Page 89 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

He breaks the kiss, both of us breathing hard.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice rough. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion; it sounds like a challenge.

I should. I absolutely should tell him to stop, to answer my question instead of whatever this is. But the words won’t come.

His hand slides into my hair, gripping lightly. “Tell me to stop, Tatiana.”

“I...” My voice fails me as his other hand unties my robe, pushing it open to reveal the thin nightgown beneath. “Don’t change the subject.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Always so stubborn.” His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and my knees threaten to buckle.

“Ten more days,” he murmurs against my skin. “Then you can walk away and never deal with my family issues again.”

The reminder of our deadline sends a fresh pang through my chest.

“Dom, I just want to understand—”

“No, you don’t.” His hand slips under my nightgown, finding the bare skin of my thigh. “You want to control the situation. Just like I do.”

I gasp as his fingers trail upward, tracing patterns on my skin that make coherent thought impossible. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” He pulls back slightly, eyes searching mine. “You hate not knowing. You hate not having all the information, all the cards on the table. It’s why you’re such a good PA, such a good consultant. It’s why you have spreadsheets for everything.”

He’s not wrong, and that irritates me even more. “So what if I do? It doesn’t mean—”

His fingers find the edge of my underwear, and my words dissolve into a sharp inhale.

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, fingers hovering, waiting. It’s the third time he’s said it, and I realize he’s actually giving me a choice, even as he tries to take control.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I admit, the words barely audible. “But this doesn’t solve anything.”

Something flashes in his eyes. Triumph, relief, hunger, all at once.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, then kisses me again as his fingers slip past the barrier of my underwear.

I’m already embarrassingly wet, and he makes a sound of satisfaction against my mouth when he discovers this fact. His touch is confident, knowing exactly how to make me tremble.

“Dom,” I gasp as he works me skillfully, my hips moving involuntarily against his hand.

“Yes?” He sounds calm, controlled, but I can feel the rapid beat of his heart where my hand rests on his chest.

“Take me to bed,” I say, surprising both of us. “If this is... if this is the last time, you and I... I want a proper bed.”

Something shifts in his expression, a momentary crack in his armor. “Is that what you think? That this is goodbye sex?”

I don’t know what to think anymore. “Isn’t it?”

Instead of answering, he scoops me up, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. The ease with which he lifts me sends a fresh wave of desire through me. I’ve always been independent, self-sufficient. The idea of needing anyone, being carried by anyone, has always seemed laughable.

But in this moment, with Dom carrying me to his bedroom like I weigh nothing, I can’t find the joke.

This is dangerous, Tatiana. This isn’t just sex anymore, and you know it.

His bedroom is massive, dominated by a king-sized bed with charcoal gray linens that look sinfully soft. He deposits me on the edge of it, then steps back to loosen his tie completely, pulling it free from his collar in one smooth motion.

I should feel at a disadvantage, sitting here in just my open robe and nightgown while he’s still mostly dressed, but there’s something thrilling about watching him undress, knowing what’s coming.

He unbuttons his shirt with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving mine. “You still haven’t told me to stop.”

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