Page 94 of The Billionaire Is Back

I blink up at him, innocently. “Laundry. You’re welcome.”

He grips my arms as he stares down at my hard nipples through the thin fabric of my tank top. His nostrils flare. “You think it’s funny to make me hard while I’m in a meeting?” His voice is so deep I don’t even hear it with my ears—he’s speaking directly to my reproductive system.

I reach for the hard length in front of me and stroke his balls and shaft through his pants. “I don’t think it’s funny at all.”

He groans as he presses his hot erection into my hand. “Claire…” he whispers. He’s trying to sound forceful, but we both know who has all the power right now. “I have to get back to the…” He struggles to find the word he was looking for, and that’s my cue to unbuckle his belt as quickly as possible.

“Me. You have to get back tome, Mr. Barber.”

“Multi…billion dollar…fuck.”

My hand slips inside his underwear, his pants drop around his ankles, and his head falls back.

“Grady. You’re so hard.” He is. So hard. I’m actually concerned.

He grabs my ass and then hikes my leg up so I can wrap it around the back of his. “You like making me this hard in the middle of a meeting?”

“Yes.” I make a circle with my thumb and index finger, stroking up and down his shaft, oh so delicately, twisting when I get back up to the most sensitive part. And then I grip him hard with my whole hand, squeeze and release, squeeze and release.

“Yeah? You like having control of my cock when I’m trying to work?”

“No. I think it’s rude of you to work when I’m trying to make you hard.”

Well, that does it.

I feel Grady’s entire body clench up before I get a swift spank to my left cheek. He pulls my hand out from his boxer briefs and spins me around to face the wall. Gripping my wrists above my head with one hand, he tugs my panties down with the other.

“You want my cock that badly, huh?”

“Yeah. I missed it.” I feel the hot tip at my entrance. Flattening my palms against the wall, I push away and press back into him.

He takes a fistful of my ponytail, gives it a firm tug, grips my hip, and then pushes into me, moaning. I am so wet and swollen, but either he’s gotten bigger or I’ve gotten tighter since the last time he was inside of me. Thesting of his thrusts are startling and exquisite, and I cry out every time.

“I missed…every…part of you,” he grits out with each penetration. “But I…could have…waited.”

I reach down to take his hand from my hip and slide it up, holding it against my breast. What I mean by that isno, you couldn’t have, but I’m breathing too hard to say it out loud. I push back against him, and his thrusts become more frantic. His trousers are still around his ankles and his belt buckle keeps jingling. He grabs me by my waist and pulls me into him every time he plunges into me. I am an ecstatic, lustful goddess. He is panting and wild, and he sounds more desperate than I ever imagined he could be.

I feel so much love for him because I made him feel this way. I made Grady lose control, and I want to give him everything in return. I chant his name, over and over, like a prayer, until he slams into me with an intense shudder, releasing everything into me as he howls. So much rage and sadness and strength and vulnerability in one sound.

I’m still leaning against the wall, and he’s bracing himself against it too, draped around me, heaving behind me. He rests his cheek against my shoulder. I don’t even know how much time has passed, but that was a glorious, unpredicted fuck tornado, and I do not even care if my roast chicken has dried out.

“Baby,” I whisper, staying as still as possible until he pulls out and I feel his hot cum spill down the inside of my thigh.

I used to watch him run races in high school. It wasso beautiful, the way he’d arch his neck back and pace around with his hands on his hips, catching his breath after a sprint. He’s not doing that now. He’s still bracing himself against the wall. Not completely spent, but also nothing like the intensely focused businessman who was staring at his computer monitor a few minutes ago.

He drops his forehead to the back of my neck and wraps his arms around my waist. “Jesus,” he lets out on an exhale. “What are you doing to me?” It’s a real question that he’s asking. More to himself than to me. I wish he didn’t sound so apprehensive, or I’d tell him that was just the appetizer.

I no longer feel him touching me. I pull my panties up and grab the tea towel from the laundry basket, handing it to him. “It’s not dirty,” I tell him.

“Thank you.” He’s about as disheveled as I’ve ever seen him. But just as beautiful as he always was after running a race.

“I love you.” I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek while he’s cleaning himself up.

“I love you,” he says. A statement. “But I need you to leave so I can pull myself together.” He isn’t cold, but he is very matter-of-fact.

“Okay.” I refrain from saying I’m sorry—because I’m not. We both needed a good fuck tornado. I’m confident that Erickson will understand.

He tosses the towel back into the laundry basket and pulls up his underwear and pants. Even the way he puts clothesonis sexy.

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