Page 49 of Seduced by Her Billionaire Fake Fiancé

“How much?” It was an emphatic demand.

“About a glass. Well, half of one of those tiny bottles, anyway. Why the hell does it matter?”

And then he was kissing her angrily, hungrily, desperately, his fingers digging into her arms as he held her against his chest, a chest that was rising and falling rapidly as he sucked in air. It was a kiss that blinded her and made her see all at once. A kiss that showed her for the liar she was because this didn’t just mean something, it meant everything. She could say the opposite to Max until she was blue in the face, there was no denying this to herself. Kissing Max felt, for the moment, like what she’d been placed on earth for.

“There are times when I actually hate you,” he said against her mouth, as he dragged her down to the wet grass beneath them. Or was it Andie doing the dragging? Her own hands were as hard on him, pulling him to his knees, refusing now to relinquish this kiss, because it had been too long.

“It’s mutual,” she promised, pushing at his shirt without bothering to undo all the buttons so she had to try to shove it over his head and he growled with frustration when it wouldn’t give. But somehow, finally, it was off, removed, his chest naked, glorious in the moonlight, and his attention turned to her dress.

But instead of unzipping it and removing it, he simply pushed it up her legs, around her waist, and dragged her underpants from her legs, shoving them in one of his pants pockets before reaching into another and pulling out a slender wallet, from which he retrieved a foil square.

Her heart was in her throat as he stood, staring at her with an expression that was darkly mutinous, undressing himself completely and rolling a condom over his length.

“This is not what I wanted it to be like either,” he snapped. “Why is it always like this with you?”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. He brought himself to the grass, so hard and strong, bracing himself on elbows on either side of her as his knee parted her legs.

“I like hating you,” she said, eyes challenging him, reminding him that this wasn’t passionate or affectionate, it was driven by anger and the darkest emotions two people could feel for on another. She clung to that, and she didn’t know why, but Andie sensed that it was important.

He swore as he entered her, just as desperately as the last time, one fast, deep thrust, all the way in, so she cried out, arched her back.

There was no pain, only sublime, aching pleasure to be welcoming him back, the contrast of his warmth against the cool grass at her back, her dress sticking to her, soft against her hips as he was all that was hard in this world.

His mouth ravaged hers as his body moved in unison with his tongue at first, each thrust harder, deeper, more controlling and desperate than the last, and then his hands were on her dress, pushing it up higher so he could touch her breasts, feel them, breasts she knew he loved because he always said so at moments like this, because he stared at her and them and brought warmth to her cheeks and heart.

But there was no tenderness here.

This was just sex. Animalistic, wild, impossible to contain and Andie was crying out with how incredible it felt. She didn’t recognize herself in the woman she was becoming, all guttural and desperate calls into the silence of the citrus grove.

When she exploded, he held a hand against her mouth to silence her and she bit it without shame, the darkness of their emotions providing something, an outlet she desperately needed.

He said something in Italian and then he pulled out of her, staring down at Andie, and she cried out because despite the orgasm she’d experienced, she wanted more, desperately needed more, and the thought of Max walking away was like a knife in her chest.

“Don’t stop,” she cried, reaching for him, trying to pull him to her.

“You don’t want me to stop?” He asked. “And why is that Andie?”

“Just…don’t…”

“Is it because it feels good? Because you need me?”

“Yes,” she cried into the night air. “I need you.”

“Beg for me,” he said, and she pushed up onto her elbows, sure she’d misheard.

“Ask for what you want,” he repeated. “Beg for me.”

Her lips parted and she struggled to know what to say but then, was it even an option to ignore him? She was writhing on the grass with need. “Please,” she groaned, her hand running down her body. “Please, Max. I need you. Please.”

“And don’t forget it, Andie,” he muttered as he drove into her once more and she moaned on a wave of intense release, and something else, something she couldn’t analyse then but knew she would have to face sooner or later. For now, she simply rode the wave of pleasure that Max was providing her with, losing herself in this moment, rejoicing in the feeling of euphoria, wrapping her legs around him and wishing, in that moment, that she would never stop feeling like this…

Eleven

HE DIDN’T LOOK AT her as he dressed, which didn’t help Andie make sense of what had just happened. It had felt like the crescendo of a storm. No, not a storm, but a hurricane, fierce and unavoidable. She’d been caught in its wake, lifted up, carried away, broken, and yet not broken, but she was dazed, speechless, breathless, uncertain.

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She lifted her fingers to her lips; they were shaking. She buried her face in her hands, sucking in air, feeling vulnerable and exposed and strangely overpowered.

Not because of what had happened, not just that, but because of the way Max was pulling away from her again, refusing to look at her, to even acknowledge her.

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