Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires #2) by Lauren Asher

“I want to strike a new deal.” He reaches out and cups the back of my neck.

Goosebumps spread across my skin. “I’m not open to negotiating.”

He shrugs as he says, “Strikhedonia1.”

He robs me of my reply as his lips slam against mine. My eyes remain open, shock making me unable to process everything happening all at once. Declan must sense my inability to connect because his teeth drag across my bottom lip in a silent command to pay attention. One of his hands wraps around the back of my neck, trapping me against him as he kisses me. My body shudders from a simple scrape of his teeth.

I shut my eyes and relish in the sensation of his lips against mine. His fingers gripping onto my neck tighten ever so slightly as my lips part with a sigh. His access to my mouth isn’t taken for granted. He explores like a man on a mission, using his tongue as a brand onto my very soul.

Everything about his kiss is selfish. The way his fingers embed themselves into my skin. The feel of his tongue against mine, stroking, testing, owning. The way he destroys any semblance of normalcy with a single thrust of his stiff cock against my stomach.

I think I’m dying.

I think I’m soaring.

I’m hit with wave after wave of emotions, with each pounding against me without any sort of reprieve. I don’t understand what’s happening.

Maybe you don’t want to.

I grow frustrated with my mixed emotions. My skin tingles and burns all at once, driven by some primal need to gain control. I thrust my hands into his hair and tug at the roots. He soaks it up like a man starved, and my lips stifle his moan.

He likes you touching him. His hands run down my curves before gripping onto my hips. He breaks our kiss, and I nearly groan with protest before his lips follow a path toward my throat. His tongue traces my fluttering pulse point before sucking on the skin. I buck under him, only to push myself further into his firm length.

Oh God. I realize that I must have said the words aloud because he laughs against my skin. The sound that got me into this mess makes something snap inside of me, and I all but shove him away. Both of us are breathing hard, staring into one another’s eyes.

The way he looks at me…it makes me feel alive. Powerful. Desired.

I can’t handle the weight of his gaze, so I scan the rest of him. Bad idea. The outline of his aroused cock pressing against his pants makes my mouth water. I’m hit with a sense of want that is so strong, it has my breath catching in the back of my throat.

Half of me wants to run while the other half wants to drop to my knees and get a better look. It’s the sane half that wins.

Go. Go. Go.

“I need to answer the phone,” I rasp.

“I don’t hear one ringing.”

The temptation to kiss that stupid smirk off his face rides me hard enough to wake me up. I power walk my way toward his door without sparing him another glance.

“Iris—”

“Be ready by seven.” I slam the door behind me, but not quick enough to miss him saying fuck under his breath.





Music blasts from my mini speaker as I sing my way through my makeup routine. While Declan hates galas, I love them because I don’t mind getting lost in the glitz and glam for a night. In the past, whenever he invited me as his guest so women wouldn’t approach him, I would spend the whole week finding the perfect outfit.

Tonight is no different. I take extra time applying my makeup and painting my nails. I somehow shimmy into my floor-length gown, being mindful of not catching my braids on the open zipper. Despite my efforts, I can’t seem to reach the zipper. I’m shoved back into the memory of my wedding night. Except unlike before, I don’t mind asking Declan for a little help, so long as he is fully clothed.

A knock on my door saves me from having to travel far for his assistance.

I grab the knob and tug the door open. “Hey.”

Declan leans against the doorframe, his hair perfectly styled and his tux molded to his muscles as if it was sewn straight onto his body. The only thing unkempt about him is the way his bowtie lays undone against his shirt.

You had to go and marry one of the most handsome men in all of Chicago.

Screw Chicago. More like the most handsome man in all of the world.

I want to drown in his whiskey-colored eyes and never come up for air. There is something about the way he looks at me that seems to strip me bare, ridding myself of any sensible thoughts. Some men look like a dream. Others a nightmare. Declan happens to be a lethal combination of the two—beautiful in a way that should terrify me. Emphasis on the should because if anything, I yearn for more. Especially after our kiss earlier.

“You look…” He pauses.

“If you say nice, I swear I’ll make your death look like an accident.”

“Devastating.”

My throat tightens with emotion. “Are we back to using English words to describe our feelings?”

His eyes glitter. “Only for tonight.”

I break eye contact first, unable to withstand his stare.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Almost. I just need your help with something first.” I turn and pull my braids over my shoulders, revealing my exposed back. “I can’t reach.”

My cheeks heat as I think back to our wedding night. Somehow, I continue to land myself in this position without even trying.

He doesn’t move to help me, so I glance over my shoulder to see if he is still there. His eyes are transfixed on my back. They trace the length of my spine like invisible fingers before stopping at the dimples.