Page 75 of Sexting the Billionaire

His mouth trails up my inner thighs—open-mouthed kisses, lingering and wet—while his hands roam over my hips, my waist, everywhere but where I’m aching for him.

He’s all heat and stubble and patience I don’t have. Every brush of his lips leaves me tighter, wetter, my body arching on instinct as heavoidsthe one place I need him most.

I'm trembling, panting, strung so tight it hurts.

His fingers ghost over the edge of my panties, then retreat—again.

A whimper escapes me. I don’t even try to muffle it.

“Roman,” I breathe, half a plea, half a warning.

He just grins against my skin and kisses higher.

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want you begging.”

And I’m close—so close—to doing exactly that.

"Roman," I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair, trying to guide him. "Please."

"Please what?" he murmurs against my skin, the hint of smugness in his voice making it clear he's enjoying my desperation. "Be specific, Cassie."

Two can play at that game. I tug on his hair, forcing him to look up at me. "Your mouth," I say, holding his gaze. "Now."

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, eyes locked on mine as he pulls them down—slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s unwrapping a priceless gift.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “You’re already soaked for me.”

Then he’s on his knees, settling between my thighs like he belongs there—like he’s done this a hundred times in his head already.

I barely have time to brace before his mouth is on me—hot, firm,perfect.

The first stroke of his tongue is slow and devastating. He licks me like he’s savoring every second, every taste, every shudder that rolls through my body as he pushes deeper.

My hips jerk. He growls against me—low and possessive—and grips my thighs tighter, holding me open as he drags his tongue up and over my clit in lazy, wet circles that have my vision going white at the edges.

“Roman—” It’s a gasp, a curse, a broken warning I can’t finish.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause. He just groans like he’s starving and buries his face deeper, licking me like he owns the right to take me apart. And maybe he does—because I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’tdoanything except fall apart under his mouth.

His tongue flicks harder. Then softer. Then sucks—just once—directly over the bundle of nerves that’s already throbbing for him, and I cry out, legs shaking, hands fisting the cushions.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Give it to me, sweetheart.”

And I do—coming with a gasp that feels like it tears through every part of me.

The first orgasm takes me by surprise—fast and intense, leaving me gasping his name. Before I can fully recover, he's moving up my body, claiming my mouth in a kiss that tastes of me and desperation.

"Bedroom," he murmurs against my lips. "I'm not finished with you yet."

But I have other ideas—desperate ones. My hands drop to his belt, fumbling with the buckle like I’ll shatter if I don’t feel him inside menow.

“Here,” I whisper, breathless. “Now. I need you.”

He watches me with dark, burning eyes—then helps me shove his trousers down, briefs following in one smooth motion, his cock flushed and hard between us.

God.

I reach for him, fingers wrapping around him with a reverence I don’t bother hiding. He groans—low and wrecked—then claims my mouth again, swallowing the sound I make when his tip brushes against me.

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