Page 95 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

“Want me to stop?” His hand pauses low on my abdomen.

“God, no.” I claw my fingers between his and slide his hand between my legs. “Don’t ever stop.”

The second his finger grazes my engorged flesh, the surge of pleasure sends my body bending forward and I have to brace my hand against the glass shower wall to keep from falling.

The rest of me fell a while ago, probably the moment I opened the front door to him. In that second I knew there was something different about him, sensed it, felt it in the air around him, like he radiated the energy of my destiny.

Miller lifts me upright and glides his dick up and down from the top of my butt crack to my lower back.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he pants against my neck, fingers moving yet lower until at least one of them finds my entrance and immediately slips inside.

“Oh God, Miller!” I cry as pleasure courses through my veins, my body hums with desire, and I bear down on his hand.

I reach back with both hands, desperate to grab him, to hold on to him so tightly he can’t move.

I find his ass and pull him hard against me as he pumps, his fingers moving in and out of me, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

His mouth is against my ear.

“I’m going to come all over your back,” he says, right before his mouth drops to my neck.

He sucks on my wet skin at theexact moment his thumb finds my clit and the fingers of his other hand roll my nipple.

“Good,” I pant. “Because I’m about to come all over your hand.”

I have to let go of one ass cheek to steady myself against the wall again because I know I’m about to lose control so violently that I might smash my head into it.

I lean forward, grinding into his hands and clenching my butt cheeks to squeeze his dick whenever it dips low enough.

The combination of his thumb on my clit, his fingers pushing inside me, whatever the hell it is he’s doing to my nipple, and his hot dick against my back, takes me up and up and I don’t want to let go, I want to ride the high for as long as I can.

But when he yells, “Fuck, Frankie. I’m gone,” and presses his thumb even harder against my clit, I’m gone too.

He cries out as he comes, and I think I do too, but it’s hard to know because all that exists are the crashing waves of a shocking climax that rocks me, then rocks me again, and again, as endless as the stream of warm water rolling over us.

Miller holds me against him and releases a long guttural groan as I pass the peak and start the tumble down the other side.

Our bodies rock and slide against each other, the pace gradually slowing as we descend from the other plane of existence we just visited and return to the real world.

“Christ, I didn’t want that to end.” Miller takes me by the hips and turns me around to face him.

His hand goes straight to the small of my back, where he sloshes water around to rinse me off.

“For a second I didn’t think it was going to.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “I thought I was going to live the rest of my life in this small shower with my head swirling and exploding.”

“Imagine how inconvenient that would be.” He drops a kiss in the space between my eyebrows. “The donkeys would never get fed.”

It’s funny that that’s what he immediately associates me with. He didn’t say, “Who would proof the graphics for the Bryant lamp collection?” or “But no one else runs the engagement data like you do.”

He doesn’t even know that person.

As easily as he discarded my corporate clothing a few minutes ago, he discards any perception that I’m anyone except the person who adores these animals, who dotes on her grandfather, who loves this sanctuary with all her heart and is fighting to save it.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe the real me is the one who is here, right now.

Maybe it’s the business-suited Chicago woman who’s all pretend.