Belonging to Ioniko: The Greek Billionaire's Obsession Read online

  Belonging to Ioniko

  The Greek Billionaire's Obsession

  Marian Tee

  Contents

  Blurb

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Part I

  Part II

  Part III

  Part IV

  Part V

  The End

  Blurb

  At first, I thought I was imagining things.

  I was, after all, worse than ordinary, a 27-year-old bespectacled workaholic who cared so little about her appearance that she didn't mind leaving the house without taking a shower.

  I never wore makeup and had my hair up all the time so I wouldn't have to drag a comb through the occasional knots. The only reason people didn't think I was a social misfit was because Korean fashion had claimed global domination; I could now leave the house in hoodies and sweat pants and still have my outfit considered as stylish.

  So I was that kind of person, and Ioniko being another kind of person, you could see why I had to think I was imagining things.

  There were times when I would be on my desk, tapping away on my iPad when I'd feel his gaze on me. Times when I would browse the latest magazines on the racks and I'd feel his eyes following every unconscious sway of my hips. Times when his stare would just burn so effing much that my body couldn't help reacting, and I'd start tingling and aching all over. Times when I wanted to forget all my inhibitions and be just like almost every other girl at Associate and imagine him making love to me.

  There were lots of times that it almost felt undeniable he was staring at me, but even so. Every time I felt he might be staring at me, I simply told myself nope.

  Just nope, nope, nope.

  Could he really be staring at me while I was waiting for his sister to issue me a replacement card at the counter? Nope.

  Were those his eyes digging holes into my back while I was chatting with Wyatt? Nope.

  I was determined to never let myself think otherwise, thinking that would end things, but it didn't.

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  "It just sounds so ridiculously unreal."

  She also sounded ridiculously defensive, like she was ashamed of her reaction, and he had to clench his fists to keep himself from hauling her into his arms. She might not know how rare her attitude to his wealth was, but he did, and when he saw Schuyler lift her gaze upwards as if she was blaming God that she had to be tangled up with a billionaire...

  He was almost tempted to do the same but for the opposite reason. Doxa to Theo. Thank God. And then he took hold of her hand.

  She was immediately panicky, which was cute, and she became even cuter when she told him, "This is stupid."

  "My holding your hand?"

  "No, of course not." Her tone was impatient, yet another thing most women wouldn't dare use in his presence, and this only pleased him more. "I'm talking about you...and me."

  "Ah."

  "I thought you were out of my league, but obviously I was wrong."

  "So I'm no longer out of your league?"

  "Dude."

  For Ioniko, that pretty much sealed it. Maybe there were other women who could be just as immune as Schuyler was to his billions. But another woman who unthinkingly referred to him as...dude? That was a rarity beyond compare right there, the one-of-a-kind variety, and he knew then.

  He took her hand and brought it to her lips.

  "You enchant me, koukla mou."

  Translation: I will never let you go.

  But since she was too stubborn to read between the lines, she kept trying to pull out of his hold, and it was only the unmistakable growling of her stomach (another one-of-a-kind variety) that eventually persuaded her to having a meal with him.

  "Where would you like to eat?"

  "The fanciest place you can afford." And when he raised a brow at her, she told him, "That should tell you something."

  "Enlighten me."

  "I'm a gold-digger."

  Belonging to Ioniko

  by Marian Tee

  Copyright 2020 by Streak Digital Publishing

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Part I

  I love, love coworking spaces. When I was just starting out, I used to work at cafes and felt guilty the entire time. It didn't feel right, hogging use of their table for hours in exchange of two cups of coffee, and I felt even guiltier when cafes started offering sockets and USB ports. Every time my device's battery ran low, I struggled with an ethical dilemma: to charge or not to charge. And most times than not, convenience shamefully won over my principles.

  So you could just imagine how happy I was when coworking finally became a thing. Finally, a place in which we could legally pay to hang out for hours, make use of their Internet and charging stations, and oh, did I mention they had free coffee and tea, too?

  The first one to open in our neck of the woods was Associate, and the place occupied the entire penthouse of a low-rise building downtown. I signed up the first chance I could (lifetime rates at $150 per month, duh!) and hit the jackpot since Associate quickly established itself as the best in the business, with its fancy rooftop deck, full-serviced kitchen, exercise studio, and relaxation room.

  The place operated Mondays to Saturdays, and being the cheapskate that I was, I occupied one of their tables for about fifty hours a week. At the start, there were only about a dozen of us, but by the time Associate celebrated its first year of business, there was rarely a table left unoccupied and the place had become a thriving social hub for everyone from freelancing artists to wheeling-and-dealing Internet enterpreneurs. Even our local influencers dropped by frequently to have meetings at one of the function rooms, and in those days Associate always got a little livelier as most members tried to one-up each other on any number of things. Just watching them interact with each other was pure fun, and I always ended up scribbling several pages' worth of notes that would eventually find its way to my scripts.

