Page 51 of The Grumpy Billionaire

He sucks the top of my lip, sucking off the soda. “Need you wet for me.”

“Isn’t your oil can around here somewhere?”

He yanks up my skirt, pressing it up until it’s way above my hips. He slides a finger into my panties. “Don’t need it, do we?”

No. I’m mega-wet for him. He strokes me directly now, going for a skin-to-skin pleasure explosion.

“Ten degrees to the front, Mr. Roboto.”

He growls and adjusts his motion.

Going from the blunt pleasure of the vageen cup through a skirt to a raw finger at the wildly perfect angle, there are no words. I’m panting, mind blown by the harshly delicious moves of Hugo Jones.

“An eighty-eight-degree angle of approach, please.”

“That doesn’t even mean anything.” But he changes his angle and it’s exactly right, because Hugo’s a quant who figures everything out.

He kisses my neck, my cheek. I’m clutching at him, kissing whatever face skin comes near my lips. My pulse might be thready.

Teeth clamp down on my earlobe, sharp and good.

I suck in a breath.

The teeth. The vageen angle of approach.

Rough words grumble into my ear. Something about firing. I’ll always fire you.

I tunnel my fingers into his hair. He’s doing a new angle. “Just like that, Roboto,” I manage before my brain explodes.

He keeps up the sexy rumbling nonsense, like a sexy voice beckoning me from the far reaches of orgasmic darkness.

I’m just coming down when he picks me up and bangs me onto his desk.

Yesssss.

We’re kissing again.

He’s pulling at my panties. “Relent to me, Stella.”

His chest is heaving and the way his fingers feel on my thighs? It’s so incredibly hot. It’s hot how bad he wants me, and I want him even more.

“What does that mean?” I pant.

“This,” he says, pressing into me.

I want more—more of an explanation than that. But then I reach out and press my fingers over his steely erection and I’m done with words, because I have to see him, and by “him,” I mean his cock.

I have to see how Hugo-ish it is, and then I will lick it and suck it.

I want him to be undone even more, and for him to dig his harsh and beastly fingers into my scalp and shove my face onto him while I suck him.

I kiss his neck. He smells like sage. “Yes, yes, yes,” I say to his neck.

He groans.

I push off some papers. Things clatter to the floor.

“So fucking reckless,” he growls.

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