Page 143 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

I take a deep breath and sigh quietly. So I’ll be getting Ice King Dom this evening. Should I even bother to try now? Or wait until after dinner?

I elect to try...

“Dom, maybe we should talk about...”Us. Tomorrow. About the way you held me last night like I was something precious. And the way you’re looking at me now like I’m a complete and total stranger.“...what happens next.”

He sets the glass down with enough force that the crystal makes a sharp sound against the marble countertop. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

God, his words hurt. I suppose I should know better than to try talking to him about this when he’s in one of his moods. But there isn’t really much time. We have to have a serious discussion about this before it’s too late.

I step closer, emboldened by the ticking clock. “Last night you said—”

He crosses the room in three long strides, and suddenly he’s right in front of me, his hands cupping my face, his mouth crashing down on mine. The kiss is hard, demanding, nothing like the tender one we shared last night.

I gasp, surprised, and he takes advantage, his tongue pushing into my mouth. His hands are already working at the buttons of my blouse, impatient, almost angry.

What the hell?

I pull back, breathless. “Dom, wait—”

“No talking,” he growls, his voice low and rough.

His hands slide up my sides, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my bra. Despite my confusion, my body responds instantly, heat pooling between my legs.

“But we need—”

“I said,” he repeats, each word distinct and final, “no talking.”

There’s something in his eyes that stops me. A desperation I haven’t seen before. Almost a pain. Like he’s terrified of losing me.

His hands are at my skirt now, tugging the zipper down with an urgency that should alarm me but instead sends a fresh wave of arousal through me.

This is a terrible idea.

The world narrows to the heat of his palms branding my waist, guiding me backward until the couch bites into the backs of my thighs. His touch is like wildfire, untamed and devouring, as he strips me of my skirt. The fabric whispers to the floor.

Suddenly, I’m spun roughly, his grip a vise on my hips as he bends me over the leather armrest. My pulse hammers in my throat, in my wrists,there, where his breath tickles the nape of my neck.

“Dom…” His name fractures into a gasp as his palm cracks against my ass. Pain blooms, sharp and bright, followed by a molten ache that pools low in my belly.

“What?” he rasps, his voice frayed at the edges, his hand already hovering midair... a promise, a threat.

I turn my cheek to the cushion, teeth sinking into my lip to cage the whimper clawing up my throat. The second strike lands harder, a lightning bolt of sensation that arches my spine.

This time, I taste copper. His fingers glide over the throbbing flesh, a fleeting apology, before hooking into the lace panties at my hips. He yanks them down and I shudder, exposed, as his groan vibrates against my shoulder.

“You’re wet as fuck.” The words are gravelly, hungry, and I hear the rustle of fabric as he undoes his pants. “You want this even more than I do.”

Yes.The confession escapes as a plea, ragged and unashamed.

The sound of foil tearing tells me he’s putting on a condom. Always careful, even in his frenzy.

He sheathes himself with a guttural curse, then his hands anchor me in place, his fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise. No preamble, no mercy. One relentless thrust splits me open, his growl merging with my shattered cry.

“Fuck,” he grunts, holding still for just a moment before he starts moving, setting a punishing pace. His grip on my hips is unyielding as he pounds into me from behind.

It’s carnal, animalistic, so different from the almost reverent way he touched me last night. One of his hands slides up my back to grab my ponytail, wrapping it around his fist and pulling just hard enough to arch my spine.

“Dom,” I gasp, torn between pain and pleasure.

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