Page 88 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

I suddenly remember that I’m up against the glass of his penthouse window, with the curtains open and the lights on. Exposed for anyone in Central Park to see. Like we’re putting on a show.

The thought sends another illicit thrill through me.

He shifts slightly, his cock hitting that perfect angle again, scraping my G-spot.

A broken sob escapes me.

Closer.

So close.

“Leo,” I gasp, burying my face against his neck, biting back another cry as the pleasure sharpens, threatening to shatter me.

His thrusts become more frantic, deeper, faster.

He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat.

“SABRINA.”

I feel his cock pulse deep inside me, hot spurts releasing against the latex barrier.

His release triggers my own. My world dissolves into blinding white light. My body clenches around him, milking him, riding the wave as it crashes over me, leaving me trembling and utterly spent in his arms.

We stay like that for a long moment, tangled together against the glass, the only sounds our ragged breathing. His heart hammers against my cheek. My legs feel shaky, threatening to unwrap from his waist.

I listen intently, waiting for the telltale wail to come from the baby monitor, worried that our frantic lovemaking woke Mia.

But the monitor remains silent.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers me until my feet find the floor again. My legs almost buckle, but he steadies me, his hands strong on my hips.

We’re both breathing hard, slick with sweat.

The adrenaline high fades, leaving behind the inevitable aftermath. Vulnerability.Uncertainty.

The stark reality of what just happened comes crashing down.

I just had incredibly intense, possibly life-altering sex against a window overlooking Central Park. With my client. With my daughter’s father. The man I swore I’d keep at arm’s length.

Well done, Sabrina.

Stellar boundary maintenance and PR work.

I look up at him.

His eyes are dark, still dilated, searching my face.

What is he thinking? Regret? Satisfaction? Just another conquest?

He reaches up, his thumb gently brushing a stray curl from my cheek. His touch is surprisingly tender.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice still rough.

Am I okay? Define okay. Physically? Spent but tingling. Emotionally? A complete fucking train wreck teetering on the brink of a panic attack.

“Yeah,” I lie, pulling away slightly, suddenly needing space, even though I have clothes currently tangled around my ankles. I start tugging my leggings back up, my cheeks flaming again. I reflexively avoid eye contact. Self-protection. “I’m fine.”

He watches me,and I see his expression shift, shuttering closed in response to my retreat.The vulnerability I glimpsed earlier is gone.

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