Page 142 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

I slip my fingers in between her legs and play with her pussy. She shudders, parts her legs, and I slide two fingers into her melting pussy. Her spine arches, she thrusts out her butt, and I slip in. I rub my heel on her clit, kiss her with even more intensity.

Her arm comes up and she holds onto my neck as she bows into me.

My sweet Bird.I slide my finger inside her pussy and her knees buckle. I tighten my grip on her nape. A trembling sweeps up her body. She digs her fingers into my skin. I tear my lips from hers and she swallows. Pupils blown, lips parted and swollen from my kisses. I drag my palm down her spine.

When I apply pressure, she bends.

Lowers her head to the desk, her cheek, once more, flush with the antique surface. A thing of beauty, a perfect composition. A merger that clicks into place effortlessly. She’s all that. She’s mine. I grip her hips and thrust forward; her entire body jerks. And again. My balls harden and pressure builds in my groin. I need more. Much more. I pull out of her, then flip her over. The front of her dress falls open.

She blinks, wide-eyed. Her lips part.

I don’t hesitate. I bend with her, over her, touch my lips to hers and kiss her. Drag my hands up her hips to her breasts, cup them, and squeeze her nipples. She moans, the sound so sweet, so right.

I bring my hands down to her thighs, pull them wide apart. She swings her legs up and around my waist. Fuck. I grit my teeth; I need to slow down. Sweat beads my forehead. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. What’s happening to me? This was meant to be some kind of hate fuck. A last try to overcome whatever hold she has on me. I’d sweetened her up with words—well, it was all truth, really— then tried to break her. Instead, it’s me who’s broken.

I squeeze the base of my dick, position myself at the entrance to her weeping pussy. Then tip my head up to stare into her eyes.

"I’m going to fuck you now."

She nods.

"You can say ‘No.’ "

"Yes."

"Last chance to walk away." Am I warning her or myself?

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She grabs my dick, lines me up with her slit, then slides forward.

She impales herself on my shaft. My cock slips all the way home. I can’t stop the growl that rips out of me. Holding her gaze, I grip her hips, withdraw until I’m poised at the opening of her pussy. Pause a beat. Another. Then I thrust into her so hard that the entire desk shakes.

She links her arms around my neck and holds on.

"Good girl."

I proceed to fuck her with an intensity I’ve never felt before. A complete carnal possession that overrides any other intention I may have ever held.

Remember what I said about fucking thoughts of any other men from her mind? I lied. Again. Turns out, I am the one who’s never going to be able to think straight. Ever again.

I thrust into her, again and again.

Fix my fingers on her nape, with my thumb pressed to the front of her neck, where I can sense every single vibration of her voice that emerges in small hoarse cries.

Sweat beads my shoulders. I don’t stop. I withdraw then pound into her again and again.

Her lips part; a flush covers her breasts, her face. Her entire body trembles. She throws her head back, her gorgeous hair a halo tumbling down her shoulders. "Come," I growl. And she shatters. Beautifully.

Her eyes roll back in her head and she shudders.

I pull out of her, my balls draw up, and white streams of my cum splatter across her chest. I squeeze my dick from base to tip, empty every last drop of myself on her.

Reaching between us, I rub my seed into the skin exposed by the gaping front of her dress.

She slumps and I scoop her up in my arms. Walking around the desk, I sink into the chair. She curls into my chest and her breathing deepens.

I hold her close, tilt my chair back, turn it toward the window, and watch the raindrops drip down the windowpane.