Page 32 of My Fake Billionaire Damaged Boyfriend

He leans forward, his elbows on his knees while he drinks me down like a glass of cold water in the blistering summer, “Really, now?”

“Yes, now.”

There’s a quick jerk against his zipper, letting me know that he loves what he sees right now. Instead of coming forward, he only leans backward into his seat, his knees parted while he gestures me forward with his fingers.

Heat builds between my thighs as I stalk forward, standing right against his knees while his eyes are stuck on mine. He could be admiring any part of my body right now, and I’d let him have every part necessary to comfort him, but instead, he points to the ground.

I don’t need a translator to know what he wants now. I melt to the ground on my knees, trapped by his widened legs. He undoes the zipper of his slacks, and his erection props outward without needing to be helped. The size is daunting from this angle, but it doesn’t stop me from leaning forward.

His hand catches my scalp, gently pulling my hair to leverage my chin up so his lips can meet mine.

“At my command, Kitten,” he whispers into my mouth, “Slowly, okay?”

I nod with his reasonable wishes and lean forward to slowly take his cock into my lips. I hold my breath while I swallow his length, nearly having to jump back to keep from gagging alive, but his hand in my hair has returned with a vengeance. He steadies my pace, my depth, and everything else while I begin to service him with my tongue and lips.

As though his moans and gasps of pleasure weren’t enough to tell me I’m on the right track, the warm pre-ejaculate in the back of my throat is an even better sign. He leads me at his will for as long as he can stand it, his knees shivering before he decides he’s too close to come, and too tempted to allow it to happen.

His restraint is better than mine—clearly.

He pulls me up off the floor, in turn yanking my mouth off the base of his dick, and all at once I’m on the couch, bent forward while he’s sizing up the sticky heat of my core from behind. He doesn’t scurry off for a condom this time, pressing inside my sex with so much vigor that a scream pulls from my lips.

It’s mixed in some pain, but mostly pleasure, his hands kneading my ass while he thrusts into me methodically. I find myself inching back with every push of his hips, meeting him halfway in a crescendo of ecstasy, and a wonderful blur of delight.

“Fuck,” he snarls, his speed piquing with his determination, “Dammit, Kitten. You feelsogood.”

I can’t reply, the words lost on the moan that holds hands with my orgasm. His pressuring performance is too much for me to even tell him I’m about to come, let alone to warn him of the daunting holler that follows with it. My voice echoes in the tower, and I couldn’t be more thankful to know he doesn’t have neighbors than right now.

“Agh!” he grunts, pulling out just in time for the hot ejaculate to shoot against my inner thigh, the feeling dirty and sexy at the same damn time. My clit throbs as it falls off the hillside of delight, and he steadies his breath as he returns with a towel to brush my skin clean, “There you go, Kitten,” he mutters.

I stand straight, pulling my dark hair to the side while I aim to walk away, but his arms hook around my waist with secondary intentions. We both fall into the couch together, his body molded into my back while his hands caress and hold me like I’m a precious jewel.

I eye the setup curiously, feeling his heartbeat slam into my bare back while his hands graze across my stomach and sides sensually.

“What are you doing?” I gust.

“I’m cuddling you, dammit,” he says. “You’re not walking away from me this time.”

My lips quiver, “Wh-Why?”

“Because I know you aren’t familiar with intimacy that sticks around, Kitten.”

“What are you saying, Dimitri?”

“I’m saying that you’re not getting rid of me and that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to hold you like you deserve to be held. And I won’t takenofor an answer.”

At first, I’m uneasy.

But the longer I lay here, his innocent glints of touches and soft kisses to the back of my neck start to grow on me. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve known commitment of any kind, or that I’ve had a thrilling sex life in the past—because I really haven’t.

Having someone tell me they’re not going anywhere, and mean it, has my heart swelling in size.

“You got your control,” I whisper, “And I got my assurance that you’re not leaving me.”

He nods behind me, his arms tightening around my hips, “Looks that way, Kitten.”

“But we’re not actually dating, right?”

There’s a thick pause in the air after my question.

---