Page 7 of Cinderella's Fling with the Off-Limits Billionaire

“You taste so good,” Leandro muttered, almost complaining. It might have been a funny thing to say, but she didn’t think so. She’d just been thinking the same thing. She wrenched her mouth free again.

“I don’t do this kind of thing,” she said honestly, urgently, her heart pounding against her rib cage, her generous breasts straining against the expensive cotton of her work shirt. “I really mean it. No one can know.”

“And I really mean it: I am not going to tell anyone.” His nostrils flared. And despite the fact she could feel his desire for her quite clearly, he lifted up further. “We don’t have to do anything, bella. You’re in charge.”

Something shifted inside of her. It was as if he’d found the magical key to unlock her deepest-held desires, her biggest needs. Needs that were way beyond the physical. With Jay, she’d never been in charge. Not even in the beginning. He’d chosen the restaurants, he’d selected the days, times, and he’d made it all seem—or maybe she’d imagined it to be—romantic. That behaviour had a name, and a whole psychopathy, she just didn’t know it back then.

Love Bombing.

Beware: anyone who seems too good to be true definitely is.

But Leandro was putting the ball in her court, letting her decide what she wanted, and damn it if that wasn’t the biggest aphrodisiac of all.

“I don’t have long,” she said again, surprised she could think so logically at all. “My job…”

“Not a problem,” he reassured her, and at the time, she’d thought he meant he didn’t intend to take long. She wasn’t even bothered by that. Suddenly, she had an urgent, desperate need to be with a man other than Jay, to overwrite her experiences with that man, to start living outside of the box he’d managed to fold her into.

Was this about revenge? Maybe a bit. Maybe a lot. But it was also about Skye reclaiming something that should have been hers all along: autonomy.

She was her own person.

A living, breathing woman who, before Jay, had thought of herself as smart and independent. She could have one night of passionate, meaningless sex without the whole world falling apart.

And so she smiled, a dazzlingly beautiful smile that was so full of certainty, it overcame every doubt either of them might have had, if they’d been thinking more clearly. When they kissed now, it was more than just a kiss. It was a promise.

His mouth ran over hers, his tongue tangling with hers, whilst his hands explored her body, every inch of her, through the fabric of her clothes until that wasn’t good enough and he had to touch her. Rushing but careful, he undid the buttons of her shirt, groaning as he pushed it off her to reveal her flat stomach and curved breasts contained by a soft lace bra.

He swore, but didn’t pause in his exploration of her body, his hands pushing down her skirt, her underwear, somehow disposing of her sensible flat black shoes with the super soft soles at the same time, so she was naked except for the bra. He came back to it with eyes that were hooded and cheeks slashed a dark colour, and he spoke in Italian, making her wish she’d paid more attention in grade school lessons. Then again, going from his tone, she didn’t think any of the words he spoke would have been taught to kids.

His hands curved around her breasts, his breath hissing from his lips as he slid them out of the cups, his eyes locked to her curves before he dropped his dark head forward and took one nipple in his mouth, rolling it with his tongue.

Ecstasy exploded inside of her. She’d had no idea her body could react to something as simple as her nipples being touched and pulled and tasted, but the more he did all of the above, the more her stomach was flooded with fireworks and the heat between her legs became almost unbearable.

“Please,” she cried out, her voice just a husk in the room, a throb of desire that came from the very centre of her being. “Please, please,” she whimpered again, biting into her lip as he transferred his mouth to her other breast, and then brought a hand between her legs, finding her sex and stroking it slowly at first, torturously slowly, testing her, teasing her, and then moving more quickly, until her cries became louder and faster and more high-pitched with euphoria. And then he stopped, stayed perfectly still, and her next cry was more of a sob because she’d been so close to coming and wanted to, so badly.

“Open the damn door, Leo, or I’ll get someone to do it for me.”

Leandro’s cheeks were still flushed, his body was tight, everything between them hung in a state of suspended animation. But the beautiful bubble their passion had created, the bubble that had somehow sucked Skye in and made her think this was all okay, was beginning to pop. Someone was here. At the door to the room.

She yelped, shaking her head a little. “No one can know,” she groaned, and worse, this was a woman’s voice. She knew her own situation, but she had no idea about this man’s. What if he was married? Engaged? Dating someone? The last thing she needed was to get in the middle of someone else’s failing relationship.

“Oh, God,” she lifted a hand to her forehead.

“Stay here,” he commanded, but she shook her head.

“No. No way.”

He reached for his trousers and pulled them up over his bare body, but his arousal made it hard to do the zip. He turned his back a minute, waiting to lose the physical evidence of what they’d been about to do, and Skye took the opportunity to dress as quickly as she could, shoveling her breasts back into the bra, stuffing her arms into the shirt and hoping she fed the right buttons into the adjacent holes. Her underpants were underneath the sofa—she ignored them. There was no time. Leo was already moving towards the door. She yelped again, pulled the skirt up, stuffed her shirt into it, and was conscious of him turning to look at her, his eyes nodding towards the bathroom, indicating she could wait there.

But if she hid, she’d be trapped for as long as this conversation—or whatever—took. So she shook her head tersely, held one finger in the air indicating he should wait, and then pressed her feet into shoes. Her hands were unsteady as she quickly sunk to the carpet, the scene of their almost crime, and found the discarded bottle of chemicals. She sprayed it quickly, her face pale as she worked.

What had she almost just done?

Not the sex part, but the sleeping with a guest of the hotel in the hotel part. Her job meant way too much to her. Not only was it relatively well paid, she got to work with rich celebrities who tipped generously and the tips alone were all going into Harper’s college fund. Her boss was understanding of Skye’s parenting demands, sympathetic to the fact she was a single mother. She liked her job, she liked the conditions. There was no way she could lose it.

She kept her head lowered, patting the carpet gingerly with the towel, watching as the chemicals seemed to be bringing the wine situation under control, doing her level best not to look at the man she’d just been begging to make love to her.

Three

---