Page 89 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
Darker.
Hotter.
A promise.
He steps forward, closing the final space between us. His hands come up, not to touch the portfolio, but to gently cup my face. His thumbs trace my cheekbones, sending trembles down my body despite the warmth of his touch.
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. “Now we understand each other.”
His mouth descends on mine. It’s not the fierce claiming of our last encounter, nor the hesitant exploration of the Hamptons.
This is different.
Slow.
Deep.
A kiss that speaks of possession, yes, but also of intention.
Of savoring.
He doesn’t rush. His lips move against mine with deliberate pressure, tasting, exploring, demanding surrender. My hands automatically come up to grip the lapels of his jacket, holding on as the world tilts on its axis. The portfolio slips from my other hand, scattering revised clauses and proofs of trust across the expensive rug.
Neither of us notices.
Or cares.
His hands slide down my back, molding me against the hard planes of his body. I can feel the strength coiled beneath the fine fabric of his suit, the steady beat of his heart against mine. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before gently coaxing them open, exploring the inside of my mouth with a confidence that melts my bones.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathless. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
Then they open, dark and intense, filled with a possessive heat that makes my knees weak.
“Let’s get you out of this dress,” he whispers.
His fingers are already finding the zipper at the back of my emerald gown.
He undresses me slowly. Methodically. Each movement deliberate, controlled.
The zip slides down with agonizing slowness, the silk whispering as it falls away from my shoulders. His eyes follow the fabric’s descent, lingering on my exposed skin. He unhooks my bra, letting it drop, his gaze fixed on my breasts.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “So fucking exquisite.” He reaches out, his knuckles brushing against the underside of one breast before his fingers gently cup the weight, his thumb teasing the nipple into a hard peak. “Gorgeous.”
He kisses my collarbone, his lips tracing a path downwards, over the swell of my breast, circling the nipple before taking it into his mouth. He suckles gently at first, then harder, sending jolts straight to my core.
My breathhitches.
My fingers clench in his hair.
He moves to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, while his free hand slides down my stomach, over my hip, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my lace panties.
He finds my center, and the wetness already gathering there.
Oh god.
He worshipfully slides my panties down, and I step out of them as they pool on the floor.
He gathers me up in his arms and carries me straight to his minimalist bedroom.
