Page 18 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

I watch as he tears the packet open with his teeth, then rolls the condom on. The sight of his big hands on himself sends another rush of heat through me.

He positions himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine. Then he stops. A flicker of pain crosses his face. “This is a one-timething, Ava.”

The statement is like a bucket of cold water. “What?”

“This morning. It’s the last time.” His voice is strained. “I don’t do relationships. I don’t see women twice.”

I should be offended, should push him away and leave. But his words just make me determined to make this memory count.

“Then make it unforgettable,” I challenge. “Fuck me like you’re never fucked before and never will fuck again.”

I see a flash of something, surprise, maybe admiration, cross his face before he thrusts into me, filling me completely. I cry out, my back arching off the desk.

“Fuck,” he groans, his control slipping. “You feel incredible.”

He sets a punishing pace, his hips slamming against mine, the desk cool beneath me. The angle is perfect, hitting spots inside me that make stars explode behind my eyelids.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, but the slight pain only adds to the pleasure.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands, his voice rough.

“So good,” I gasp.

My words spur him on, his thrusts growing erratic. I can tell he’s close by the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers dig into my skin.

Suddenly, he slides a hand between us, his thumb finding my clit. The additional stimulation is too much, and I’m coming again, clenching around him, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He follows a moment later, his hips stutteringagainst mine, my name a groan on his lips. For a moment, we stay like that, both breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine.

Then reality crashes back. This was goodbye sex. The last time, as he so eloquently put it.

Gideon pulls away first, disposing of the condom in a small trash can by the desk. I watch as he tucks himself back into his pants, his movements efficient and practiced. The businessman is back, the passionate lover gone.

I slide off the desk on shaky legs, gathering my scattered clothes. The silence between us is heavy as we both dress, backs turned to each other like we didn’t just share the most intimate act possible.

When I’m fully clothed, I turn to find him watching me, his expression unreadable. “My driver is waiting downstairs. He’ll take you home.”

And there it is. The dismissal. The end.

What’s the proper etiquette here? A handshake? A hug? A “thanks for the orgasms, have a nice life?”

I should say something witty or sarcastic, but all I manage is a fake smile, “Thank you.”

He nods, then hesitates. “This was a mistake, Ava. A beautiful one, but still a mistake. Artists and billionaires. We see the world differently.”

I want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, to remind him of last night, of everything we said, of the connection we had, but what’s the point? This was never going to be more than a night. And a morning, apparently.

“Goodbye, Gideon.” I turn and walk toward the door, desperately hoping my legs will carry me out of here with at least a shred of dignity intact.

As I reach the door, his voicestops me. “Ava.”

I pause, not turning around, afraid of what I might see, or what he might.

“Your art is truly exceptional.”

Such a simple compliment shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Because it reminds me that he saw something in me beyond a body to warm his bed. And now I’ll never know what might have been.

I don’t have it in me to answer, so all I can do is walk out, closing the door firmly behind me.

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