  None, however, proved as exciting as the day Ioniko Vlahos started "working" at Associate.

  Ioniko was, in a word, perfect: jet-black hair, piercing green eyes, and chiseled and sculpted all over. He looked like he was born to kill in handmade Italian suits, and his deeply bronzed skin instantly made everyone's fake tans look like an embarrassing joke.

  He was so darn sexy that the word 'sexy' itself felt inadequate, and every time he dropped by, the amount of horniness in the air would reach impossibly awkward levels. Nowadays, no one made a fuss anymore when the ladies' shower room smelled distinctly like cum, and no one even batted an eyelash when we'd hear a barely stifled moan from here and there.

  At the beginning, the women would swarm around him constantly, flirting and hitting on him, and I heard he even got propositioned once or twice. It was only when Kat, the woman who managed the place and was often found manning the reception counter, casually let it drop that her big brother was an old-fashioned Greek that all the fawning stopped...and it started.

  * * *

  At first, I thought I was imagining things.

  I was, after all, worse than ordinary, a 27-year-old bespectacled workaholic who cared so little about her appearance that she didn't mind leaving the house without taking a shower.

  I never wore makeup and had my hair up all the time so I wouldn't have to drag a comb through the occasional knots. The only r
eason people didn't think I was a social misfit was because Korean fashion had claimed global domination; I could now leave the house in hoodies and sweat pants and still have my outfit considered as stylish.

  So I was that kind of person, and Ioniko being another kind of person, you could see why I had to think I was imagining things.

  There were times when I would be on my desk, tapping away on my iPad when I'd feel his gaze on me. Times when I would browse the latest magazines on the racks and I'd feel his eyes following every unconscious sway of my hips. Times when his stare would just burn so effing much that my body couldn't help reacting, and I'd start tingling and aching all over. Times when I wanted to forget all my inhibitions and be just like almost every other girl at Associate and pleasure myself while imagining it was his fingers stroking my flesh.

  There were lots of times that it almost felt undeniable he was staring at me, but even so. Every time I felt he might be staring at me, I simply told myself nope.

  Just nope, nope, nope.

  Could he really be staring at me while I was waiting for his sister to issue me a replacement card at the counter? Nope.

  Were those his eyes digging holes into my back while I was chatting with Wyatt? Nope.

  I was determined to never let myself think otherwise, thinking that would end things, but it didn't.

  * * *

  I can still remember the day he changed the rules of the game and upped the stakes. I was in the kitchen, making myself coffee, when I felt his presence. I knew it was him even without turning my head. Knew it was him but I still kept praying. Please God, don't torture me so.

  But just like Poseidon and Athena in the Trojan war, my God was on the side of Greeks that day, and I found myself freezing like an idiot as I felt him coming closer.

  A second later, and he was standing right behind me, so damn close that his aftershave literally became a force of seduction, and I was this close to choosing not to breathe just so I wouldn't be tempted to throw myself at him.

  Jesus H. Christ, but how did a man smell this good?

  "Sorry." His voice was deep and strongly accented. "I just need to reach for something." A shadow fell over me as he spoke, and I looked up to see his strong arms stretched out above me as he reached to open the cupboards.

  It was torture, just pure nervewracking sensual torture to simply stand there and hope and pray that nothing I would do in the next ten seconds would give me away. If I backed even an inch, I was terrified I'd be pushing my ass into his groin, and God knew what would happen after that.

  An entire century seemed to have passed by the time he moved away, and I tried not to make any noise as I quickly gulped back air into my lungs.

  "Thanks," I heard him murmur a moment later.

  I nodded without looking his way and told myself that the wickedness I detected in his voice was just another thing I was imagining. But of course I was wrong, and that was just the beginning.

  * * *

  He was so dangerously good at flirting that even though I was already on my guard he'd still catch me unawares. I'd be walking in one direction when I'd suddenly feel him walking the opposite way, and as our sides brushed, his fingers would tangle with mine ever so briefly.

  The first time it happened, the jolt of electricity from where our skins came into contact had left me so stunned that I literally tripped over my feet. The second time it happened, I was more prepared, but that brief stolen touch still burned. It always burned, and every time it happened, I'd find myself catching my breath and feeling hot and restless inside.

  I prayed and prayed that he'd lose interest in me, knowing he was trouble I couldn't afford, but instead things just got worse. I found myself craving for his stares even as I never made the mistake of meeting his gaze. I found myself aching for those forbidden little touches even though I never let myself touch him back. And at night...I couldn't help myself any longer. I had learned how to pleasure myself at an early age, and it was one of the reasons why I never felt the pressure to find myself a lover. But one thing I had never done was to imagine a real man doing it to me while I stroked my folds and played with the little nub between my legs.

