Page 73 of The Billionaire's Cinderella

“Look at you,” he whispers as though he’s the lucky one in this scenario. “Look at you.”

Poor thing. I can’t help but smile. He’s so misguided.

“I’d much rather look at you.”

He shakes his head, choking back a laugh. “I missed you. Every second. Don’t do that to me again, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I doubt I could do it to myself again.”

A glimmer of a smile as he leans in again. “Good.”

He changes the pace, slowing things way down and tasting me with languid sweeps of his tongue until my pussy throbs and I feel the telltale surge of moisture between my thighs. My aching nipples demand that I arch my back and rub against the unyielding slabs of his chest like some shameless cat, seeking relief. Hard to make it any clearer than that, but I hook one of my legs around his waist and thrust my hips in case he’s not getting the message.

But he gets it. Ryker always gets it. He clamps his hands on my ass to anchor me as he grinds that big dick against my sweet spot. I cry out with abandon, and he responds with a rumble of gathering excitement.

I let him go and turn my attention to more important things, like shoving his jacket over his shoulders and off, undoing his tie and going to work on the buttons of his starched shirt.

He watches me with rapt attention the whole time, never breaking eye contact as he toes his way out of his shoes and helps me with the cuff links.

“Are you going to fuck me?” I ask, tugging his shirt off.

“Absolutely,” he says, yanking his T-shirt off and tossing it to the floor.

I eyeball that sun-kissed skin. The broad span of his shoulders. The thrilling biceps and the more rippling ladder rungs of his abdomen. My fiancé is quite a specimen. I’m an incredibly lucky woman.

“Soon?” I ask.

A hint of a smile. “Stand by. Why don’t you take off your panties for me? Help me out.”

“Just the panties?”

“Just the panties. For now.” His appreciative gaze skims me up and down. “I want to get the most out of that dress.”

When he talks to me like that, with that silky, vaguely challenging note in his voice, I automatically lapse into sex-kitten mode. It’s as though he’s the only one in the world that can access the hidden button that kicks me into overdrive, and I can’t get there fast enough. Especially when he scrapes his lower lip between his teeth as he watches me, as though he’s starved and plans to make a buffet of my body.

Exactly like that.

So I make a show of reaching under my filmy skirt and wiggling my way out of my panties without ever giving him a glimpse of anything north of my lower thighs.

“Nice shoes.” He unbuckles. Unzips. Reveals the heavy length of his erection straining for me behind his gray boxer briefs. “Keep them on.”

The man’s got great taste in footwear on top of everything else. I’m going to keep him.

“If you insist.”

I take a step toward the bed, but he catches my hand, tugs me along as he backs into the nearest chair, sits and exposes himself before reaching for me.

“Not so fast. Come here.”

He starts to take my hips so I can straddle him, but I’ve got a better idea.

I drop to my knees. Shoot him a pointed glance as I ease the straps off my shoulders and pull the top of my dress down as far as I can without revealing my nipples. And savor the distinct catch of his breath (guess he likes the view) as I lower my head and take him deep into my mouth.

“Fuck. Ella.”

I’m not gentle. Neither is he. I suck him hard. He plants his hands on either side of my head, pulling my hair in his effort to keep me there while he thrusts his hips. I try to swallow him whole. He shouts my name. I laugh with triumph at the sound of his broken voice, knowing that I did that to him.

He is mine and I am his.

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