Page 58 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

"You have me there," I draw in a breath. "I don’t know why those uncouth words from you turn me on."

"Don’t beat yourself about it." He leans in, kisses my shoulder.

The tenderness in that gesture. I blink. Wow. I glance at him sideways. "It’s not what I am used to," I mumble. "I mean, I’ve been with men—"

He slaps my arse.

"Hey," I protest.

"Don’t fucking talk about anyone else when I’m with you." He glares at me.

"But I mean—"

He wraps his fingers around my neck in a gesture I’m coming to recognize as the hallmark of his dominance. It’s hot, I’ll admit. It’s what sets him apart from anyone else I’ve been with… Well, not only, but it’s the confidence with which he handles my body, how he massages the cold liquid of the conditioner in between my butt cheeks, and works his finger inside my backhole, then follows it up with a second digit…while he holds my gaze, and intensifies the pressure on the back of my neck just enough so I tip up my chin and push out my butt.

"Good girl," he grunts. And my nipples harden; my pussy clenches. The blue of his eyes deepens.

He works a third finger inside of me and I gasp, "Oh, my... Oh wow, Damian… Oh…"

"How does it feel?"

"F-full," I stutter. "It’s too much. I can’t."

"You can." His lips curl, "I’ll make sure."

A shiver runs up my spine. "What if it hurts?" I whine.

"It will," he promises.

"What?" I gape, "If you think you’re selling this to me, you’re mistaken."

He lowers his head and bites me on the bridge of where my shoulder meets my neck.

"Ow," I yelp. "That hurts, as well."

"Just priming you, babe."

"I’m not a steak."

He chuckles, "You’re softer." He curls his finger inside of me and I snap my head back and against his shoulder.

"Not to mention, fucking hot." He does something with his fingers, a jerky circling motion that sets off a burst of sensation that sweeps up my spine. "And tight. So tight." His voice seems to break. Did it? Nah, not possible.

Sparks flare behind my eyes. "Oh, my god," I gasp.

"I’ll take that as a compliment," His chuckle rumbles up my spine. My nerve endings seem to pop, all at once, and moisture pools between my legs.

"I’m so empty." I slap my hand over my mouth.Did I just say that aloud?

How is it that when he touches me, I lose all of my filters, all of my carefully planned forward momentum mantras, the ones I picked up from self-help books along the way. Clearly, none of the authors of those books had come up against a real-life obstacle like Damian, someone who’d sweep through all the barriers, who’d get under your skin and turn every preconceived notion you had about yourself upside down. "Do it," I snarl.

"You forgot the magic word."

"Are you serious?" I angle my body to steal a glance at him, but he keeps me immobile with that warm hand of his that’s still fixed on my nape, like I’m a bloody kitten. Hell, I feel as powerless and as pathetically needy. "Damian," I whine.

"Say the word, Flower."

I lick my lips. "This is stupid."