Page 42 of The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
I don't want to close my eyes. Can't stop drinking in the flush of desire racing a blush across his cheeks and evident in his arousal that throbs against me. Wanting me.
The world tilts as he lowers me to the bed. His body covers mine, his weight pushing me down into the bed.
Drawing my hands over my head, he shackles them with his fingers around both my wrists. His other hand runs over my breast, down my waist, and across my hips, squeezing in a possessive gesture.
I gasp aloud, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
Liquid heat shoots through me, slamming my heart against my ribs.
As if in response, he releases my hands and raises himself on his arms, biceps bulging, and leans forward, my legs still wrapped around him. Taking hold of the gaping ends of my shirt above my breast, he rips it open so the buttons go flying. I gasp in shock. A ripple of excitement coils deep in my belly, making me arch up toward him. I moan a little as the sheer unexpectedness of my desire makes me tremble.
The next thing, he's shrugging off his shirt, and I can't stop staring. I know he's in good shape... but this.
Oh, God.
He's beautiful.
Sculpted chest, a flat stomach that slopes down to his pants. His erection hard and pushing against the material. The heat pulsing off him is so tangible, my throat goes dry.
I raise my eyes back to the tattoo I had seen peeking above the collar of his shirt.
I run my hands over his muscles, over lines of black script in Hindi flowing over his upper arm, and shudder.
It's the last place I'd expected to find a connection to my birthplace, the one I'd left behind and sworn never to look back at.
Now, finding it on the skin of this man who had, for all purposes, come forward to help me, makes me feel I'm caught in a strange web that's tightening its hold around me.
Goose bumps spring up on my back, and I shiver, pressing myself closer to him.
If I lose myself in him, can I forget where I come from? Forget my responsibilities to my company, to my family, even if it's for a little while?
I press my palm flat against his skin, feeling the contours, the shape of those muscles, the curves, dips, and hollows. The heat from his skin bleeds into my fingertips, down my arm, and arrows in straight for that sweet spot in the groin.
I swallow, and his eyes dart to my throat, then my lips. Then he leans down and kisses me again, his hand running up my thigh, sliding around to press between them.
Fire bursts through my veins.
He runs a finger over my core through the borrowed pants I'm still wearing. Then, unbuttons the pants, yanking them down my thighs. I slide my legs from around him, only long enough for him to fling them off.
I kick off my panties, and before I've drawn a breath, or thought about how I look through his eyes, he bends down again and kisses my lips, drawing from me so deeply, my head spins.
He lets go, only to kiss my shoulder. He bites down until I gasp. His hand cups my breast, squeeze the nipple and goose bumps erupt all over me. I lower my arms only to have them captured and pushed back.
He shackles them with strong fingers, holding me captive, trailing his other hand down my belly. Lower still.
Writhing under his touch, I gasp, "Let me touch you."
In reply he thrusts his finger inside me.
Mercy.
I jerk, crying out, raising my hips off the mattress, but he doesn't give. Not even a little. Just follows it up with another finger, filling me. In and out again. Thrusting in so deeply my eyes roll back in my head with the sheer heat that crashes through me.
I can barely feel myself, or him, or what his fingers are doing to me.
What is he doing to me?
I swear at him, straining against his hold, my bare legs trapped under his. Skin rasping against the cloth of his pants.
