Page 61 of The Reluctant Billionaire

This time, I almost lose a lot more than my grip. Because, in this moment, he looks every inch the mega-successful businessman, his clothes just undone enough to reveal the animal beneath. That chest is flawless. Hairy. Masculine. His cock’s everything I need. He may think he’s putting me to work, which is hot in itself, but really, he’s letting me unleash myself on him.

Feast on him.

Go to town on him.

I arch my back and toss my hair back over my shoulders as I sit back down. Hard. Taking every inch, feeling him hit the place deep inside me that he found the other night. It’s so otherworldly good my mouth opens in a silent scream.

Aide, on the other hand, lets out a loud grunt. ‘Fuck. Me.’ He finds my bum and gives it ago fastersmack before smoothing his palm over my skin.

It seems my caveman is back.

Sweaty, grimy vest and work pants.

Impeccable Tom Ford tailoring.

It’s all the same, apparently.

Because the man beneath both disguises is my absolute favourite beast.

If he wants me to ride him like the best, sparkliest showgirl, I will. I feel wanton astride him like this. Carnal. I’m totally bare for him, my boobs rubbing against his eager mouth and my bum brushing against the fabric of his trousers every time he bottoms out in me.

It seems I’ve well and truly brought out the animal in him, too. He’s not holding back on any front. As I grind against him, he meets me as best he can, thrusting up into me with hard drives, those gorgeous abs of his rippling with effort as he does. For someone who told me he’s close, he’s holding out admirably, though I can see from the slick of sweat on his forehead and the pained awe etched on his gorgeous features that the effort is taking its toll.

He’s restless, hands roaming, fingers and mouth on my breasts. My face. He tugs at my lower lip with his teeth before dragging his mouth down my neck and sucking hard between muttered compliments. Curses. Hoarse words of adoration. Encouragement. It’ll mark where he’s sucking me, but I’m past caring.

Iwanthim to mark me.

I grind against him as the inevitable ache builds and builds deep inside me. The more fiercely I bear down on him, let him fill me up, the more exquisite the feeling becomes. Pleasure blooms deep within me, blissful tendrils of it unfurling in my core and creeping through my body, oxidising my blood and lighting up my nerve endings as I lose myself in this ageless rhythm with Aide.

It’s not just having him reach those parts inside of me.

It’severything.

The scent of him and the slickness of his sweat and the bulk of soft hair and warm skin and taut muscle under my fingertips and the primal need shining from those eyes of his and rasps of our ragged breathing and the wet sounds of my body sucking him in.

It’s too much.

He uses a hand to grip my hip, the impressions his fingers make on my skin telling me how desperate he is to guide me to ride him just how he needs. His hands, his eyes, his noises beseech me, but I’m conscious enough to know that I’m doing this for myself as much as for him, that, above all, I’m listening to the call from within my own body formore, more, more.

‘I’m gonna—God, I’m—’ And with that, the wave that’s been cresting breaks, and I splinter into a million fragments around Aide, bucking and grinding and crying out and biting down onto the cotton covering one huge shoulder in an attempt to absorb this shockwave.

He follows me over the edge, one hand still on my hip and the other gripping the back of my neck as he holds me down, impaling me on him as he jerks out his own violent climax inside me.

‘Fuck, Lotts,’ he grunts incoherently. ‘Fuuuuck.’

His thrusts stop.

His hands still.

I wearily raise my heavy head from his shoulder and lean my forehead against his for a moment before I find his mouth. He kisses me hungrily, stroking my mane of hair back from my face. Off my shoulders. He gathers it up and winds it around his fist as he continues to worship my lips. When his kisses slow, I ease away, putting enough distance between us to look at him.

His face is sated, relaxed, his features wiped clean of the frustration, the need they reflected a few moments ago. Those astonishing eyes are soft, and he’s smiling gently at me.

‘Hope that convinced you I’m still me,’ he mumbles in the manner of one who hasn’t quite recovered his power of speech yet.

‘It most certainly did,’ I tell him, and I lean forward to capture his mouth again.

24

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