Sofie
Elijah Kennedy’s limousine is exactly as sleek and sophisticated as he is. Shiny black exterior. Silver detailing.
Of my three billionaires (I’ve gotta stop thinking of them like that), I knew from the moment I saw him that he was the classic model.
I can’t stop thinking about last night. Every perfect kiss and lingering touch. Every gorgeous moment with three men who treated me like an absolute goddess.
I never thought I would see any of them again, and now here Elijah Kennedy is, leaning up against his limo, parked right outside my apartment.
I trot down the front steps of my apartment building with the world’s biggest, dumbest smile on my face. I’m wearing another timeless loan from Chloe: a shimmery silver flapper dress with long, metallic fringe. Of course, it’s a little bit too small on top, same as always, so my tits are pushed up to maximum boobage levels.
From the way Eli looks at me before scooping me up into his arms and spinning me around, it’s safe to say he approves.
“Evening, gorgeous,” Eli says, reluctantly letting me reclaim my feet. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”
“Are you really?” I ask innocently.
I mean, I felt the hard-on he’s rocking when he picked me up. I have some idea. But as a rule, I’m open to whatever flattery he’s willing to shower me with.
“I’ll prove it,” Eli says, lowering his lips to my ear. He places a kiss there, just beneath my earlobe, and I totally melt.
Fuck. My one true weakness.
“Oh,” I moan softly. I can think of about a billion and one other places I’d like those lips to go right now, but that’s a solid start.
“Get in,” Eli says. “We’re on a time crunch.”
The interior of Eli’s limo is just as classy as the exterior. Soft golden lighting. Black leather seats. Elijah puts his arm around me, and I don’t stop him.
As far as dates go, this is short notice, but I’m not about to complain.
“Here,” Eli says, reaching into his suit jacket with his free hand. “Thought you might be interested in this.”
He lays a newspaper on my lap. It’s the society section, as far as I can tell. And right there, staring back up at us in massive black and white, is the only documented evidence that last night really happened.
It wasn’t a dream, and I don’t need to be pinched (except for maybe in very particular places, and only if it’s Eli’s fingers doing the pinching).
It was real. All of it.
It seriously takes me a second to let that sink in.
Right there on the page is Lucas, pointing at the photographer in that sexy aggressive way he seems to use whenever he’s dealing with any man who might pose some kind of threat to me.
Behind him, Oliver is at a smooth jog to grab the door. And there, in the background of it all, are Eli and me.
Or, well…Eli and Eli’s suit jacket, with a pair of long, smooth legs coming out from beneath it.
“Title‘s a little tacky, don’t you think?” I say, pointing to the big, black letters that some jackass decided were clever to print over the photograph.
“Three Billionaires, One Cup?” Eli reads. I can tell that he’s trying hard to hold his laughter in. “Nah,” he jokes. “Tabloid journalism is nothing if not classy, in my experience.”
“I guess they’re not exactly wrong,” I giggle.
Eli strokes my shoulder idly with his thumb as he leans in to stifle that giggle with a kiss.
A real, proper kiss this time.
Goddamn.
I’m smitten.
We tangle tongues for so long, I get totally lost in Eli’s lips. His hands, roaming up and down my body. The smell of his cologne. The thick, dark waves of his hair as I run my fingers through it.
We make out for so long that I forget something kind of important.
I still don’t know where the fuck we’re going.
“Eli,” I gasp, coming up for air. It’s dark outside the limo now. All I can see is headlights, headlights and more headlights. “What exactly do you have planned for tonight?”
“Hmm. Well, I meant for it to be a surprise, actually. But seeing as we’re already here…”
Eli flashes his pearly whites at me as the limo comes to a stop. As we get out, I’m more confused than ever.
It’s loud. Dark. Lots of lights in the distance. But other than that…
“Eli…” I say, trying not to sound as suspicious as I feel right now. “There’s nothing here.”
He places his hand on the small of my back and a kiss on my cheek.
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.”
Suddenly, something lights up out of the darkness.
I have to blink hard. Very hard. Multiple times. Because I literally cannot believe this man right now.