  Never.

  Until him.

  * * *

  A part of myself had been foolishly convinced that no matter how worse it got, nothing would come out of it. That this was a game and would always remain one. That even if it might hurt my ego badly, one day he'd lose interest and he'd move on to the next available woman.

  But as you might have guessed by now, I was wrong about this, too.

  * * *

  I was alone at the elevator, and the doors were about to close when I saw him. Shit. Shit. Shit. I was tempted to ignore all the rules about good behavior and proper etiquette and just let the doors close. And when our gazes inevitably clashed, the wicked glint of amusement in his piercing green eyes told me he was expecting me to do exactly that.

  But if I did, then wouldn't that be admitting to how much he affected me, and I'd end up winning the battle but losing the war?

  Shit. Shit. Shit. I kept cursing in my mind even as I reluctantly hit the Open button, and I cursed even more when he stepped inside to join me, and the faint scent of his aftershave once again invaded my world. Shiiiiiiiiiiiit. But this time, my silent curse came accompanied by a sinking feeling in my stomach, and I fixed my gaze at the wall in a desperate bid to avoid the temptation of looking his way.

  Come on, elevator, hurry the fuck up. Surely, any moment now, the doors would o...oh my God!

  The elevator was suddenly groaning and shuddering, and I quickly held on to the walls as the elevator screeched into a stop.

  What. The. Fuck.

  My gaze flew up in horror even though I knew God wasn't actually literally up there. I was partly panicking, but mostly I was just incredulous. Like, come on, God. Seriously?

  "I hope you're not blaming God for this." It was him of course, and the lazy amusement in his accented drawl made my body tighten despite the low-key anxiety that was making my heart thump just a little harder than usual.

  "It should only take a while for maintenance to get the elevator up and running again."

  I could only nod, still not trusting myself to speak. While it wasn't my first time to hear him speak, there was something about the situation...was the enclosed space just making me hallucinate or did his voice sound so much sexier than usual? Either way, it was making me feel really, really hot...and in a way that had nothing to do with the elevator's sudden ventilation problems.

  "Ioniko, by the way." Damn man still sounded amused as hell, and I had a nasty feeling it was because he knew exactly how he was affecting me.

  I reluctantly turned to face him, powerless to ignore a lifetime's worth of etiquette lessons that had been drilled into me. As my gaze settled on his collar bones, I said shortly, "Schuyler." It was as far as I would go. Manners dictated I answer him, and nothing else.

  After a few seconds, I heard him chuckle and say, "And that's it?"

  "That's it," I answered while still refusing to meet his gaze.

  "You're different from most women."

  Because I didn't throw myself at you?

  "And no, koukla mou---" I could sense him smirking this time. "It is not because you haven't tried hitting on me like the others did."

  Shit. So he also read minds; is that how it is? How much perfection could one store in a human body without mutating into, I don't know, a saint or the next Hugh Jackman?

  "There were other women who acted coy from the start, thinking that by playing hard to get they could capture my attention. You, however..."

  Were the only one who didn't really want to be noticed?

  "Exactly."

  His words almost had me looking his way. Almost. But it did make me struggle not to smile as I took pains to point out the obvious. "I haven't even said anything."

  "I heard you all the same," he parried back, and his words were uttered with such incredibly languid s
elf-assurance that I could no longer help it. My gaze lifted to his, and there it was. Those green eyes were all smolder and seductive glitter, and a laugh bubbled past my lips. "You're good."

  And of course, he had an immediate riposte to this, with his green gaze turning deliciously diabolical as he asked, "Good enough to have dinner with me tonight?"

  You wish, I thought right away even as I only shook my head and said quite simply, "Nope."

  "And we're back to monosyllabic answers again."

  "Yup."

  His gaze took on a contemplative gleam. "Why do you keep resisting?"

  "Because there's no point in giving in."

  His gaze narrowed. "Are you currently seeing someone?"

  I shook my head and told myself it wasn't jealousy I detected in his voice. Just...nope, nope, nope.

  "Then I see no reason why we shouldn't enjoy a meal together."

  I shook my head again. "We're not in the same league, okay?" This back-and-forth banter was fun, even I had to admit that. But to let things progress beyond this...just...nope.

  "I beg to disagree."

  "Disagree away, but I'm not changing my mind." I made a wry gesture towards myself, saying, "I mean, look at me, like, really look at me---"

  "I have been."

  "And look at you---"

  "And I like what I've been seeing."

  Yeeargh. I hadn't even seen that coming, and I gave him a grudging smile. "You are really, really good at flirting---"

  "It's not the only thing I'm good at," he purred.

  And oh my God, but he did it again! Considering the nature of my job, I should've seen those pick-up lines coming miles away, but...nope. There was just something about this guy---