Page 129 of The Billionaire's Secret
Silence descends. I glance up, survey his features. His face is expressionless.
"You don’t believe me?" I wipe the back of my hand over my nose.
"Oh, but I do." He frowns. "You have a strong will behind that fragile exterior. It’s what attracted me to you from the beginning."
"Because I was a challenge?"
"Not only." He scans my flushed face, my hard nipples, down to the triangle between my legs. "You were a riddle I wanted to solve. Tough, yet hurting; sensitive, yet so prickly. Soft skin that hides a myriad of conflicting emotions." He places his hand over my heart. "That push-pull inside of you, Gigi, it’s a fucking potent force. It makes me want to pull you apart, piece by fucking piece to find out everything about you… Taking my time over it as I tease multiple orgasms out of you, and have you trembling, shivering, pleading with me to stop, and even then I won’t…not until you forget about everything except us; except for the lust that strums between us, the sensations that spark between us when we are together, the pull that ties us when we are apart—when—"
I place my hand on his mouth. "Stop," I whisper, "I can’t…take more of this; it’s…too soon, Saint."
He takes in my features, peers into my eyes, then nods.
"Later, then." He lowers his head and brushes his lips over my forehead. "For now, let’s enjoy our bath, shall we?"
He holds out his hand, so gentlemanly, the gesture so different from how he's acted so far with me that I blink. And, hold on, had he kissed me earlier, on my forehead? A peck, with something resembling affection? My head spins. I grab at his hip.
"You okay?" He scoops me up in his arms again, bridal style. "Gigi?"
I blink, stare as his features fade in and out in front of my eyes.
"Victoria." His voice snaps through my head.
I jerk my chin. "I… I’m a little befuddled."
"Tell me about it," he chuckles. "It’s not like me, to fall asleep so soon after making love."
"What do you mean?" I squeeze my eyebrows together.
He steps into the bath tub—still wearing his socks, huh?—then lowers himself into the massive tub that’s big enough for five people. He settles me on his chest.
"I hadn’t intended to black out that quickly after our love-making."
"That…" I stab a finger in his direction. "Why do you insist on using that phrase?"
"Which one."
"Don’t pretend."
"No, really." He scoops up some water, pours it over my shoulders. "Please do clarify what seems so wrong with what I said."
"You said love-making, not fucking, or shagging, or screwing or any of the other ways you could have expressed yourself.
He raises his shoulders and lets them drop. "Semantics, my lovely girl." He pours out some shampoo and proceeds to work it through my tresses, "If you prefer it though, I could say fucking."
My belly flips-flops.
"Or shagging."
I wriggle my hips.
"Or screwing," his voice lowers to a hush.
My nerve endings spark. My sex clenches, the emptiness inside of me yawning, stretching and coming back to life.Why is it that the filthiest words from his mouth turn into weapons of seduction? Why does it sound so damn hot coming from him?On the other hand, it is a relief. This alphaholish behavior? That’s the side of Saint that is familiar, the one I can handle.
"Not fair," I huff. "With that voice of yours, you could literally talk me into an orgasm."
His eyes gleam.
