Page 165 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

It feels like the only logical step.

The only path forward.

A slow smile spreads across my face, mirroring hers. The future is still uncertain. Challenges remain. But facing them together? With her? Suddenly, anything feels possible.

“Come here,” I whisper, my voice imbued with a deliberate tenderness that surprises even me.

I gently pull her away from the kitchen island, towards the bedroom.

48

Lucy

My heart is doing a ridiculous tap dance as he leads me to the bedroom, his hand warm and firm in mine.

I tremble slightly as his other hand finds the small of my back, a familiar possessive heat spreading through me despite the cool air.

Why am I so nervous all of a sudden? It’s not like we haven’t done this before...

Okay, Lucy. Play it cool. You just said yes to moving in with the man who basically owns half of New York and makes rational thought flee your body. And now… now comes the other part. Sex. With Christopher. Again.

It feels like it’s beenagessince… well, since my little encounter with his cock and a certain vibrator. Days? A week? With everything that’s happened... Dad’s second heart attack, the takeover bid craziness, becoming permanent CEO, pushing Christopher away, pulling him back... it feels like a goddamn century packed into a handful of days.

Suddenly I’m nervous all over again, this fluttering Jell-O feeling in my stomach.

Will it be awkward after everything we just navigated? God, what if I’ve forgotten how? What if he’s different now after declaring love and whatnot?

This feels monumental. Bigger than before. Not just intense make-up sex, but… sealing the deal on the ‘I love yous’ and ‘move in with me.’

No pressure.

Just act natural.

Whatever ‘natural’ means when your billionaire soulmate is about to use his pork sword (God, did I really just think that??)to batten down the hatches after averting corporate catastrophe.

Yes, he’s going to drive his corporate jet straight into my private hangar.

He’s going to wear me like a particularly well-loved finger puppet.

He’s going to—

Jesus, Lucy! Stop inventing weirdly specific, slightly disturbing Booktok euphemisms for getting laid and focus on the actual man right here, okay?

Inside the bedroom, the lights are low, casting long shadows. The enormous bed, draped in soft-looking dark linens, dominates the space, looking dangerously inviting.

He doesn’t rush. He turns me to face him, his hands coming up to cup my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones with a tenderness that makes my breath catch.

“I love you, Lucy,” he whispers again, his voice rough, his intense blue eyes searching mine as if memorizing my reaction. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, Christopher,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.

He smiles then, a slow, genuine curve of his lipsthat transforms his face, softening the hard edges, making him look younger, almost vulnerable.

Then the intensity returns, but changed. Deeper.

He leans down, kissing me softly at first, then with growing passion, his lips moving against mine with reverence.

He unbuttons my silk blouse, his fingers brushing against my skin, leaving trails of fire. His movements are slow. As if he’s savoring every moment.