Page 46 of Billionaire Hunt

In my eight years with Wyatt, not once had he washed my hair. That alone should have been grounds for divorce, I thought with amusement. Erik gave my scalp a massage and I leaned my head back as he made his way through the rest of my hair.

“That feels amazing,” I said as he slowly rinsed it, threading his fingers through it.

“Almost as amazing as sex?” he asked, finally returning to his humorous self.

“Almost,” I said softly, smiling a little.

When he was done with my hair he went to cut off the faucet, but I wanted to return the favor. Ten minutes later, after I had pleasured his cock with my mouth to the point where we could barely stand, we made love all over again before rinsing off and finally climbing out.

He walked out first and retrieved a towel. I stepped into it and he wrapped me up, tucking me into it like a burrito.

“Thank you.”

Even though we had just been intimate, I didn’t know what to do or say anymore. Emotions were now explicitly involved and that complicated things immensely. I dried my hair with the towel as I walked into Erik’s bedroom. Erik was still in the bathroom as I changed into his nightshirt. I ventured into his kitchen and saw that he had made bacon and eggs.

Everything was cold of course.

He apologized for it as he joined me at the breakfast table.

“I got distracted by your body in the shower. I had just wanted to tell you that breakfast was ready, but showering with you was too tempting to pass up.”

I made a noncommittal sound in reply and kept my eyes down as I ate. Now that it was morning and we were no longer going at it like horny teenagers, the enormity of my decision and the fact that our lovemaking hadn’t been out of love, well at least on Erik’s end, weighed deeply on me.

Erik reached out to take my hand and I pulled away from him.

“Do you regret what happened between us last night?”

I looked up and met his eyes. “No.”

“Tell me the truth,” he said, searching my eyes for what, I didn’t know. “Don’t lie to me, Misha. I don’t deserve that.”

I scoffed. “Since when do we get what we deserve, Erik? I deserve a man who loves me as much as I love him. I deserve a man who isn’t afraid to say it. Isn’t that what I deserve?”

He didn’t answer the question, instead he said, “Tell me if you regret what happened between us. Do you regret that we didn’t use protection?”

I dropped my fork. “Wasn’t that the point? Get me knocked up. Nine months later kick me to the curb. Raise your child alone. Perfect little life. No complications. No feelings. No emotions.”

His eyes became angry. “Don’t fault me because you let your emotions get involved. You know I didn’t want this...this conflict between us. I wanted us to be friends. I warned you that emotions would make this hard and complicated.”

“It’s supposed to be complicated, Erik. Love isn’t easy. Love is hard.”

He stood up and walked away from the table, I followed closely behind him. “You can walk away from me, but I’m not done yet. I fell in love with you and I’m not afraid for you to know it anymore. I’ve been hiding my feelings from you for too long. I love you, Erik.” My voice caught and I continued, “And you can’t tell me that you don’t feel the same thing for me.”

He turned around and his eyes were cold. “Why? Why does everything have to be labeled? We were fine---”

“No! You were fine. I wasn’t. It was tearing me up inside, not being able to tell you how I felt. Fighting to keep those feelings from surfacing. It’s been horrible. I wasn’t fine. We weren’t fine.”

“I was fine!” he yelled at me, catching me off guard. “I was happy and so were you...but it just wasn’t good enough. Being there for you, caring about you, being your lover and your friend just wasn’t enough for you. What’s wrong with you women, constantly wanting more, more, more? It’s no wonder we men die way before you. We can’t keep up with all your wants!”

“My wants? You make it sound like wanting to be loved is some sort of illness, a virus that needs to be cured.”

“It is!” he said with frustration in his voice. “Before you decided that you loved me, we were happy. And now look at us. We’re fighting. You’re angry and hurt. I’m just plain angry and we’re hurting each other for a four-letter word that means nothing.”

“It might not mean anything to you, but it means a lot to me.”

He placed his hands on his waist and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what was going on. “I thought we had the perfect arrangement--”

“Perfect for you,” I spit out.