“That’s a private jet,” I state in dumbfounded disbelief. “And it has your name on it.”
“Yeah,” Eli says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was thinking after all the press you got last night, well, we could go to somewhere the tabloids won’t care. After all, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas...”
“No fucking way,” I say. I think I’m in shock. But my feet are already moving towards Eli’s jet, which matches his gorgeous fucking limo, and I have to turn around to continue the conversation. “Eli, I didn’t bring a suitcase!”
Eli shrugs. “We’ll buy you anything you need.” He takes my hands in his and looks at me with boyish sincerity. “Seriously, Sofie. Clothes, perfume, jewellery...French champagne, fine chocolates. Whatever you need to feel comfortable. Hell, forget need. Anything you want.”
That floors me. Like, full-on jaw hitting the ground disbelief. Growing up in the foster system wasn’t exactly a luxury experience
No steak dinners. No French champagnes. No creme brulee. Sometimes, there was barely enough tuna casserole to feed all of us.
The only escape I had from it sometimes was my studies. Using pencils I stole out of some more well-off kid’s locker and calculators I lifted out of the lost and found when I had to.
Now, I was about to be whisked away on a private jets to Las Vegas with barely a moment’s notice.
“Okay. Now you can pinch me,” I tell Eli. “I’m definitely dreaming.”
Eli takes me up on the offer and brings a twinge of reality to my ass cheek between his fingers.
“Not a dream, Sofie,” he says. “Admit it.”
I’m tempted to let him slip his fingers into my cunt and see how wet I am. That feels like something that might change his mind. But in my experience, you should never fuck a gift horse in the mouth.
Or, uh. Something like that.
“Okay. I’m not dreaming,” I agree. “Now. Show me your big, luxurious private jet that’s going to take us on a magical getaway to the exotic Las Vegas strip.”
“I was thinking we could strip on the plane,” Eli muses jokingly. “But if you want to wait until we get there, I guess I can manage to restrain myself.”
I punch him for that. Lightly, on the arm. It only serves to verify what I already know: Eli Kennedy is totally fucking ripped. He makes me feel like kitten taking swats at a freaking lion or something.
Not that I mind.
Inside the jet is everything that flying economy is not. Spacious. Opulent. Comfy.
No screaming babies. No passengers inadvertently taking up half of your seat as well as their own. No weird dudes that try to talk to you the entire flight even though you clearly have headphones on. No geriatrics throwing up into the barf bags.
There is, however, a bar featuring rows and rows of glistening flight-ready mini-bottles of booze; a film projector playing Breakfast at Tiffany’s over a huge pile of plush, comfy looking cushions; and, upon further inspection, a king-sized bed.
“It is a six hour flight, you know,” Eli reminds me as I spin in a slow circle in the center of the bedroom, totally in pure fucking awe.
“Forget that,” I tell him. “I want to live in here.”
That makes him laugh. God, he has such a gorgeous laugh, too. He laughs like he means it, and just enough, and never like he’s making some kind of joke at my expense.
So, essentially, he’s the farthest thing from Greg that I could fucking imagine.
“You’re welcome to,” Eli says, his hand slinking around my back. “There’s only one rule.”
“Don’t talk about fight club?” I ask.
Eli takes the zipper of my dress between his fingers and tugs it downward.
“Always pee after sex?”
He laughs again as he slips the straps of the dress off my shoulders.
“Mandatory nudity?”
“Third time’s a charm,” Eli says softly.
My dress drops to the floor.
“Six hours is an awfully long time,” I admit.
“We’ll have to keep busy then,” Eli says, pulling my body against him.
His fingers curl beneath the lace band of my black panties in a way that makes me wish I hadn’t worn them in the first place.
“We’ll have to,” I agree.
“Have you ever thought about joining the mile high club, Sofie?”
His lips are just fractions of an inch away from mine as he smiles down at me.
I smile right back up at him. “Shouldn’t we wait for take-off first?”
“Waiting isn’t exactly my specialty,” he grows back, lowering his lips to mine.