Page 41 of My Fake Billionaire Damaged Boyfriend

I swallow his words and try not to regurgitate them later. “Yeah, that’s true, I guess.”

“So, you understand,” he hums.

His hand finds the plane of my ass for a third time, each one undoubtedly leaving a print on my skin that probably outlines his fingers in pink. I want to tap out and see how he likes being smacked for once, but I’m not going to deny the heat of this moment. It’s pretty hot, and certainly a little naughty for my taste.

I like it, but he doesn’t slap my ass again.

Instead, my thong is pulled sideways, and his cock shifts between my pinched thighs, bringing his girthy length to the helm of my clit in order to pump inside of my vagina with a piston-like power. I arch my ass into the air slightly, my back bent inward to make up for the length that enters into my pussy.

I’m beyond wet and welcoming for that entrance. He feels it, too.

“Fuck, Kitten. You’re so wet.”

“You’re not the only one with a wild streak I guess,” I pant, feeling my body naturally rock backward into his hips. It’s adding a level of pressure neither of us saw coming, and I shake with my first entrance into a blissful fall. “Fuck, Dimitri. It’s so… it’s almost too much to…”

“Take it, Kitten.”

“Yes, please.”

We both melt into the first of many orgasmic and albeit rough, moments together. I don’t want to even think about anything else with him pressured between my legs right now, and the thought of arguing with him is long gone by now.

He makes it his priority to reach around my thigh and massage my clit, my body finally standing upright enough to press my back into his warm, bare chest. I can’t recall when his shirt was yanked off now, but it’s on the floor nearby, and forgotten about it.

His hands slide up my chest, holding me against him while he still manages to thrust deep inside of me, deeper now than possibly ever before. It’s painful in some ways, but it’s still far more pleasurable than anything I’m used to.

And that’s just it, perhaps.

I’m used to walking away and letting things die when they’re done. I’m used to untied, loose ends and frustration mounting in my chest without a hint of ever addressing it. We may not be spewing our differences out right here, but that’s not what we should be doing.

We should be doing this, making one another feel very, very good, and if that takes some sweaty, rough sex, then I’ll happily bend back over to give him better access, and keep this up all night long if possible.

And so, like my wish has come true, that’s exactly what we do.

CHAPTER18

Dimitri

Was taking our minds off taking down Alek really the best idea?

No. I should have had more strength to restrain myself than I did. But I can’t help it.

I wanted her so bad, and she just wanted to walk away from me in an act of avoidance. Maybe it’s my need to desperately please this woman, or to show her that I’m not going anywhere by demanding she stay put when the tide is high, but I acted on filthy impulse.

And I’m damn proud of it.

She’s sleeping soundly in my bed now, moved to a room closest to the office where our clothes are still ripped apart in a mess on the floor. It’s impossible to track how we got to the bedroom, and how long our fun lasted in this room before both of us collapsed in exhaustion.

I’m still tired, my thighs on fire as if I’ve just done twenty sets of squats with some moderate weights, but instead, I was brutally quick and undeniably rough with this woman tonight. She needed it as much as I did, the frustrations oozing out of us in the form of sexual tensions.

It was worth every minute, but we have to get back to work now. My head is still spinning when I stand in the doorway of the office, naked and tired. I’m hungry, and the thought to order food does cross my mind, but it’s short-lived.

A harsh knock at my front door is followed by the chimes of the doorbell. Begrudgingly, I trudge through the house towards the front door where I fail to realize I haven’t put on a lick of clothes. I take a throw blanket and tie it around my abdomen, wearing a makeshift cover when I peer through the peephole of my Medina home.

I bought this property at a high-ticket price because of the waterway views and the long, grassy knoll of a yard. Plus, the crime rate in this area is stifled by the security gates, the guards, and running cameras that keep everyone out of this neighborhood who would want to do it harm.

So, opening the door to a handful of police officers is a bit of a shock to my system.

“Hello, sir. Are you Dimitri Wilde?”

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