brave. It’s what I fear most.

While I can see it happening and wish for it, I could also lose my friend.

Even worse, it could mean nothing to him.

Three years later…

I need to see you.

I stare for too long at Byron’s message on my cell. Since returning from college, Byron and I have hooked up a couple of times, but I noticed something different about him.

He is handsome, wealthy, and has all the fame of an elite athlete. He is a somebody at college, and arrogance comes with the territory. Only, it’s new for him.

I have to finish my art piece. You’re welcome to come here.

I wait for a response, but it doesn’t come. What is his problem?

My freshman year differed from his. While he worked his ass off in the gym, I required a more calming environment to paint. Byron thrives on adrenaline, whereas I prefer the stillness of serenity. And now he is messing with my creativity. I let out a long breath, pick up my brush, and stare at the postcard my mother gave me with an image of an Italian coastline. Her great-grandmother was from Southern Italy, and while she hasn’t had the chance to travel there, she has hope that my art will lead me there.

Adding dashes of pink to the bougainvillea flowers dotted on the canvas, I allow my mind to drift, and a sense of freedom sinks in. Time passes effortlessly, and each stroke conveys my joy. I’m transported to a time and place of comfort. With every brush stroke, I hear the village and Italian voices carried along the streets.

The door of my loft is slightly open, the chatter distracting. Byron’s voice breaks through the calm as it echoes up the stairs, then the door clicks shut behind me. Before I have a chance to drop my brush in the water and turn, my hair is swept away from my neck, and his mouth is on my skin.

“I’ve missed you, Gigi.”

I laugh. “You only saw me a few days ago.” When we spent half the day having sex.

“I need you,” he murmurs, trailing his lips along my shoulder and pushing the straps of my dress aside. “I want you, Gi.”

Dropping my brush, I let out a long breath while staring at my almost-finished art.

I want you.

For years, all I wanted was for Byron Hendricks to pick me out of all the girls who would line up just to spend a few seconds with him. And when we graduated from high school, he did. We spent the day together, telling each other our hopes and dreams for college. Then we ended up at his parents’ house, made out in the pool, and finished the day in the pool guesthouse.

Byron was my first. I know I wasn’t his and won’t be his last.

We hooked up almost every day before we went our separate ways to college. When I returned each break, Byron would reach out to me. And like today, whenever I am home, he can’t get enough of my body. We are not together, and I’m not fool enough to think he is celibate between semester breaks, even though I choose to be. All that matters is that when I’m home, he chooses me.

His large palms slip inside my bra to squeeze my breasts. I groan and tilt my head to rest on his shoulder. Reaching up, I rake my fingers through his silky hair, imagining how he looks since I haven’t laid a single eye on him yet. Byron’s other hand slides along my hip, grasping to slide the material of my dress up to my waist. Sliding his hand inside my panties, he finds my clit and works it until I’m moaning his name.

Oh God.

Spreading my legs, I roll my hips with his fingers inside me, and warm pleasure spreads through every inch of my body. His vivid heat surrounds me, reminding me it’s summer despite the air conditioning being on in the loft. His scent is woody, with a hint of orange, and I breathe him in until Byron fills my senses with his whisper, touch, and smell. Hot air caresses my ear.

“Come for me, Gigi.”

He sucks at my neck near my shoulder like he hungers for me.

My lids flutter, and my knees buckle as I come for him. “Byron…” I moan when he doesn’t let up. “I want you, too,” I whisper.

He removes his fingers. My clit pulses. My upper thighs are wet from his fingers powering in and out of my pussy. Byron spins me so his face is inches from mine. His beautiful blue eyes darken as though he is absorbing my words in a deeper way than what is happening in the moment.

Something about his eyes rings a warning bell in my mind. His breath is minty—no hint of whiskey or beer. I don’t have time to dwell before my bra is wrenched down and my ample breasts bounce free.

A growl sounds from his throat. “These are mine.”

“What?”

His nostrils flare. “I love your breasts.” He squeezes each in his large hands, pushing them together and up like an offering he’s about to take. He kisses each breast, his gaze then lifting. “Along with your plump lips. God, I want to fuck them.”

Oh.

