Page 135 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
The admission feels raw. Acknowledging the limits of my power, the persistence of his threat.
“So what do we do?” she asks quietly.
“We build something stronger,” I say, the idea forming even as I speak it. Something permanent. Something beyond just business deals and tentative alliances. “Something he can’t touch.” I step closer, taking her wine glass and setting it aside. I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “This isn’t just about the companies anymore, Lucy. You knowthat, right?”
She nods mutely, her blue eyes searching mine.
“You’ve changed things,” I continue, the words feeling clumsy, inadequate. “My perspective. My priorities. What I thought I wanted.” I pause, the next thought surprising even myself as it surfaces. “I find myself thinking about… the long term. About a future I never considered possible before.”
Her breath catches. “Christopher…”
“Move in with me, Lucy,” I say, the words abrupt, bypassing all the usual cautious steps.
She looks stunned. Then hesitant. “Move in? Christopher, that’s… fast. We only just… things are still so complicated. My dad, the company, your father…”
“Complicated?” I scoff softly, though disappointment flickers within me.
Too soon.
Of course it’s too soon for her.
“Our entire relationship was built on complications, Lucy,” I insist. “On conflict. Adversity. That’s a stronger foundation than most relationships built on convenience or shared tax brackets.” I trace her jawline with my thumb. “But you’re right. It’s soon.” My eyes hold hers. “Maybe I can change your mind.”
I don’t wait for her answer.
I lean down, capturing her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. She melts against me, her arms winding around my neck. The kiss deepens, fueled by the tension of the evening, and the raw need that always hums beneath the surface between us.
I break the kiss, my hand sliding down to the small of her back, guiding her firmly towards the bedroom. Purpose courses through me. Tonight isn’t about raw, desperate claiming. It’s about possession, yes, but also… discovery. Strategy. Learning the terrain of her pleasure, mapping her responses, ensuring I know exactly how to command her surrender, now and in the future.
In the bedroom, I undress her slowly, deliberately. I unfasten her dress, letting the blue silk pool around her feet. Her scarf follows. Then her bra, and panties.
My eyes catalogue every detail. The curve of her collarbone. The swell of her breasts, nipples already hardening under my gaze. The faint pink marks still visible on her backside from my hand. The hickeys marking my claim on her throat.
She stands before me, beautifully vulnerable, yet meeting my gaze with that spark of defiance I find so fucking irresistible.
I kiss her again, deeply, my tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth, tasting her surrender.
“Lucy,” I whisper against her lips, my voice rough with intent. “Lucy. You are mine. Every sound you make. Every place that makes you tremble. All mine.”
I position her in the center of the bed, propped against the pillows. Her eyes watch me, wide and questioning, as I retrieve the silk scarf from where it lies discarded with her dress. The scarf she wore to hide my marks.
“What are you—” she starts.
“Trust me,” I murmur, looping the soft fabric around her eyes, knotting it securely at the back of her head.
“Christopher…” Her voice holds a tremor of uncertainty, maybe excitement.
“Shh.” I run my hands slowly down her arms, over her stomach, tracing the curve of her hips. “Just feel. Blindfolding heightens the senses.”
It also makes her vulnerable.
Completelyreliant on me.
I start exploring. Mapping her responses. My fingertips trace light patterns across her skin, noting the goosebumps that rise in their wake. I brush a feather, stolen from some ridiculously expensive decorative pillow, over her nipples, watching them pebble instantly, listening to her sharp intake of breath.
I trail a piece of ice, procured silently from the bedside mini-fridge, down her sternum, and over the curve of her belly, eliciting a gasp and a shiver.
“Do you like this?” I whisper, my lips close to her ear as my fingers find the damp heat between her legs. “This pressure?” I demonstrate, circling her clit slowly, firmly.
