Page 107 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Oh?" I knew that. Of course, I did, so why the hell do my cheeks heat? We are past the kissing and touching stage. Hell, he’s made me orgasm so many times, and yet he mentions the 'p' word and I am blushing like a virgin on her first date?
He rolls his shoulders, snaps his fingers at me, and damn it, I know then, that if I don’t stop myself, he’ll fuck me with such force that I’ll feel like a virgin all over again. I squeeze my thighs together. Damnit, why am I turned on, when he’s acting like a complete bastard?
"Let’s fight," I suggest.
"What?"
"Fight," I hold up my fists, "a fair one, and winner gets—"
"Dibs on how to fuck."
I swallow.
"Where to fuck." He stares at my mouth, then at my breasts, before lowering his gaze back to my crotch, and... Jesus, I am completely wet, and this… This is all kinds of fucked up. He’s just confessed that he’s been babysitting his imaginary—scratch that,dead—daughter, in whose room we are, and on whose bed I am… And all I can think of is how I want to shag her father. Aargh, this is…beyond messed up. I keep my fists raised, stay focused on him as he licks his lips.
"How many times," he raises his gaze back to mine, "to fuck."
My nipples harden. Heat flushes my belly, sears up my spine. Sweat pools in my underarms. Shit, it is getting too hot. I definitely need to take off the coat.
"Fine," I snap.
"Fine," he rasps.
I reach for the button of my coat, and he stiffens.
"Relax," I mutter, "you wanted me to take this off, right?"
"Hmm." He watches me from under hooded eyelids as I slip off the buttons, then shrug the coat down one shoulder. I peek up to see his lips parted, his chest heaving as he pays close attention to my every move. Hell, this…thing between us, it’s potent enough that I have his complete focus. Or rather, he’s tuned into every move of my body. Well, that’s one thing I can use in my favor, right? I slide the coat down over the other shoulder. Then hold it out in front of me.
His gaze latches onto my breasts. His nostrils flare and his breathing grows ragged. He leans forward on the balls of his feet and his fists tremble—no, did they actually tremble? I cup one breast, play with my nipple and he swallows.
Oh, my. Why hadn’t I realized before now that I have as much power as he does in this relationship? I mean, I knew he wanted my orgasms, but all along, his money had tilted the scale in his favor—or so I’d thought. Fact is, the money really doesn’t matter. When it comes to this—me and him, in this room filled with memories and happiness and sadness… It is just us. A broken alphahole of a man and a woman hellbent to make it everything right for him… For me… For what we can have together.
I release the coat, then run my palms down the skin bared between my shirt and the waistband of my jeans. He growls. It literally rumbles in his throat. My heartbeat ratchets up; my pulse begins to pound. I slide my fingers inside my waistband.
His biceps bulge and he takes another step forward, until his knees are flush against the bed frame.
"Take off your T-shirt," I whisper. "Please, Damian."
He reaches behind himself to wrench his T-shirt up and over his head. I take in the broad expanse of his chest, the ripped planes, the eight-pack abs which I’ve seen online before, but I’ve only caught glimpses of the real thing. I can hardly count the time he begrudgingly opened his shirt, before taking my arse. "Oh! My God." Heat flushes my skin; my pussy clenches. I rake my gaze across the tattoo written along the inside of his left forearm. "Riley," I read the cursive.
He blinks, brings up his right hand to massage the skin over his heart. "Fight." He shakes his head, then holds up his fists again.
Well, hell, now I’ve done it. Whatever chance I had of taking him by surprise is gone. I hold up both of my fists. "Let’s do this."
I throw a punch; he angles his body and avoids me easily. I raise my other fist and he tilts his head so my fist brushes the air near his neck. Damn it, this won’t do. It won’t. I take a step back, then another, and lower my fists. "Your turn." I jerk my chin, "Come on, give it your best."
He hesitates. "I don’t want to hurt you." He frowns.
"But maybe I do." I race forward, kick out at him.
I’d been so sure that he would duck, and I’d been braced for that, but he doesn’t. My foot connects with his chest and the momentum carries me forward. I crash into that hard barrier of him. He takes my full weight, staggers a little, then plants his broad palms on my hips to hold me in place. Only he crashes into the chair he’d been sitting on, which tips back, and he tips with it. The world tilts, and his big body pitches backward as he lands on the chair. He angles his body to take my full weight and the chair splinters. The back of his head connects with the floor with a thwack—and he does have a hard head, but hell, if that wouldn’t have hurt.
He stays sprawled on the remnants of the furniture, his arms wrapped around me, my legs around his trim waist.Thud-thud-thud.I hear my heart thud in my chest. Or is that his? I turn my nose into the skin of his throat, draw in his scent. My head spins as all of my senses seem to open to absorb as much of him as I can.
"Damian," I whisper. He doesn’t move. I raise my head to glance at his features, his closed eyelids, the dark lashes that are too long for a man, but which only enhance the masculinity of his features, the hollows under those spectacular cheekbones, that pouty lower lip, the tendons of his beautiful throat that move as he swallows.
I crawl up to cup his cheek, "Damian?" I rub my thumb under his eye and my finger comes away wet. I swallow. "Babe?" I mutter, "You okay?"