Byron drops to his knees. My panties are tugged down, and my dress is next, pooling on the hardwood. Running his hands up and down my skin, he kisses my pussy, then licks and sucks my clit. He spreads my thighs and stares. Byron doesn’t move. I lean my hands on his shoulders for balance and realize he’s staring at the glistening skin between my legs.

I am so wet.

My pussy throbs, aching with the need to have Byron inside me. With both of his hands cupping my rear, he yanks my hips forward and tastes me, smearing my wetness over his lips. His tongue trails over my pussy and down my inner thigh, tasting every part of my orgasm.

“You send me wild, Gi.”

“I do?”

Byron springs to his feet. Only now, I notice his blue T-shirt that matches his eyes. He rests one hand on my hip as his gaze flicks over my face. Confusion mars his expression—a look I match as I realize his pupils are more dilated than usual.

“Yes, Giana. So fucking wild. Tell me again why you decided on a different college than me?”

What?

I flinch at the harshness in his tone.

Originally, we were both intending to study at UCLA so that we could be close to home. It offered great sports and arts programs. When Byron switched to St. Mary’s to accept a full basketball scholarship, I decided on the college best for me. St. Mary’s is less than four hundred miles from home, and I could have seen Byron frequently during the year if we were a couple.

However, the notion of being surrounded by strangers on the other side of the country calmed me. It was the adventure I craved. So I accepted an offer from Yale. The thought of living close to New York excited me, though I had underestimated the weather. Freezing my ass off in winter was not my idea of an adventure, even with regular trips to the Big Apple with my friends.

I cup his cheek in my hand. “You know why.”

My words fail to have the effect I’d hoped. His brows tighten, he grabs my hand, and guides it away from his face.

“I needed you here in LA,” he growls out.

He did not just say that.

“You told me to do what was best for my career, as you did by choosing St. Mary’s,” I say, louder than I intended.

“What was best for your art was studying at UCLA,” he says between clenched teeth.

“Says you,” I snap.

His mouth collides with mine as he kisses me hard, his tongue circling and tasting, stealing my air until I’m out of breath. He sweeps his hands over my torso, then my shoulders, in erratic movements as though he is lost, unsure what do to next. I break his kiss, panting.

This is not the Byron I know.

“Why are you upset with me?” I ask.

He grabs my shoulders and stares at me as though I’m clueless. “Because I need you close to me.”

“Then you should have accepted UCLA, and I would have stayed with you.”

“Giana,” he says, as though reprimanding me. He whips me around, and I reach for the back of the chair to balance myself. A guttural sound comes from deep in his throat. “Fucking perfect.” His hands slide over my ass before spreading my legs wider. I hear foil tearing. Looking over my shoulder, I watch Byron slide the condom over his thick cock. I have half a mind to say no so I can find out what is eating at him and why he is like this. Only, the sight of his erection has me wet and ready, and I can never say no to Byron. He does something to my body no other man can.

One finger strokes my pussy, a single teasing circle. Byron lifts his finger to his mouth and sucks it slowly. His gaze is locked on mine as I watch him from over my shoulder. His eyes darken. “Hold on,” he growls, his breath raspy and raw with need.

I arch my back, gasping when he pushes inside me. He holds for a moment and waits another second before withdrawing and thrusting inside me again. My breath hitches as I’m torn between pleasure, pain, and anticipation. I reach around to touch his thigh, his arm, any part of him.

“I said hold on, Gi.”

Gripping my shoulders, Byron plows into me at a frantic pace. Our ragged breaths and the slapping of skin on skin fill the room. I lift onto my toes, offering him more. My breasts bounce with the force of his thrusts. Turning my face to the side, our eyes meet in the wall mirror. He leans over my back and seizes both my breasts, using them to maintain a steady rhythm as he tweaks and rubs each nipple. My breath is strangled as I try to contain the bliss of an impending orgasm. Uncontrolled pleasure rips through my body, bringing me close to a scream, the pressure of standing almost too much for my knees.

Circling my hips, I meet his thrusts. He releases my breasts, rips off his tee, then takes hold of my hips and hammers into me at an impossible pace. His stamina is astounding.

Right now, I’m commending my pussy.

