Page 90 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“Do you want me to?” I counter, finding my voice.

“No.” The admission seems to cost him something. “But I want you to be sure.”

“I’m sure,” I say, and it’s true. Whatever confusion reigns in my heart, my body knows exactly what it wants. “But I want answers afterward.”

He shakes his head, a humorless smile pulling at his lips. “Always negotiating.”

“Always,” I agree. It’s safer than admitting the real reason I want to know about his family, not because I want to solve a puzzle, but because I care, because I want to understand him, because ten days feels both eternal and impossibly brief.

His shirt joins his tie on the floor, revealing the sculpted chest I’ve felt but rarely seen. The sight of him steals my breath all over again.

God, he’s gorgeous. Like, unfairly, absurdly gorgeous. It should be illegal to look like that.

He approaches the bed, kneeling before me, hands sliding up my calves to my knees, gently parting them so he can kneel between them. The position should make me feel vulnerable, exposed, but something in his gaze makes me feel powerful instead.

“Lift your arms,” he commands softly.

I comply, and he first slides off the silk robe, letting it fall behind me on the bed. Then he pulls my nightgown up and over my head, leaving me in just my panties. His eyes darken as they roam over me, taking in every inch of exposed skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and there’s no deceit in his voice. No calculated seduction. Just raw appreciation.

My face heats, the compliment catching me off guard more than his hands on my body had.

“So are you,” I reply, because it’s true, and because I don’t know what else to say.

He laughs, the sound genuine this time. “I’ve been called many things, but ‘beautiful’ isn’t usually one of them.”

“Their loss,” I shrug, trying for nonchalance despite being nearly naked while he still has his pants on.

His hands slide up my thighs again, this time hooking into the waistband of my underwear.

“Up,” he instructs, and I raise my hips to let him pull them down.

Now I’m completely exposed. Dom’s gaze is hungry as it travels over me, and I resist the urge to cover myself. I’ve never been particularly self-conscious about my body, but something about the intensity of his focus makes me feel simultaneously powerful and vulnerable.

He stands, unbuckling his belt with efficient movements, then removing his pants and boxers in one smooth motion. His cock springs free, already hard and impressively large, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

Jesus Christ. How did that even fit in my mouth?

The memory makes me clench involuntarily, and from the way his eyes narrow, I think he can tell.

He reaches into the nightstand drawer, retrieving a condom. I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls it on with practiced ease.

“How do you want me?” I ask, surprising myself with my boldness.

A smile curves his lips, predatory and promising. “Just like this.”

He moves over me, powerful body covering mine as he lowers me back onto the bed. His weight feels delicious, grounding, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively.

“Tatiana,” he murmurs, and the way he says my name sounds almost reverent.

I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that’s softer than I expected. For a moment, we’re just kissing, exploring each other’s mouths with a gentleness that belies the urgency thrumming between us.

Then he shifts, positioning himself at my entrance, and the gentleness gives way to something more primal. He pushes inside slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size, but there’s no hesitation in the movement. The stretch burns in the best possible way, my body eagerly accommodating him despite the initial resistance.

“Fuck,” he breathes when he’s fully seated inside me. “You feel incredible.”

I can barely form words, overwhelmed by the fullness, the pressure, the sheer rightness of it.

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