Page 206 of The Billionaire's Secret

"For you," he searches my face, "if it makes you happy."

My heart does a little lurch, "It does." I smile up at him.

"And you make me happy, Gigi. Very happy." He crashes his lips to mine. I gasp and he swipes his tongue inside of my mouth—owning me, dominating me. I shiver, and his grasp tightens. He nibbles on my lower lip, and heat suffuses my skin. He rains kisses down my chin, my throat, down to the hollow between my breasts, on each nipple.

My scalp tingles and my toes curl. He drops to his knees in front of me, places a soft kiss on my belly. "Mine," he growls. A melting sensation pulls at my core. He drags his hard fingers down my thighs, coaxing them apart. My knees weaken; he grips my hips, holding me up. Then, through my dress, he nuzzles the triangle between my legs.

"Oh." Goosebumps dot my skin.

He inhales deeply and the sound is so erotic, so right, blood rushes to my lower belly. My pussy trembles. I dig my fingers into his hair and tug.

A low growl rumbles up his throat. The vibrations sink through the fabric of my outfit and warm my blood. I shiver, "Saint."

He presses his face into my pussy and a throbbing flares to life—hot, aching. My bones seem to melt all at once.

"Saint," I plead.

He slips his fingers under my dress, traces the backs of my knees. Sensations radiate from his touch. Every part of me that he touches seems to turn into an erotic zone.

"Saint!' I whine.

I sense his lips curve against my melting core. He slides both of his palms up the backs of my thighs, leaving pinpricks of pure lust in their wake. He cups my butt cheeks, squeezes gently. I draw in a sharp breath, grab the back of his head and urge him closer, closer.

He slides those wicked fingers under my panties, grazes the crevasse between my arse cheeks.

I shudder. Memories of how he'd taken me there swamp me. "Please," I gasp out.

"You like that, hmm?"

I nod.

He pushes aside the fabric of my dress, then buries his face in between my legs. The hot, aching tension inside of me winds up tighter—begging, needing more, so much more. I thrust my pelvis forward, but his grip stops me. He peers up at me from under those thick eyelashes; I take in the sight of his handsome face framed between my thighs and moisture pools between my legs. "Saint," I pant, "don't stop."

"You aren't completely recovered from your episode," he replies.

"Fuck that." I toss my head.

He chuckles, " I am proving to be a bad influence on you."

"Oh, please," I frown, "I was swearing long before I met you."

"Oh?" He tilts his head and his eyes gleam. "And this?" He slips his finger up to brush my pussy.

A moan spills from my lips.

"Were you doing this as well?"

"You know I wasn't. You are well aware that you're my first."

"And your only." His gaze intensifies, "I plan to keep you so happy, so satisfied, that you'll never want for anything..."

My panties grow damper. Damn it, how can he bring me so close to the edge with simply a glance?

"Except for your orgasms, of course." His lips twist in that sneer-smirk that is so very Saint.

"Stop that," I huff.

He chuckles, "What's life without a few games between us, hmm?" He rubs his nose up my pussy lips, and even through the double layers of fabrics, his hot breath sears my delicate skin.