Page 161 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

He catches my knee, pushing it wide. “All of you,” he growls, “is mine.”

His hand wraps around his length, stroking once, slowly, his gaze locked on mine as he lines himself up. The blunt head teases my entrance,slick with my arousal, but he holds still, tormenting us both. The feel of his cock pressing against me makes me whimper with need, but he holds back, searching my face.

“I love you,” he says again, the words still new and precious between us. “I need you to know that this isn’t just about sex for me. It never was.”

“I know,” I whisper, cradling his face between my palms. “I feel the same way. I’ve always felt the same way.”

“No more games,” he murmurs, voice rough.

When he pushes inside me, there’s no barrier, no hesitation, just the raw, molten glide of skin against skin. My breath hitches, nails digging into the sheets, but he captures my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head.

“Look at me,” he commands, and I obey, drowning in the storm of his eyes. Every thrust is deliberate, agonizingly slow, stretching the moment into eternity. His free hand skims my ribs, my hip, leaving fire in its wake, before settling possessively on my throat. Not tightening. Justclaiming.

“Mine,” he growls, lips grazing the shell of my ear, teeth nipping at the tender curve where my pulse races. The word isn’t a question. It’s a vow, primal and irrevocable, and it unravels me.

“Yours,” I gasp, arching against him, the admission tearing free like a confession. “And you’re mine, too.” My heel drags down his calf, urging him deeper, and a feral sound escapes him. Half groan, half triumph.

“Always.” The promise vibrates against my collarbone as his rhythm turns relentless, each stroke hitting that place that makes me see stars. His grip onmy wrists tightens, the faint sting of it merging with the pleasure coiling low in my belly.

“Gideon! Gideon! Gideon!” I say it in time to his powerful thrusts.

I’m close—so close the air burns in my lungs, every nerve screaming for release. But he drags his mouth down my throat, slow and torturous, pausing to suck a bruise over my racing pulse. “You want to break, don’t you?” His voice is hoarse, his wet lips curving against my damp skin. “Beg for it.”

The demand sends a shudder through me. I bite my lip, refusing, but he feels it. The way my thighs tremble, the desperate clench of my body around him. His hips snap harder, stealing my breath.

“Beg,” he repeats, thrusting deep enough to draw a broken moan from my throat.

“Please—” The word fractures, and his groan vibrates against my breast as he takes my nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling in cruel, perfect circles. I writhe, but he pins me harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak until I’m sobbing. “Please, I need—god, I need to—!”

“Needwhat?” He lifts his head, eyes blazing, and shifts his angle just so. The new friction is intense, ruthless, and my vision whites out for a heartbeat. “Use that pretty mouth, vixen. Tell me.”

“Let me cum!” I choke out, nails raking the sheets. “Now.”

“Cum, vixen. Let me feel you.” His hand slips between us, thumb pressing tight to my clit, and the worldsplits.

I shatter with a cry. “Gideon!”

My body clenches around him, waves of ecstasy crashing so hard I’m weightless, boneless,his.

He follows instantly, hips stutteringas he buries himself to the hilt, his roar muffled against my neck. “Ava!Fuck!”

I feel every pulse of him, hot and thick, filling me as his breath comes ragged against my skin.

Afterward, as we lie tangled together in the afterglow, I trace random patterns on his chest and marvel at how different everything feels. The same bed, the same man, but nothing is the same at all.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“That I never thought I’d be here again,” I admit softly. “A week ago, I was convinced you were just like my stepfather. That you’d only pretended to care about my art while planning to destroy it.”

His arms tighten around me. “I will never betray you like that, Ava. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it, if you’ll let me.”

I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him properly. “The rest of your life, huh? That’s a pretty big commitment for someone who insisted our arrangement was strictly temporary.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. It’s not the guarded smirk I’d grown accustomed to, but something genuine and a little vulnerable. “Maybe I’ve had a change of heart.” He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe I realized some arrangements are worth making permanent.”

My heart does that funny little skip again, and this time I don’t try to ignore it. “Are you proposing? Because technically, we’re already married.”

“Not properly,” he counters. “That was a business arrangement. I want to do it right this time. No contracts, no clauses, just a promise between us.”

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