Page 131 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the sculpted chest underneath. The planes of which I had drummed my fingers over, had tugged on those dark hairs that arrow down to the part of him that is currently hidden.

My fingers tingle. I’d felt him inside of me… Clearly, he is massive—my pussy throbs—okay, bigger, much bigger than I had expected, but I hadn’t had a chance to touch him, circle that thick muscle and find out for myself how big he really is.

What? I may have been brought up by nuns, but my education is far from lacking when it comes—haha! No, don’t go there—to the opposite sex. Blame it on Karma. My sister has her faults, but some of her curiosity has rubbed off on me, enough to read her romance novels… None of which had prepared me for the sheer dominance of the man who stalks me as I saunter into the room.

Keep it casual, don’t blow this.Don’t show him how pissed you are at him. I walk up to the desk, keeping my arms at my sides. "We had a meeting this morning."

"I’m aware."

"We could have spoken at home before you left."

"You forget, I prefer to keep work things strictly in the—" he air quotes, "—official space."

Jerk. What does that say about us? “I thought this, whatever-it-is-between-us, was work. You don’t seem to have a problem bringing this,” I wave my finger, indicating the space between us, “home.”

He ignores me. "Speaking of, you are officially—" He checks the cheap Casio watch on his wrist—What’s the story there, huh? “—five minutes late."

"I don't fucking care."

"Language, Mrs. Sterling."

"Fuck you very much, Mr. Sterling."

He chuckles, "You’re welcome." He swings his legs to the floor, leans forward, then pours tea into a cup. He reaches for the sugar, adds a spoonful, another. He reaches for the third and I huff.

"What?" He shoots me a glance from under those beautiful thick eyelashes.

"If you keep poisoning yourself with that stuff, you're gonna be diabetic before you know it."

"Oh?" He pauses, with the third spoonful of sugar poised above his tea. "You worried about me, hmm?"

"Hardly," I swat away an errant strand of hair, "I'd have said the same to... any stranger I'd meet in the street."

"Really?"

"You bet."

"So you wouldn't mind if I.." he lowers his spoon toward the cup and I dart forward, grip his hand with enough force that the sugar spills in an arc on the table.

"Oopsie." I lurch back. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so..."

"Possessive?" He smirks, then stirs his tea with the now empty spoon.

"Aggressive." I shuffle my feet.

"I am beginning to see the appeal of both versions, in fact—" He brings the cup of tea to his lips, sips. The beautiful tendons of his throat flex as he swallows. "I enjoy all of your emotions, revel in every single insult that you throw in my direction." He licks his lips, and hell, I am instantly wet.

I chafe my thighs together, shuffle my feet, then squeeze my bag in front of my chest, as if that will diminish the impact of his ridiculously sexy presence on me.

He returns his cup to the breakfast tray.

"Why don't you take a seat?" He pushes the platter aside.

"I'm fine here."

He frowns. "Even standing up, you are barely at eye-level with me—"

Thank you for pointing out my lack of height, you reprobate.