Page 12 of Undercover Billionaire

‘Yes,’ she replied, but then he was lowering his head and Kelsey was powerless to do anything but meet him halfway.

This kiss was much more than the pressing together of two sets of lips. It was heat and electricity and fireworks. It was hard and deep. Wet and open. It was twisting tongues and clashing teeth. It was deep, rumbly groans and urgent nonsensical mutterings. It was a sudden storm, fork lightning and dumping rain.

Wreaking havoc.

There was no sense of control or propriety. No possible way to keep it in check. It was a wild frothing beast of a thing and Kelsey was a slave to it and his mouth.

Nobodyhad ever kissed her like this.

So…needy. Greedy, desperate kisses. Suffocating her with their urgency. Drawing from her as if she was oxygen and he was flame. Kisses that stole her breath but made her feel more fuckingalivethan she’d ever been.

Her pulse thrummed and blood flowed thick and fast, her ears ringing to the rhythm of her arousal. She was hot and wet and ready, her whole body humming.It was utterly insane.

She’dneverwanted a man so absolutely, so damn fast. Hell, they hadn’t even officially been introduced, and sheneverdid something like this with a guy who hadn’t introduced himself first.

Apart from earlier – butthatkiss wasnotthis kiss.

And she didn’t need a crystal ball to knowthiswasn’t just a kiss. That she couldn’t stop atjusta kiss. That she wanted more of him – all of him – and if shewascrossing a line with Ari George, then she was going to do so in spectacular fashion.

He broke off, easing back slightly, their breathing hot and heavy. ‘Are you sure?’ he said, his gaze probing.

Kelsey liked that Ari also knew where this was heading. That this was more than just one kiss. She nodded – she’d never been surer in her life. It might be unwise, but there it was. She’d never indulged in anything so utterly reckless. She’d played by the rules and been a model employee but just this once, she was going to indulge in something for her – before shesettledinto a small town life.

‘Are you?’ she asked.

That he wanted her was obvious. She could feel the evidence of his arousal hard against her belly. But she swore she could see a hazy swirl of conflict in his eyes, like he wanted her but maybe he didn’twantto want her.

If she’d been in her right mind she might have paid it more heed. Alas, she was not.

‘Yes,’ he muttered and kissed her again, his body pressing hard and urgent against hers, her head bumping the back of the door.

Kelsey’s arms wrapped around his neck as she lost herself to his mouth, lost herself to the thrill and hum of her body, aware vaguely that her legs were moving and so were his but not really registering their progress until he stopped abruptly at the barrier of the bed.

He broke off and they stared at each other for a beat or two. The bed was right there behind him and she wanted him on it, she wanted to beonhimon it. Placing her palm in the centre of his chest, she gave him a gentle shove, satisfied in a primal kind of way when he landed half reclined, his eyes dark, his mouth wet.

‘Shirt,’ she said, her voice an even huskier vibrato than normal.

He didn’t say a word, just stripped his shirt off and tossed it aside.

‘Those.’ Her greedy gaze strayed to the large bulge straining against the front of his track pants as she pointed at them.

He didn’t move for a beat or two but when he did, he stripped them down his legs in record time, taking his underwear down too, kicking them both away. Andoh-dear-good-fucking-Christhe was art bought to life. A study in male beauty, laid out before her.

Naked and exposed for her viewing pleasure.

Pillows of muscle, hardness of bone. Planes and dips and ridges from the dark, stubbly stretch of his neck to the sturdiness of his clavicles. To the solid slabs of his quads and the prominence of his hip bones.

And that V, of course. That fascinating v of muscle slung between those two pelvic ridges, funnelling down to his groin and a part of his anatomy that widened Kelsey’s eyes.

His cock wasallthe things.

Sprouting hard and rampant from the thatch of dark hair at his groin. Poised for action. Long. Thick. Taut. Perfectly veined. The crown engorged, flushed purple. The slipperiness between her legs kicked up a notch. Her clit throbbed.

A woman could become enthralled to that thing. Owned by it – whiling away her days screwing it, sucking it, writing poetry about it.

It was the kind of cock that inspired literature.

‘Your turn.’

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