Page 61 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

I sink to my knees, maintaining eye contact as I unzip his jeans and free him from his boxers. He’s already hard, his cock straining upward, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

I wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly, watching his reaction. His jaw tightens, his eyes never leaving mine.

“See, you’re getting what you wanted,” I tell him, my voice huskier than intended.

“Partly,” he manages.

I lower my head, taking him into my mouth, still watching his expression. His eyes darken further, his breathing becoming ragged. I move slowly, deliberately, using my tongue in ways I know will drive him crazy.

Unlike last time, I’m not rushing to finish. I’m savoring the power, the control. The way his hands fist at his sides like he’s fighting not to grab me.

When I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, a curse escapes him. “Fuck, Tatiana...”

I pull back slightly, allowing a small, satisfied smirk to play at my lips. “Problem, Mr. Rossi?”

That smirk is my undoing. Something snaps in his expression, and suddenly his hands are in my hair, gripping firmly. “You know exactly what you’re doing, do you? You’re in complete control, are you?”

Before I can reply, he takes over, guiding my head as he thrusts into my mouth. The unexpectedness of it makes me gasp, struggling to accommodate him. He can only fit about half way.

“I can’t—” I try to pull back, but his grip tightens.

“You can,” he growls. “Take it.”

There’s something intoxicating about his dominance, about surrendering control after clinging to it so desperately. I relax my throat, letting him set the pace, feeling a rush of wetness between my thighs as he uses my mouth.

He presses deeper, faster, and I start to gag, unable to breath, but he doesn’t stop. I try to resist him but he’s too strong.

Oh god, I’m going to die like this, with a man’s dick in my mouth. What a way to go.

I punch his thigh with my hand and he finally comes to his senses. He immediately slides out completely, trailing a long stream of saliva.

I take in several frantic, deep breathes.

“Tatiana. I’m sorry. I lost control when you smirked like that.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my breathing ragged for several moments. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” He kneels down in front of me. “Are you okay?”

No. Yes. I don’t know.

“I’m fine,” I insist, my voice steadier than I feel.

The air between us crackles, thick with the aftershock of his apology and the unspoken heat pooling low in my belly.

Why are my panties so wet?

The question burns, but I bury it beneath a veneer of icy composure.

“Sit,” I command, nodding toward the bed, my voice steady.Professional.

His brow arches, a challenge in the slant of his lips, but he complies, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress.

I step between his spread knees, my silk pajamas brushing his thighs. His gaze drops to where the fabric clings to my damp core, and I see his nostrils flare.

He knows.

I don’t wait for a comment. I sink to my knees and his breath hitches. It’s a rare fracture in his control, and I revel in it.

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