Page 171 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest.
“So was it?” he asks, his voice still rough.
“Totally fucking amazing,” I confirm readily. “No one has ever given me an orgasm like that.”
“And no one ever will,” he counters. “Only me. Because you’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” I agree. I pause. “Though... I may need a donut cushion soon, at this rate...”
He laughs, then tightens his arm around me, pulling me impossibly closer.
As I lay there next to him, I reflect onthe evening.
His dominance tonight felt… different. Still absolute, still commanding, but layered with so much emotion, so much focused attention on my pleasure, my boundaries, my trust.
It wasn’t just about control; it was about connection.
Deep, profound, terrifyingly wonderful connection.
Maybe we can actually make this work.
At work, we’re CEO Hammond and CEO Blackwell.
But at home, we’re Lucy and Christopher.
It won’t be easy.
But lying here, safe in his arms, loved, cherished, and utterly pleasured… it feels worth fighting for.
49
Lucy
Visiting Dad at his apartment feels worlds different from those tense, grief-stricken vigils at the hospital. He’s still moving slowly, still complaining about the bland food and lack of decent scotch, but the oppressive fog of crisis has lifted.
He’s parked in his favorite leather armchair, wearing actual clothes instead of a hospital gown, and looking slightly less likely to keel over if I accidentally use a corporate buzzword.
My security detail, Frank and Maria, wait discreetly outside. Still feels profoundly weird having people shadow me, but apparently, dating a man whose net worth rivals a small country’s GDP comes with accessories. Guess it beats the alternative: winding up duct-taped in the back of an unmarked van while someone sends Christopher my freshly severed ear with a Bitcoin ransom demand stapled to it.
So yeah, maybe the polite, well-armed chaperones are a necessary evil.
“So,” Dad says, after I give him the latest (carefully curated) update on the company’s stabilization now that Mark’s takeover bid is effectively dead. “The sharks are retreating. For now.”
“For now,” I agree. “We’re shoring up defenses. Implementing the restructuring plan. Things feel… cautiously optimistic.”
“And Christopher?” he asks, his gaze surprisingly direct. No judgment, just… curiosity.
I take a breath. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid. “We’re… figuring things out. He was instrumental in stopping his father’s bid, Dad. More than instrumental. He actively worked against him.” I hesitate, then add, “I agreed to move in with him.”
There. Said it.
I brace myself for… well, I don’t know what. Disapproval? A lecture about the Blackwells?
Christopher mentioned Dad gave him his blessing already, but this feels different. Moving in... makes it incredibly real.
And maybe Dad might be having second thoughts now that the crisis dust has settled.
Please don’t suddenly decide Christopher is the devil incarnate again.
