Page 113 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
"What the—?" He glances down.
I tug him toward me, rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him.
His lips are softer than I remembered them to be. Which must be my imagination because there’s nothing soft about this man. I nibble on his lower lip, and his entire body goes solid. He stays there, unmoving. I’m trying to distract him from getting into a fight? Why?
Why does it matter to me, that I don’t want him to embarrass himself in front of his friends? They know him better than I do, for much longer than I have. They are probably used to him creating a scene. But instinct had taken over, and a surge of possessiveness, maybe. My heart stutters. For that second, I’d felt a kernel of ownership over him, concern about his reputation. Or a thrill at the fact that he’d been jealous because another man had touched me? Either way, I had been stupid to act on impulse. I disentangle my arms and step back.
"Sorry." I mumble. "That was not warranted."
I angle my body with the intent of leaving. The next second his arms loop around my waist. I squeak. He hauls me up and to him. His mouth crashes down on mine. I gasp aloud and the sound is lost, consumed by him.
His tongue thrusts between my open lips, tangles with mine.
The dark taste of him fills my palate. The heat of his body slams into me, surrounds me and ties me to him. His palm cups my cheek, cradling my head, tilts my face up, deepening the kiss further. He yanks me close, until my breasts are flattened against the unforgiving wall of his chest. My nipples bead and my sex clenches. Every pore in my body seems to open with anticipation, and still, he doesn’t stop.
His teeth clash with mine, his tongue laps at mine, the scent of him fills my senses. His hard thighs cradle my hips and the turgid length of his cock jumps against my core. I swallow, try to pull away, but his large fingers wrap around my neck. I stutter. He holds me in place, every millimeter of my body pressed against his, branding me, owning me, a clear signal that I am his.
I won’t be able to escape him. Will not be able to leave this relationship unhurt. He’s possessed my soul since the second he’d laid eyes on me, had claimed my body from the moment he’d met me. I’d been so wrong to think that I could find my way out of this, because I can’t. I am caught, going to burn up in the flames that are Sinclair Sterling, for he gives no quarter. Cares for no one. Looks out for no one, except himself… and perhaps, the Seven?
A trembling sweeps up my body. My hands shake and my knees knock together. The utter rightness of my thoughts sinks into my bones. My heart begins to thud. He is every bit the untamable alpha male that his reputation paints him to be. Is that why I am so drawn to him, unable to pull away from him, as he ravages my mouth, brands me with his touch? Is that why I can’t stop the moan that bleeds from my mouth? He bites down on my lower lip. I gasp. Goosebumps dot my skin. He tears his mouth from mine, and I sway.
"Look at me."
I crack open my eyelids, meet that indigo gaze. The silver flecks in them flare.
"You’re mine, Bird."
I swallow. Can’t look away. Can’t refute the heated possessiveness in his eyes.
The sound of clapping reaches me. I wince. My shoulders shake. He wraps his arm around me, turns me around and tucks me into his side.
My hands and feet are so numb. A cold sensation slides down my back, and I shiver.
He tugs me closer, searing my side with the heat of his intention. My throat goes dry. He wants me, that much is clear. That doesn’t change anything. Yet something has shifted in the last few seconds. The balance has tilted further in his favor, if that is possible. I want him, want to feel his touch on my skin. Yet everything inside of me wants to turn him away. My head spins.
The blonde man from behind the bar, steps around the barrier. Comes toward us with two glasses of Champagne. "A toast."
Sinclair takes the two glasses and hands me one.
The voices in the room quieten. A beat, another.
He releases me, only to step around to face me.
I stare at the strong cords of his throat. If I leaned in, I could press my nose to the space between them, inhale that dark edgy scent of his. I shiver.
"The moment I saw you, I knew you were the one, Summer."
A hush descends on the room. I swallow hard, and in the silence, hear the blood pound in my ears.
"Then you walked into that elevator and I was sure." He pauses, unbuttons his jacket. His white shirt clings to the hard planes of his chest, the buttons opened enough to reveal a few strands of black hair. Heat pools between my legs and I squeeze my thighs together.
"The third time I saw you, you were talking to yourself."
What?I tilt my chin up and—mistake, dammit—his gaze locks with mine.
My throat closes and my pulse begins to race. His eyes gleam with sincerity; a warmth that draws me in and insists that he’s telling the truth. Is he? The skin around his eyes creases.
"That’s when I fell in love with you."
