Page 54 of The Billionaire's Secret
The blue in his eyes deepens until it seems black. Color flushes his skin. "Stay there."
I freeze, watch him in the mirror as he rises to his feet, approaches me. He pauses behind me. His gaze holds mine in the mirror. His big body dwarfs mine—me bent over, fingers entangled in my panties.
"Hold your ankles."
I swallow and my breathing deepens. He hasn’t touched me, but he peruses my position—open, bare, my most intimate parts on display.
One side of his lips curls, "You do not want to challenge me, not now." Damn the man, and his ability to reduce me to a quivering mess.
"Do it, Gigi."
His voice slips into my skin, warms my blood, coils in those deepest, most secret places of mine, where I’ve never allowed anyone else. Not him either.Never.I steel my spine, curve my fingers around my ankles.
He drags a knuckle down my spine and I shudder. My knees almost give way. I must have moaned or made some incoherent cry, for he stills.
"Shh." He grips my hip to steady me. "You’re doing so well, don’t spoil it."
A fire lights somewhere inside of me. He praised me and insulted me in the same breath. Only Saint could do that. Simultaneous push-me and pull-me, irritate me and pleasure me.
I tip up my chin, open my mouth to speak. He dips a finger in my pussy.
I gasp.What the—?"You could have warned me, you—"
He slides his finger inside my channel. I huff. He adds two more digits. Too much, too full, he has to stop, he can’t do this, he…he twists his fingers, hitting that spot deep inside. My toes curl; my scalp tingles. My entire body seems to lengthen, my hips arching up, enveloping even more of his wicked fingers.
He pulls out, only to stuff his fingers back in. A groan bubbles up my throat. I lower my head, my hair falls around my face, and I tighten my grip around my ankles. I cannot give in, cannot. He rubs his thumb on my clit and a trembling zips up my legs.
"Please…" I mumble.What am I begging for? Why am I asking him for more? Keep quiet, don’t show him how much this is affecting you. How could he have found his way right through to the secret core of me?"Saint, please."
"How many?" His voice shoves through the noise in my head.
"What?"
"How many men have you had?"
I crack open my heavy eyelids, try to peer through the heavy blanket of my hair.
"Tell me, Victoria. How many have fucked you here?"
Anger flares inside, then crashes with the desire. "What’s it to you?"
His muscles stiffen, tension shimmers off of his frame. "Everything about you is my business. Tell me, or so help me, I am going to pull out my fingers and—leave you aching and wanting."
I hesitate.
His fingers leave me.
My pussy spasms, needing, hurting. Empty, so empty. I cry out. "Three…you bastard. Three. Is that enough?"
"Including your husband?"
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Fucking Saint. He had to ask that question, didn’t he?
"Answer me."
"What do you think?
"I think Adam Rhodes didn’t give a bloody fuck about you," he growls.
