Page 113 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

“Please let me cum!” she begs.

I pound her relentlessly, driving her over the edge.

When her pussy clenches my cock, my own release finally tears through me with a guttural roar. I empty myself inside the condom, collapsingagainst her, burying my face in her hair, my body still shuddering with the force of it.

We stay like that for long moments, tangled together on the kitchen counter, the only sounds our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city.

My grip on her is tight.

Possessive.

Grounding.

Eventually, she stirs, her hand coming up to stroke my hair, a gesture surprisingly tender after the raw intensity of what just happened.

“Wow,” she whispers, her voice shaky but laced with a satisfied purr.

I pull back slightly, looking down at her flushed face, her kiss-swollen lips.

My control is back.

Settled.

The storm inside me momentarily quelled.

“Thank you,” she says softly, meeting my gaze. There’s no fear there now. Just a deep, trusting warmth. “For that.”

I raise an eyebrow. An unusual response.

“Seriously,” she continues, a small smile playing on her lips. “I spend all day trying to project control, making impossible decisions, holding everything together at the office. Sometimes…” she traces the line of my jaw with her finger, “it’s just… amazing… to finally let go. To let someone else be completely in charge. Especially when they know exactly what they’re doing.” She blushes slightly. “And you definitely know what you’re doing.”

Her words hit me unexpectedly. She isn’t intimidated by my dominance. Shewelcomesit. Needs it, even. A release for her, just as it is for me, albeit for different reasons. The thought creates another crackin the armor. A shared understanding beneath the power dynamics.

Fuck. She’s perfect for me.

This is getting complicated.

I lift her off the counter, setting her gently on her feet. She sways slightly, leaning against me. I hold her close, breathing in her scent, the lingering evidence of our joining.

The war with my father is far from over.

The risks surrounding Hammond & Co. are immense.

But right now, holding Lucy in my arms, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine… this feels like the only battle worth fighting.

34

Lucy

Being Interim CEO feels… weird.

Like wearing shoes that are half a size too big.

You can walk in them, technically, but you’re constantly aware they don’t quite fit right, and there’s a very real possibility of tripping flat on your face in front of everyone.

Which, let’s be honest, is basically my default state anyway, just usually without the fancy title and the crushing weight of a multi-million dollar real estate company teetering on the brink.

Still, someone has to steer the ship while Dad recovers, and apparently, I drew the short straw. Or rather, Christopher Blackwell practically strong-armed me into grabbing the straw.