Page 170 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
“Look at you,” he murmurs, thumb swiping through the mess he’s made of me. “Perfect.”
The plug shifts as he moves, a sweet, filthy reminder.
I don’t speak. Can’t.
We lie tangled together, breathless, sweat-slicked. He gently removes the blindfold.
The room slowly stops spinning, and his eyes, dark with sated desire and profound emotion, meet mine.
He pulls me close, holding me tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”
Carefully, gently, he removes the plug. The sudden release of pressure is almost as intense as the feeling of fullness was.
Whoa.
He wipes it clean with another towel from the nightstand before dropping it and both towels onto the floor beside the bed.
He gathers me into his arms, tuckingme against his side, pulling the covers over us. We lie in comfortable silence for a moment, just breathing, hearts gradually slowing, skin cooling against skin. It’s perfect. Peaceful. Until...
Oh my god. Oh no. Wait. Did I just…? Is that… dripping?
Where dripping definitely shouldn’t be right now?
Mortification floods me, hot and immediate. I’m probably glowing brighter than a radioactive tomato.
“Uh, Christopher?” I whisper against the solid warmth of his chest, wishing fervently I could spontaneously dematerialize.
His arms tighten around me almost imperceptibly.
“Hmm?” His voice is a low rumble, already half-relaxed.
“Tiny… tiny potential issue here,” I manage, keeping my voice muffled against his skin. “Regarding, perhaps… post-plug protocols? Possible… leakage?”
God, just kill me now. Strike me down with lightning. Anything.
He actually chuckles, the sound vibrating against my ear, warm and infuriatingly unconcerned.
“What?” I tell him. “I don’t want to ruin your obscenely expensive sheets! We should at least put the towels back!”
“Lucy,” he murmurs, nuzzling my hair. “First, they’re sheets. They exist to be used, occasionally soiled, and then replaced by the invisible sheet fairies.”
I manage a weak giggle despite myself.
Invisible sheet fairies? When did the big, bad Executioner develop a sense of humor?
“Second,” he continues, his voice dropping lower,husky again, pulling me even closer, “I don’t give a flying fuck about the sheets right now. Or potential leakage. Or anything else besides having you right here.” His hand strokes down my back possessively. “So just relax.”
“Oh.” Heat suffuses my face, but… okay.
If the billionaire whose bed might currently be suffering a minor biohazard incident doesn’t care… maybe I can unclench my entire body for the first time in approximately forever.
After all, if the invisible sheet fairies are on call, who am I to argue?
Slowly, tentatively, I let my body go loose against his, melting into his warmth.
After a long while, I turn my head slightly on his chest, a goofy, satisfied smile playing on my lips despite the lingering throb between my legs and, well, the ‘leakage.’
“You know,” I murmur, tracing a pattern on his ridiculously defined abs. “If you’re going to have make-up sex…”Even though it wasn’t really make-up sex, more like declaration-of-love-and-let’s-move-in-together sex, but still.“…you might as well make it good.”
