Page 87 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

He’s Mia’s father.

He’s… Leo Maxwell.

But then he turns back, the condom slicked and ready in his hand, that intense green gaze locking onto mine again, filled with undisguised hunger.

And my reservations evaporate just like that.

He limps to me, and pushes my leggings and panties down impatiently, just enough to free my hips. I kick them further down my legs with clumsy feet.

His fingers fumble with the zipper of his trousers, the sound sharp and urgent in the quiet. His pants drop, then his briefs, and there he is... all hard, hungry heat, thick and straining.

My breath hitches as he sheathes himself with the condom, slowly and deliberately, his gaze locked hungrily on my face.

Then he’s positioning himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against my wet folds.

“Lift,” he commands, his voice rough.

My brain barely processes the command before instinct takes over.

I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs automatically winding around his waist. He grunts, adjusting his grip, his strong arms easily taking my weight despite his injury.

I see a flicker of pain cross his face, quickly masked, as he braces himself, using the window frame for leverage.

His determination, his sheer refusal to let his physical limitations stop him right now, is almost as intoxicating as his touch.

He aligns himself again, the head of his cock nudging,seeking entry.

I gasp in anticipation.

Then he thrusts. Hard. Deep.

Filling me completely in one powerful stroke.

A cry rips from my throat, muffled against his shoulder. It’s… overwhelming. Like Vegas. But also, just right.

He stretches me, fills that hollow ache I didn’t even realize I had. He feels… huge. Solid.

Real.

Mine.

At least for this moment.

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t give me time to adjust or think or panic further.

He starts moving immediately, pulling back almost completely before slamming into me anew, setting a frantic, driving rhythm.

It’s not the almost violent intensity I confessed to earlier, the one fueled by drugs, but it’s close. It’s raw, primal need.

Our bodies slap together, the sound echoing slightly in the cavernous room.

The cool glass presses against my back, a counterpoint to the friction building between my legs at the apex where his thick cock drives into my pussy.

His breath comes in harsh pants against my ear. His hands grip my ass, tilting my hips, deepening the angle, hitting a spot that makes me see stars behind my closed eyelids.

“Fuck, Sabrina,” he groans.

I cling to him, meeting his thrusts, my own body moving with a desperate need that matches his.

---