Page 60 of Dr. Billionaire's Fake Marriage

Troy sighs as I speak. "Is that what you think?" he asks, "Is that what you make of all this?"

“Yes,” I reply, “because that is what it looks like to me.”

Troy isn't angry; his calmness makes me relax a bit. "That is not what I meant to do," he says. "I mean, it is part of the goal, but I -," Troy stutters.

"I wanted to get back at my mother. She is going to go crazy; it makes her have no right to tell me to divorce you or pay you off." Troy pauses. "It lets me take control of the situation and forbids her and the board to have no say about who I marry or date."

"Troy, I don't know," I reply. Troy takes both my hands in his.

“Tell your father to sign it, Camile,” Troy pleads. “Trust me this once, Camile.”

I feel my stomach flutter. Of course, I trust him, but I am confused as to the future for Troy and me. I jeer at Troy. This once, and I am ready to put my future on line for Troy.

"My father isn't going to sign it," I tell him. "He told me to sign it. He told me to take the shares you are offering to him."

Troy takes the document from where I had dropped it. He hands it to me, takes a pen from his pocket, and tells me to sign it. "For your mom. You owe your mom that luxurious life she has always dreamt about."

I take the pen as I sign to be the latest shareholder of the Robinsons' family business. I can't wait to tell my mother, and I can't wait to rub it in Mrs. Robinson's face.

Troy holds my hand a little longer after returning securing his pen from me. He smiles at me, pushing my hair behind my ear with one hand and sliding the other hand down my back.

His hand stays on my butt, and I can feel how hard it is for him not to squeeze it.

"What do you want from me, Troy," I ask as our breaths collide. His nose tip touches mine; he is one motion away from taking my lips.

“I want you, Camile,” he says as our lips eventually meet.

It is the merest brushing of our lips, but I can feel the heat rising between my thighs. My eyes never leave him as Troy's hands dance sensually across my face, igniting a fiery desire as if skilled artists were painting the canvas of my sexual longing.

I strain to touch my lips to his, wanting so much for him to kiss me. I want to taste him, and for him to taste me. I wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him closer. Troy leans in, but he doesn't let our lips touch just yet.

"Too fast," he says. His husky and intense voice echoed with raw and captivating energy.

He takes my mouth slowly, savoring its taste and texture. His lips move languidly against mine, exploring their contours with a deliberate caress. Each gentle brush and teasing nibble sends shivers cascading down my spine, awakening every nerve with a sweet, electric sensation.

As the kiss deepens, the heat intensifies, fueling an undeniable need that consumes every ounce of my self-restraint. Our mouths move with increasing urgency, melding in a passionate dance of tongues. The air in the room grew thick with a heady longing as the boundaries of pleasure blur and merge.

"Camille." My name is a delicate whisper that escapes Troy's mouth; it floats in the house's stillness, resounding as it bounces off the walls.

"Mmm…"

My eyes flutter as I try to open them; Troy has a crazy, longing look. I don't want him to talk.

I want him to continue kissing me until I am breathless. I want his hands all over my body.

I tug at the button of his shirt, pulling them out one after the other. He helps me take it off.

I let my fingers embark on an exploratory journey, trailing down his body with a mix of curiosity and desire. I feel the tautness of his muscles beneath my touch, a testament to his strength and masculinity. I marvel at how I have never considered a man's body to be this beautiful.

Troy impatiently takes off his pants, making me do the same. He falls on the bed, taking me with him, so I am lying underneath him. He claims my mouth in a hot kiss again, bracing himself carefully above me.

He reaches for his bedside drawer and takes out a condom, putting it on swiftly.

I can feel the urgency of the need between my thighs, impatient to feel him inside of me.

I thrust my hips forward invitingly as I strap my legs around his waist, and he slides into me smoothly. He slowly moves with his waist, gliding in and out as I lift my hips, whining my waist to match his movements.

The pleasure increases, and so does his pace. Our cries intertwined in a symphony of passion, harmonizing with the rhythm of our bodies colliding.

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