Page 85 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

“This…” he starts, then stops, shaking his head slightly as if trying to clear it. “This is… complicated.”

“Understatement,” I manage shakily.

“Fuck complicated,” he decides, his gaze dropping back to my mouth.

And then he’s kissing me again, harder this time, all pretense of tentativeness gone.

He stands abruptly, pulling me up with him. I stumble slightly, off balance. He steadies me, one hand strong on my waist, the other still tangled in my hair.

He reaches for the cane that leans against the sofa. Once he has it, he starts backing me up, slowly and deliberately, toward the windows.

Toward the glittering expanse of the Manhattan skyline.

My heart hammers against my ribs.

Whatis he doing?

My back hits the cool glass. I gasp, startled by the sensation.

He presses closer, trapping me between the window and his hard body. The size difference between us feels immense now, his larger frame pinning me easily. He’s all heat and muscle and that intoxicating scent.

He drops the cane. It clatters softly onto the thick rug, forgotten.

He braces one hand on the glass beside my head, and the other slides down my back, pulling my hips flush against his.

Oh god.

Even through our clothes, I can feel how hard he is. Like super, impossibly hard, his thick and insistent cock pressing against my belly.

A jolt of pure heat shoots through me, making my knees weak.

My core clenches involuntarily.

“Leo…” It’s meant to be a protest, a plea for sanity, but it comes out as a breathless sigh.

“I needed this,” he growls, his mouth finding mine again, kissing me with bruising intensity. “I needed…you. Since Vegas. How could I not rememberthis… fuck.”

His ragged confession, torn from him, lowers my remaining defenses.

He needed me?

Not justanywoman, butme?

His hands are suddenly everywhere. Not gentle, not exploring, but mapping, claiming.

One hand slips under my sweater, finding the bare skin of my back, his fingers tracing my spine and sending trembles down my body despite the heat building between us.

The other hand slides down, cupping my ass, pulling me harder against his huge erection. I gasp into his mouth.

My own hands find their way under his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his back, the ridges of muscle. His skin is hot, smooth. He groans when my fingers dig in slightly.

Then his hand slides around, between our bodies, fumbling with the button of my pants.

Panic flickers, cold and sharp, through the haze of desire.

My body.

It’s not the same as it was pre-Mia. It’s softer. With faded stretch marks still present on my hips and belly.

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