Page 166 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
He pushes the fabric aside, his lips following the path of his fingers, kissing the curve of my collarbone, the slope of my shoulder. Each touch feels like a prayer.
Okay, yep. Nerves? Officially evicted from the premises. Apparently, they can’t coexist with the full-body thrum of ‘oh my god, yes, please keep doing exactly that’.
Anticipation doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Maybe billionaire worship is my new kink?
Note to self: investigate further.
He unhooks my bra, letting it fall away. His gaze lingers on my breasts, a possessive heat flaring in his eyes, but his touch remains gentle as he cups my weight.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, before lowering his head, his tongue tracing lazy circles around one nipple, teasing it into an aching peak before drawing it into his mouth with exquisite care.
I gasp in delight, my fingers clenching in his hair.
Fuck I love him.
He gives equal devotion to the other breast, his touch both gentle and demanding, until I’m trembling, aching for more.
He kneels before me then, his hands sliding down my waist, unzipping my trousers, pushingthem down along with my panties until they pool around my ankles.
I step out of them, standing naked before him.
He doesn’t immediately touch me further. He just looks. His eyes roam over my body with an intensity that feels like a physical caress, as usual making my skin flush hot under his appreciative gaze.
“I want to worship you, Lucy,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion I’ve never heard from him before. “Every fucking perfect inch of you.”
And then he starts doing just that.
Oh god.
First my feet. Kissing the arches, licking the sensitive skin between my toes, sending unexpected jolts of pleasure up my legs.
Seriously? My feet? Nobody’s ever paid attention to my feet! Is this a billionaire thing? Do they have, like, foot fetish seminars at Davos?
Not that I mind.
He works his way slowly upwards, kissing my ankles, the backs of my knees, the soft skin of my inner thighs, his tongue tracing patterns, his lips leaving trails of heat.
Every touch is deliberate. Reverent.
By the time his mouth reaches the juncture of my thighs, I’m practically vibrating with anticipation, my core clenched, already dangerously close.
He settles between my legs, parting me gently. His gaze meets mine for a fleeting second, filled with love and fierce intent, before he lowers his head.
And oh god.
His mouth on my pussy… it’s devastating, as always.
He uses his tongue, his lips, sometimes the faintstubble on his chin, creating sensations that are both exquisitely gentle and unbearably intense.
He brings me to the edge, that familiar coiling tightness building low in my belly, then eases back, letting me hover there, trembling, before starting again.
He whispers my name, whispers words of love against my most sensitive skin, his breath hot, his touch maddeningly precise.
“Touch yourself, Lucy,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking against my clit, making me cry out.
He pulls back, giving me room.
