Page 102 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Our tongues clash, exploring, tangling, heat and hunger twisting into something raw.

“You taste so fucking good,” I say from the side of my mouth.

In response, she arches into me, a breathy moan vibrating against my lips. I swallow it like a man starved. Every rational thread inside of me snaps. There’s no going back, not now. Client meetings, contracts, the cold distance I’ve artificially raised between us, it’s all incinerated by the way her fingers knot in my hair, anchoring me to this moment.

Toher.

Because Sabrina doesn’t just kiss me. No, she fucking unravels. Each flick of her tongue is a dare, a challenge to forget the world where she’s the consultant and I’m the client, where we’re supposed to be anything but this: reckless, desperate, alive.

My hands grip her fucking hot curvy waist, pulling her flush against me until there’s no space for pretense, no space for lies, just the primal rhythm of our bodies speaking what we’ve refused to say.

She’s the fire in my arms, and I’m fucking burning.

Fuck it all.

Let the world crumble.

Let it turn to ash.

All I want is her.

I pull back slightly, breathing hard, resting my forehead against hers.

“The sofa,” I rasp. “Now.” I nod towards the leather couch in the corner seating area.

Not the desk. Never the desk with her.

That’s reserved for the hollow transactions, the Michelles and Jens and Victorias of my past life.

This is different.

Needs to be different.

Sabrina’s eyes are dark, dazed, her pupils blown wide. She searches my face for a second, conflict warring in her expression.

Then, she gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Surrender.

Or maybe just desire winning out.

I take her hand, ignoring the cane propped against my desk, and lead her towards the sofa. My leg protests but cock hardens even further with every fucking step, if that’s possible. I can’t tell what aches more at the moment, my leg or my cock. Probably the latter.

I push her down onto the edge of the supple leather so that her face is basically in front of my cock. She looks at it again, licking her lips. This time it’s not a microexpression, but an all out longing stare.

“Take off your shirt,” I command, my voice rougher than I intend. Testing boundaries. Seeing if she’ll push back.

She hesitates for only a heartbeat, her cheeks flushing again, then her hands go to the buttons of her silky blue blouse.

She undoes them slowly, deliberately, her eyes never leaving mine. A challenge? Or just… playing along? Fucking hell, I don’t know. But watching her reveal the lacy black bra underneath… it nearly undoes me.

“Good girl,” I murmur, the praise escaping instinctively. I reach out, my fingers tracing the edge of the lace before moving to the clasp at her back. It comes undone easily.

I push the blouse and bra straps off her shoulders, exposing her breasts. Full, marked by motherhood, but fucking perfect. Beautiful.

I lower my head, taking a nipple into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder when she gasps, her head falling back against the sofa cushions. I’m a little disappointed to discover she’s nolonger lactating, but that’s fine. I could suck her nipples all day regardless.

She tastes so fucking good. All Sabrina.

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