Page 70 of The Reluctant Billionaire
I’d sell my soul never to stop hearing the low, rough grunts he makes each time he bottoms out in me.
It’s coarse and primal and perfect, and the swell of need inside me grows so great as to become a white light, a beautiful thing, engulfing me and stealing my consciousness as my visionleaves me and I succumb to this somehow otherworldly but very earthly pleasure.
Aide, who seems to have the world’s greatest willpower—figures—lasts a few more thrusts before his own climax comes crashing over him. Every part of his powerful body shakes with the violence of his release. His fingers grasp me harder. His dick jerks inside me. He collapses on top of me, his chest against my back, his heart hammering against my skin.
CHAPTER 27
Aide
Dark curls on my white pillowcase.
Smooth, tanned limbs against my sheets.
Slender, ring-adorned fingers interlocked with my thick, work-roughened ones.
I scarcely dare admit, even to myself, how good Carlotta Montefiore-Charlton looks in my enormous bed.
Or how good it feels to be lying next to her.
The evening is warm enough that the French doors to my terrace are open, the bedsheet draped low on our hips as we lie on our sides, two commas facing each other.
Athletic fucking after an equally hard day’s work has worn us out. I’m impressed I had the energy and the stamina to put in a decent performance after all those keepy uppies I did, but Lotta’s willing mouth and beautiful, dangerous body seem to galvanise a guy.
We cooled down from that unbelievable fuck with another dip in the pool, followed by dinner on the terrace. Maggie had left out an array of salads and tuna tartare that we ate while wrapped around each other on the huge, modular outdoor sofa.
The food recharged our batteries sufficiently that we managed another round just now, the glow of whose aftermath I am currently wallowing in like a spaniel in a puddle.
Contented is not the word. It’s as if a master masseur has spent the evening walking up and down my body. Every ache is gone. My muscles, usually aching after a day at the community centre, feel loose.
And best of all, my mind is clear.
If I behaved like a fucking animal on that daybed—literally, afuckinganimal, unleashed on the most beautiful, captive prey I’d ever encountered, this last round was an exercise in restraint.
In taking it slow.
Letting Lotta open herself up to me while I enjoyed every inch of her body and fucked her so hard and slow that I had her screaming for me to put me out of her misery.
I liked that a lot.
If Lotta is the kind of woman it’s impossible to look away from at the best of times, then being the one she allows to see her come undone feels like an unfathomable privilege.
This time, I wedged a pillow under her arse and stayed above her, powering into her till I thought I’d go mad from the desire. But holding off was worth it, because seeinghercome undone as I kissed her felt like a front-row seat to the greatest show on earth.
Now I drink her in as she brushes her knuckles down the cleft between my pecs.
She’s loose too. Relaxed. Her face is soft, those huge eyes limpid with fatigue and, I hope, satisfaction. Her hair is less immaculate than usual, thanks to our swim and, I hope, my manhandling of her. It makes her look younger. Less the worldly businesswoman she usually is.
Much as that version of her captivates me, this one entrances me just as much in ways that, frankly, scare me. Because whenit’s like this, just the two of us in a bed, every last difference between us seems stripped away and all that remains is her and me, laid bare for each other.
And the problem withthat, the reason it’s dangerous, is that then I forget exactly why she’s not the type of woman I can or should or will go for, my heart focusing instead on all the ways in which she’s perfect for me.
This, therefore, seems like the appropriate moment to remind myself that it’s not my heart doing any of the focusing.
Nope.
When my heart gets involved, it’s because those kids from the centre aren’t going to get fed tonight, or because Sylvie’s slaved away long enough in sub-par conditions and deserves a new kitchen, or my oldest and most extroverted friend is lonely as fuck driving those heavy goods vehicles day in, day out and could benefit from being included in a project.
Those are all excellent examples of me thinking with my heart.
