Page 20 of The Elusive Billionaire
“Say yes,” she mewls, rubbing her body against mine.
This is the Savvy Monroe I know. This is the voice I listen to every night through AirPods so no one finds out I’m slightly obsessed with her podcast. This is the voice that guides couples through sexual doubt, self-exploration, and mutual masturbation—that was last night’s podcast, and I nutted in my hand like a goddamn teenager.
One more time. This is the last time I’ll be weak around her.
“I thought I was clear on this. You don’t control these encounters, Sav. I do.”
She gasps as I spin her, pressing her back to my front. She kicks over the battery-operated lantern, causing shadows to dance across the tight space, but I created the map of her pleasure. I could make her come without a speck of light.
And she is going to come. If nothing else, it’ll make her fucking apologies stop.
“Get on your hands and knees with your face in the blue chair.”
Her sharp intake of breath feeds the dragon that apparently only surfaces for her. Add that to the list of things I hate.
“Now, Sav.”
The storm raging outside has yet to move along, but it has nothing on the one dismantling me from the inside out.
I will not fall for a liar. I will not fall for a liar.
A groan of pure satisfaction rattles my ribcage when she drops to her knees and presses her face into the cushioned seat of the foam chair. She has the most perfect ass.
I hate that I love her ass.
“Lower your pants and remove the shirt.” I also hate that she looks so damn hot in my clothes.
“Bossy freaking asshole,” she mutters just low enough I strain to catch the ending.
But she follows my directions beautifully, and pre-come soaks the soft material of my pants.
She’s wet.
Closing my eyes, I drag in oxygen through my nose to calm my wild thoughts.
When I open them, they track the ladder of her ribcage—reigniting a protective flame I shouldn’t carry for her. She’s lost weight she didn’t have to lose. What the hell has she been doing for the last six months?
Savvy arches her spine, and the air hangs thick with mutual desire. Shoving my pants down, I get to my knees behind her.My fingers trace the indents of her spine, silently cursing each and every one.
Delicate.
Fragile.
I don’t like seeing her this way.
Why has she lost so much weight? I can’t even begin to estimate how much, but I memorized her figure and could sketch it in my sleep. It’s changed since I’ve been gone. Why?
“Have you been with anyone else since Christmas?” Christmas—the last time we had sex, and it feels like a lifetime ago.
“No.” She gasps when my fingers separate her pussy for my viewing pleasure. Sexual desire wars with my incurable disease to fix what I perceive as broken, and seeing every knob of her spine tells me something has broken her.
Or someone.
“You’re still on birth control?” My voice croaks, so I clear it.
“Always.” She pushes back into my fingers, and I decide right then that I’ll deal with her issues later.
“This is the last time we do this, Sav.”
