Page 125 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

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“…I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman’s back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch… I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve; I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.”

—Bill Durham. Director: Ron Shelton

Sin

"Whiskey at 9 am? Isn’t that a tad hard core?"

I down the rest of the liquor and it burns a trail down my throat. "The fuck do you want now, Saint?"

He walks to the bar at the corner of the office and the coffee machine kicks into action.

"What’s the point of having this £5000 machine if you never use it?"

I shrug. I had it brought in only because the rest of the Seven prefer coffee. Me? I am a tea drinker. Blame it on growing up in the East End. Tea so strong and with enough sugar that you can float a spoon on it. That’s the first drink I’d ever had, and its taste is something I have never been able to shake off.

He walks up to the window, peers outside. "Anything interesting?"

I snarl.

"Bad night huh?" He snickers.

"What do you care?"

"You’re the one who’s spearheading this entire scheme. I'm checking that my investment is in safe hands, bro."

"You’re not the one who has anything to lose."

"And you do?" He turns to me. "Anything you want to 'fess up to, Sinner?"

"Bugger off. I am not looking for a priest." What I need is a bloody surgeon to look inside my brain and tell me, what the hell had I been thinking last night? I had taken her without an inch of empathy, smacked her butt, torn into her pussy.

Then, I had pretended to drift off, hoping she’d take the hint. She’d mumbled to herself, then her breathing had deepened. I had turned to face away from her, yet every morsel of my attention had been focused on her. The way her scent had intensified as she’d slept. The soft inhalations, the twitch of her limbs which indicated that she had fallen deeper into slumber.

I’d had my eyes closed, yet I hadn’t needed to see her to imagine her features. The flushed cheeks, parted lips, the rise and fall of those sugar plum breasts, the quiver of her flat belly, the melting triangle of her pussy. My dick had lengthened, and I had palmed myself. I could have turned and helped myself to her and she wouldn’t have resisted. She is no match for my deviousness; fucking innocent that she is. Okay, not completely. She’s packed a lot into her years so far. She is a survivor. I have no doubt she’ll get through everything I have planned. Question is, will I? I hadn’t anticipated wearing a raging hard on while lying next to her. Me fisting myself, trying to jerk off, without disturbing her.

I’d taken her virginity. And that had been unexpected.

She’d denied it when I had asked her, and although that question had been to rile her, I had taken her answer at face value.

I had had no reason to suspect that she was one.

I had been her first. Fuck! Her first! I had assumed… What? That she was experienced enough to stand up to my inclinations? That I could take what was mine. Is she mine? The fuck am I doing thinking along those lines, huh?

And why am I in my office at the crack of dawn, leaving her warm willing body in my bed? It had been too fucking right, that’s the problem. Her skin, her scent, the taste of her is in my mouth.

After I’d taken her that second time, I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’d waited until she’d drifted off, then crawled between her legs, like a starving schmuck, and eaten out her pussy. She’d come awake with a start, her thighs had tightened around my ears, and that had spurred me on. I’d cupped her arse, scooped her up and sunk my tongue inside of her.

I’d lapped at her cunt, sucked on her, pinched her clit, rubbed the engorged nub between her lower lips. I’d cupped her butt, brought her closer, sunk my thumb into that tight little back hole, and she’d come again. The sweetness of her cum had exploded on my palate as she’d moaned out her release.

Those little noises she makes when she is close to coming? Fuck. They are going to be my destruction. Her voice, husky with lust, is fast becoming the soundtrack of my life. One I can’t do without.

I’d known then it was a bloody mistake. I am in too deep, trapped by the lure of that sexy little body… No, not only. It is her spirit I crave. Her thirst for life which I had once had but I’ve lost along the way. In her presence, every part of me stands to attention—my dick twitches—yeah, especially that particular appendage. Fucking hell.

She’s imprinted herself in every part of me, and fuck, that’s a scary thought. No one is allowed to get this close to me. No one.

I pull away from the window, walk to the bar and pour another, then toss it back. The liquor sparks a burn deep in my stomach. I can still feel my hands and legs though. Her taste still laces my tongue. Her scent lingers on my skin—I hadn’t wanted to shower. Don’t judge. Just another twat throwing himself off a literal cliff; all in the name of some stupid emo shit. Jesus, have I lost my balls completely?