Page 145 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire

It was barely six in the morning when I woke up. I reached across the bed to find it empty, and frowned. Where was he?

I made my way into the bathroom to wash up before padding down the hallway in search of my husband. I held my breath, listening for the sound of his voice. I found him in his home office. He stood against the large French windows, reading something with so much focus that he missed me standing there entirely.

I leaned against the doorway and let my gaze travel over his body, shudders coursing through me. The desire that I felt was a definite sign of my complete recovery. My eyes lingered on him, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants, his upper body bare. It was surprising he had no shirt on. I gathered six years ago he didn’t like anyone seeing his bare back. I didn’t mind it. In fact, I thought he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen—all his perfections and imperfections. They made him the man he was.

And then there was the little fact that no man had ever made my heart race like he did. Sometimes I wondered when it was that I fell in love with him. Was it six years ago during that one night of sex and lust? Maybe it was when our son was born.

“You should wear sweatpants more often,” I said softly.

His eyes lifted and the serious lines on his face instantly disappeared. “What are you doing awake so early?”

“I’m done with sleeping,” I told him. Yesterday, I’d slept the entire day away. The only time I’d woken up was to take a shower in the evening. Today, I felt refreshed and like a brand-new woman. A lust-infused woman. My eyes roamed over my husband’s gorgeous body, soaking in every inch of him. “So will you wear sweatpants more often, or what?”

My tone was husky and my heart thundered in my chest.

“Are you feeling okay?” He closed the file and threw it on the desk as I padded across the room.

“Never better, husband.”

My eyes flicked down to his sweatpants again, lingering a second too long on his crotch area. Fuck, no wonder women went bananas for men in sweatpants. The throbbing between my thighs pulsed and an idea shot through me.

I brought my hands up to his defined abs, his skin warm under my palms, and I gently nudged him back until he fell into his seat.

Surprise flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything, just watched me with a hooded expression. When I dropped to my knees between his spread thighs, heat flared in his gaze.

“Madeline, what are you doing?”

“I want to taste you,” I rasped, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I hooked my fingers on the band of his sweatpants and pulled them down his thick, muscular legs.

“You should be resting.” His protest was half-assed and weak. I smiled smugly, seeing his shaft already thickening.

“I’m feeling great,” I whispered, leaning closer and rubbing my cheek against his length. “This will make me feel even better. So don’t you dare say no.”

“I wouldn’t dream of denying you.” His voice came out rough, sending anticipation down my spine. I could feel his burning gaze on me as I wrapped my hand around his shaft and licked him from base to tip.

He let out a strained groan, watching me with eyes that had grown dark and hazy. I laved at his tip, then took him deep into my throat. I heard him suck in a breath and I relished seeing his stomach—those mouthwatering abs—tighten.

His reaction sent a hum of approval traveling up my throat. Heat loomed in the pit of my stomach, moving lower and causing me to squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache.

I ran my tongue around his head again before sucking it into my mouth. Byron’s head fell back with a, “Fuck, Madeline. That’s it.”

It was all I needed—the smallest amount of praise like that from my husband—to send sparks of pleasure fluttering through me. I sucked him again, taking him deep down my throat, gliding up and down.

His hand grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Look at me,” he ordered in a rough, raspy tone.

My gaze flicked to him. “So fucking beautiful,” he muttered. “And all mine.”

I made a breathy noise of agreement around his cock. His hand tightened in my hair before he moved my head, controlling the rhythm. Up and down, deeper into my mouth with each thrust.

The tension in him built, matching the dark lust in his eyes. I ran my tongue across his crown and sucked his cock like it was my sole purpose in life. He slid in deeper. My eyes watered, but I remained still. I wanted to give him my everything. I wanted to show him how much I loved him. Trusted him. I let him fuck my mouth, dying to see him reach the crescendo and tumble over the edge. For me.

Because he was everything I needed. And I wanted to be everything he needed.

“Can I come in your mouth?” he asked, his lust-filled gaze focused on me.

I hummed my approval.

His groan rumbled in his throat, hoarse, and his breathing became labored.