Page 61 of The Reluctant Billionaire
It’s all the same, apparently.
Because the man beneath both disguises is my absolute favourite beast.
If he wants me to ride him like the best, sparkliest showgirl, I will. I feel wanton astride him like this. Carnal. I’m totally bare for him, my boobs rubbing against his eager mouth and my bumbrushing against the fabric of his trousers every time he bottoms out in me.
It seems I’ve well and truly brought out the animal in him, too. He’s not holding back on any front. As I grind against him, he meets me as best he can, thrusting up into me with hard drives, those gorgeous abs of his rippling with effort as he does. For someone who told me he’s close, he’s holding out admirably, though I can see from the slick of sweat on his forehead and the pained awe etched on his gorgeous features that the effort is taking its toll.
He’s restless, hands roaming, fingers and mouth on my breasts. My face. He tugs at my lower lip with his teeth before dragging his mouth down my neck and sucking hard between muttered compliments. Curses. Hoarse words of adoration. Encouragement. It’ll mark where he’s sucking me, but I’m past caring.
Iwanthim to mark me.
I grind against him as the inevitable ache builds and builds deep inside me. The more fiercely I bear down on him, let him fill me up, the more exquisite the feeling becomes. Pleasure blooms deep within me, blissful tendrils of it unfurling in my core and creeping through my body, oxidising my blood and lighting up my nerve endings as I lose myself in this ageless rhythm with Aide.
It’s not just having him reach those parts inside of me.
It’severything.
The scent of him and the slickness of his sweat and the bulk of soft hair and warm skin and taut muscle under my fingertips and the primal need shining from those eyes of his and rasps of our ragged breathing and the wet sounds of my body sucking him in.
It’s too much.
He uses a hand to grip my hip, the impressions his fingers make on my skin telling me how desperate he is to guide me to ride him just how he needs. His hands, his eyes, his noises beseech me, but I’m conscious enough to know that I’m doing this for myself as much as for him, that, above all, I’m listening to the call from within my own body formore, more, more.
‘I’m gonna—God, I’m—’ And with that, the wave that’s been cresting breaks, and I splinter into a million fragments around Aide, bucking and grinding and crying out and biting down onto the cotton covering one huge shoulder in an attempt to absorb this shockwave.
He follows me over the edge, one hand still on my hip and the other gripping the back of my neck as he holds me down, impaling me on him as he jerks out his own violent climax inside me.
‘Fuck, Lotts,’ he grunts incoherently. ‘Fuuuuck.’
His thrusts stop.
His hands still.
I wearily raise my heavy head from his shoulder and lean my forehead against his for a moment before I find his mouth. He kisses me hungrily, stroking my mane of hair back from my face. Off my shoulders. He gathers it up and winds it around his fist as he continues to worship my lips. When his kisses slow, I ease away, putting enough distance between us to look at him.
His face is sated, relaxed, his features wiped clean of the frustration, the need they reflected a few moments ago. Those astonishing eyes are soft, and he’s smiling gently at me.
‘Hope that convinced you I’m still me,’ he mumbles in the manner of one who hasn’t quite recovered his power of speech yet.
‘It most certainly did,’ I tell him, and I lean forward to capture his mouth again.
CHAPTER 24
Lotta
Aidan Duffy is grinning at me.
Full-wattage, underwear-melting grinning.
Let me tell you, it’s spectacular.
We’re in the kitchen at the community centre. We’re alone, but the door is open and the volume of Sylvie and Judy’s conversation tells me they’re just on the other side of it.
That isn’t deterring Aide, who’s making a beeline for me as I await my perfectly executed Nespresso. He comes to stand on the other side of the counter, which is probably a good thing, because if it wasn’t for this three-foot-wide barrier of stainless steel, I’d probably be wrapped around him already.
Having fucked me good and proper yesterday in his huge corner office like the power player he is, this morning he’s catering to my blue-collar fantasies in boots, cargo pants and one ofthosevests.It’s pristine, but I don’t give it long before that changes.
‘Morning,’ he says in a low voice.