Despite swinging between pleasure and pain, Byron’s dick inside me is gratifying on a sensual level words cannot explain.

The first wave of my orgasm hits hard.

“Byron,” I moan, my head hanging between my shoulders.

I can’t go on.

But Byron shows no sign of slowing.

When the next wave of orgasm comes, I clamp around his dick, and lightheaded from panting, I see stars. I stop thinking, turn my head, and watch as Byron shudders into a deep thrust, my name rolling off his lips. He collapses over me, his arms wrapping around my middle as he lightly dots kisses along my back.

My now jelly-like legs threaten to cave. “Byron, I can’t take your weight.” Holding me tight, he lowers me to the floor. We curl in a ball with my back to his front. His arms are tight around me, as though he is afraid to let me go. We remain motionless for a few minutes, our breathing slowing until I can no longer hear him.

“Did I hurt you?” he murmurs.

My answer is not immediate. “No.” Could I go another round? The way my pussy throbs, definitely not.

“I’m sorry, Gi.” His forehead rests on the back of my head.

What is with him?

“Is something wrong?”

“Not now. I’ve just had a bad year. The coach hates me.”

Is he serious? I push away from him, and his semihard dick falls out of me. I sit up. “You came here to feel better about yourself?”

“What? No.” He adjusts himself before pushing up onto an elbow. “I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what, your selfishness? The delusion that basketball is your entire world and your only hope to success?”

His expression slides into a frown. “Basketball is everything to me.”

Ugh.“Stop being such a child. You’re one of the most intelligent people I know. You can do more with your life than play ball.”

Byron springs to his feet, knots the condom, and throws it in the trash can near my canvas. He steps into his boxers and linen shorts. “I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand? What happened here wasn’t you.”

“Right now, you don’t sound like the Gigi I know either.”

“Because I’m not tolerating bad behavior?” My clothes are beside me. In one quick sweep, I collect them and dress quicker than I ever have. “You just fucked my brains out, and I allowed you to do it.” He looks to the side, and I step into his line of vision. He looks away, and again, I step forward, forcing him to look at me. I’m suspicious as fuck. “Did you take coke before coming here?”

His eyes flick over my face as he clasps my shoulders. “Please understand?—”

I slap his arms away from me. Sucking in a deep breath, I stop myself from yelling at him. His eyes glaze as though he wants to cry.

“I never meant to hurt you, Gi.”

“You didn’t. But using people is hurtful. Stop acting entitled. You told me we all have to earn respect, and as a freshman, you have to earn the coach’s respect.”

He tilts his head at me. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I shake my head. “What if you were caught?” Suddenly, it dawns on me. “Did you snort it in the car before coming inside?” He stares at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Fucking unbelievable.” I straighten my dress. “While your reputation is safe with me, I hope no one saw you from the street. What if my parents saw? Or worse, what if you were tested? What would happen to your precious basketball career then?”

“We all deal with things differently, Gi.” His eyes soften, my harsh words failing to spook him.

My throat burns. I swallow down the emotion of knowing Byron came for sex and had to be high to do it.

“I thought I knew you,” I murmur. “Clearly, I don’t.”

His blue eyes narrow, and a cynical laugh escapes him. “You are the one person who truly knows me. Guess I was wrong for coming here for advice.”

“Advice?” I shake my head. “Just what did my pussy tell you?”

By the look on his face, I definitely hit a nerve. He steps closer. “I’m not delusional. You want me as much as I want you.”

“Not like this, Byron,” I say, my words gentler this time. “You came for sex, not to talk.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He smirks, and I want to smack it from his face. “I can get sex anywhere.”

“Leave,” I say between clenched teeth. “Think about what happened here before you talk to me again. Oh, and here’s some advice… don’t come back until you’ve grown the fuck up.”

He pulls his T-shirt over his head and tugs it over his ripped abdomen. His throat bobs. I hope I made sense, and he’ll think about his recklessness. I try to put it into words he’ll understand. “Your entire life is about plays and making the right call. Well, this was your worst. The ultimate wrong move.”

With a nod, Byron turns and quietly closes the door behind him.

I pull at my hair and spin on my heel. “Damn his stupid game.”