Page 41 of Falling for Mr. Billionaire

Then I bury my face between her legs again.

She’s still sensitive, still trembling, but I lick her slowly—long, dragging strokes from her entrance to her clit. She moans, one hand diving into my hair, the other gripping the pillow like she’s about to float out of her body.

I suck gently. Then harder. Then I flick my tongue in a rhythm that makes her thighs shake.

“Fuck—Carter, please—”

“Please what?” I tease, sliding two fingers inside her, curling them until she gasps. “Use your words.”

She whimpers, biting her lip. “Please make me come.”

That’s all I need.

I work her with my mouth and fingers until her thighs clamp around my head and she comes with a cry that bounces off the walls, her body bowing up off the bed.

And when she collapses back down, panting, I crawl up and kiss her—deep and messy—while she’s still moaning into my mouth. I grab her legs, hook them around my shoulders, and slam into her with one powerful thrust.

She screams.

But she wants it.

Her nails rake down my back as I drive into her, deeper, harder, setting a brutal rhythm.

“Carter—damn—fuck—yes—”

Her voice breaks every time I hit the spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back.

“Look at me,” I growl, hand on her jaw. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

She does. Her gaze locked on mine, pupils blown wide, lips parted like she’s trying to breathe but can’t quite remember how.

I shift her legs down, wrap one around my waist, and lift the other high onto my shoulder, bending her open until I’m angled so deep she sobs.

I grind into her slowly, circling my hips, dragging every inch of my cock over that spot until she’s writhing beneath me, chanting my name like a safe word.

And then I stop.

She blinks. “Why’d you stop?”

I don’t answer. I slide out.

She starts to protest, but I grab her waist and flip her onto her stomach.

“Get on your knees,” I command, voice pure gravel.

She obeys without hesitation.

I grab her hips, angle her just right, and sink back into her from behind.

She cries out—raw, unfiltered pleasure.

I pull her back onto me with every thrust, her ass smacking against my thighs, the sound filthy and perfect.

“You feel that?” I pant, grabbing her hair, pulling her up so her back arches into me. “That’s me. Every inch inside of you.”

She tries to respond, but I slap her ass once, firm and fast, and she gasps instead.

I reach around and rub her clit, fast and firm, and she comes hard—again—her entire body shuddering against mine, her scream muffled in the sheets as I finally let go and spill inside her, my grip on her hips bruising.

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