The Billionaire's Submissive

Rising doubts

Adam's POV

Water cascaded down my back, cold as ever. I ran my hands through my hair, spreading the shampoo through. It had been a long day. A damned long day. I had hightailed my ass out of Paris in a hurry to see my mother, terrified to the bone that her condition had gotten crippling worse.

I was worried for nothing.

The woman was all concerned about me getting married. Married! I chuckled, scrubbing through my scalp. My eyes closed as a memory of a certain blue-eyed woman tugging at my hair flashed through my head.

Eve.

My jaw clenched and my breathing became labored.

Fuck.

She wasn't even here. Just the memory of her, a wisp, a scent, anything was enough to make me feel like some  horny teenager again.

With a growl, I scrubbed harder, trying to focus on my mother's request instead. Marriage. That straight-up killed my Boner. Why the hell was she yammering about me getting married?

When she had said that, I'd simply laughed, told her it wouldn't happen, and she would have a rather better chance of convincing Anabelle than convincing me to get married.

Of course, she had snickered as if I was merely fooling around and didn't know what I was saying. But I damn well knew.

I wasn't the type to get married. I didn't want to get shackled down to some woman constantly nagging me or trying to get me to do things by shedding a few shitty tears here and there. Women had the power to manipulate, and for those who could use it, it was a rather devastating power.

A power I would make sure never had its hold on me.

Eve flashed through my head again, and I groaned. This was exactly why I needed to stop this madness about Eve. She was gone. I had left her in Paris. Hell, if we wanted to be certain about the sequence of things, she left me in Paris.

As if she were hiding something. Or running. Ah yes. She had to be running. Who or what exactly was she running from? It couldn't be the police. No, she was too innocent for that. That naivety on her face, in her eyes, in her actions, it couldn't be fake... Could it?

I remembered the way her eyes widened when I did something out of the blue. The way her face would turn red, scandalized by my actions. Like when I had checked if she had panties on? That messed with my head.

I closed my eyes, and I was back in France again, standing on the sidewalk with her in my arms. I could feel her wetness coat my fingers again, feel her drip all over them, moaning, gasping as I played with her pussy. Those sounds slipped out of her lips. Her breath hitched every time I took a swipe over her core.

She couldn't have faked them. She couldn't have.

"Fuck," I hissed, opening my eyes to see my cock jute out, hard as a  rock.

This was getting out of hand. I needed her. I had to see her again. She definitely wasn't French. There was nothing French about her so it was safe to assume she had come to Paris for a vacation or something. Perhaps if I could get a private detective, he could help me find her-

No! My mind roared and I groaned, placing my head directly under the shower to rinse off the soap. What the hell was I thinking?! Private detective. Fuck, this obsession had to stop. It had to end or I would lose my marbles for a woman.

And I had sworn that would never happen again!

But it was Eve, I countered, dragging a hand down my face in frustration. It was my Eve. I wanted her. I wanted her with a hunger I hadn't known I possessed.