Page 37 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
I stiffen, angle my body. I should leave, should get away from him.
His grin broadens. His chest rises and falls. He yanks her away with such force that she falls on her arse.
"Hey," she protests.
"Leave." He says it without taking his gaze off of me.
She glances up, "But, I’m not done."
"I am."
He lowers his hands to the front of his pants. The harsh rasp of the zipper being pulled up, grates on my nerves. All of my pores seem to pop at once. Damn him and his account.
Turning, I race to the door
"Summer, stop."
His hard voice crashes into me. I shudder. My steps seem to slow of their own accord. The hell is he doing to me? I’d been wrong to indulge him this far.
Been wrong to think that I’d survive a week with him… Hell, a few seconds in his presence and I am unravelling. Pinpricks of heat slice my skin and my thigh muscles spasm. I hate the man… No, I loathe him.
No way am I going to allow him to see how much he’s gotten under my skin. That I’d wished I had been the woman on her knees in front of him. That he’d been using me to pleasure him. This is sick.
I don't want him. I don't want be part of this charade. Reaching the front door, I wrench it open and race out.
