Drive Her Mad (THE BILLIONAIRE AND THE POP DIVA VOL. 3) Read Online Free Page B

smoothly muscled chest. Frosh, this guy worked out a lot. She was used to seeing ripped bodies. Her male back-up dancers alone had physiques to die for, parading almost naked in the dressing rooms. Her exes were all buffed up Adonises, but Giane’s body was something else. Or maybe she was partial to his looks because she was familiar with every part of him now? His smell, his warmth, his taste…
    She sighed discreetly. You’re getting used to this so fast. Slow down.
    “So, tell me more about the Medicis and art. About this Bruneloki guy. I’m so pop. I wanna learn the classics.”
    He smiled. “Filippo Brunelleschi. He was the foremost architect and engineer of the Renaissance period and the favorite of the family. He built a lot of Medici villas and some castles, mostly in Florence and Tuscany.”
    “You sound so…”
    “What?”
    “Learned.”
    “Is that bad?”
    “No. I just feel kind of a really common commoner next to you right now.”
    “Come on, I’m not a Grammy Award winner and I don’t have one billion fans at YouTube.”
    She made a face at him. “You’ve been googling me.”
    “Breaking Bull.” He grinned lecherously.
    She slapped his chest. “Shut up!”
    “I’d like you to break my bull later.”
    She closed her eyes, her cheeks and ears feeling hot in embarrassment. “Ohhh, stop it!”
    “What. You were so hot in that video.”
    She turned around, avoiding his eyes. While she was unapologetically proud of that racy video which broke a lot of internet records, knowing Giane had seen it made her feel kind of crass next to his Brunelwhatever and Donatello class.
    With every hour that she spent with him, it was becoming more apparent, the differences in their social background. He was a blue blood, highly educated and came from old wealth while she was….
    Oh no. Stop right there! Please, bitch, none of that shit. Stick to the fun. No drama.
    Why would it matter anyway if he was practically royalty and she was one of those common American dreamers who got a little luckier than the others? It wasn’t like they were in love. No King Edward-Wallis Simpson complex here. They were only having this association for one week. No more, no less. She had to remind herself of that again or she would tread on dangerous territory.
    Time to really act the big girl, where it mattered. For a decade, she had been the boss of her lucrative career, negotiating with shrewed record and movie executives, presiding over her little empire that made huge profit out of her name. She can certainly handle a week-long affair with an uber hot guy with the sexiest accent and walk away without regrets, armed with new, valuable experiences in the ways of men. Really, it was win-win from all angles.
    She felt his slippery hands shaping the undersides of her breasts, but not quite cupping them.
    “I watched the video maybe a dozen times,” he was saying.
    “Nooooo!”
    He drew circles around her areolas, avoiding the tips.
    “You were so fucking hot I wanted to masturbate right there in the studio.”
    She moaned and covered his hands with hers, pressing them to her breasts.
    “And then I thought, if it made me want to jack off, there must be a million horndogs around the world who did what I wanted to do while watching your video…and I got so mad I wanted to cancel the interview and go back to the hotel and fuck you until my cock was permanently imprinted inside of you, until your pussy won’t want anything else.”
    Her inner muscles clenched in response to his provocative words. Oh god, he could make her come just talking to her like that. She could feel her nether folds thickening, her clit blossoming, already attuned to what will come next.
    He was kneading her breasts now, mashing them, molding their plump fullness in his palms, his fingers plucking her nipples, and she was going crazy.
    She pressed her back harder against him, grinding her ass on his erection which was poking her from behind like a baseball