Page 91 of Resisting the Billionaire

And the thing that brings me the most peace, the most comfort… is Mackenzie. I imagine her, the way we were on her couch last night, nothing sexual about it. Sitting companionably, her presence vital, necessary. I don’t know how long I ended up staying, the two of us silent but together, but it wasn’t long enough.

And as much as it soothed me simply to be with her, I also craveher. The taste of her, touch of her, every sense of mine alive when she’s near.

I’d had her naked in my bed a week ago, learning the sounds she makes when pleased, desperate, on the edge. Her soft sighs, her needy moans, her cries of satisfaction. If I’d known then I wouldn’t be hearing them again, I’d have spent the whole night wringing every last sound out of her, running the gamut from barely audible breaths to screaming my name.

But my memories will just have to do. Remembering the softness of her waist as I’d held her in place for my thrusts, her warmth as I’d lost myself inside her…

My dick raises at this train of thought, and I grip it roughly, letting the shower spray rain down on my back as I brace a hand against the wall again, needing to be close to her in some way.

A vision of a naked Mackenzie, here in my shower with me, floats in my mind, chasing away any thoughts of what tomorrow holds. She teases me, eyes glittering with mischief as she soaps her breasts, batting my hands away playfully when I reach out to cup her. Her fingers trailing over all that expanse of creamy skin, briefly dipping down to nestle right where I want to be, a coy smile flirting along her lips.

My hand clenches into a fist against the smooth tile of the shower as I abuse my cock, stroking it violently, needing the savagery in order to feel anything at all.

Fantasy me drops to my knees and removes her fingers from her pussy, replacing them with my tongue, tasting her honeyed sweetness, bringing my hands to her luscious ass to grip her closer. She tugs at my hair as her head thuds back against the wall, moaning my name, words of love, how she needs me above all others. There’s only me. And her.

I barely feel the spray now, imagining her pulling me up to face her, hitching one leg around my waist, guiding me into her. Sinking into her wetness, nothing between us. Just me and the woman I love.

Thrusting with abandon as she takes me, those nails digging into my shoulders. Her pussy clenching tight around me until I spill into her, giving her everything.

I pound my fist against the tile as my orgasm overtakes me, jetting out of me, wishing desperately she really was here, that she could see what she does to me, the hold she has over me. I welcome it, embrace it, revel in any sense of connection I have to her, until I’m finished, the water lukewarm now, washing everything away.

I turn the shower off, standing there dripping, a hollowness permeating me once more as that faint link to her departs. I’ll see her tonight at the rehearsal, but there won’t be any sly meetings of the eye, any brushes of fingers, any indication at all that we’re anything other than wedding planner and client. The way it’s supposed to be.

I step out and grab my towel, going through the motions of drying off, combing my hair, shaving my face, the routine on autopilot, not letting any other thoughts through.

Otherwise, I might just break.

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