Page 51 of Falling for Mr. Billionaire

My heart warms. I don’t know why I mentioned Ivy. I have never introduced Laura to a woman I’ve dated. I guess I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a while.

Ivy gets up to show Laura some headbands she brought with her and just like that, I’m completely booted out of the conversation.

They talk for at least ten minutes about bows and headbands. I didn’t even realize there was that much to say about them but I can’t help but enjoy watching her with Laura. Then her nanny check’s in and we disconnect the call.

“It’s been a short time,” I say quietly. “But I’ve never let her talk to anyone before. I don’t know what it is about you… but it’s something.”

Her lips part like she’s going to say something profound—maybe even dangerous—but I close the distance before she can speak. I pull her into my lap and I kiss her like I’ve never kissed anyone before.

This is hunger, possession, fire—our mouths crashing together like we’ve both been starving for years and just realized it. She grips my jaw, sliding her tongue over mine, grinding her hips into me like she already knows how hard I am for her.

I spin her around, settle her astride me in the chair at the dining table. That hand-carved masterpiece groans under the weight of what we’re doing—what we’re about to do. Her knees press tight against my thighs, and I reach up to pull her shirt over her head in one clean sweep.

I cup her breasts, dragging my thumbs over her nipples until she gasps, then lean in to suck one into my mouth. Her fingers claw at my shoulders. She’s already panting.

“Carter,” she whispers, her voice low. “Please, I have to tell you something.”

I unfasten her shorts and shove them down along with her panties, baring her heat. She’s soaked. Dripping. My fingers slide between her thighs, and she gasps again, head falling back, completely undone already.

“Shhh,” I say, putting a wet finger in her mouth. “I love how you get so fucking wet for me. You want it here?”

She bites her lip, eyes wild and glassy. “Yes.”

I slide into her in one thick, hungry thrust, and her moan breaks the air between us like thunder. She rocks against me, desperate and needy, and I grip her ass with both hands, guiding her rhythm, owning it.

Her hips grind harder, riding me like she was made for this. My name slips from her lips.

And then—when I feel her clench around me, when her cries break into something feral—I don’t stop.

I stand.

She gasps, arms flying around my shoulders as I lift her without breaking contact. Still inside her. Still pulsing. I can feel every inch of my cock inside of her tight pussy. I’m trying my best not to release inside of her right fucking now as my face is buried in her breasts and she’s trying not to scream. Her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her down the hallway, lips brushing my neck between whimpers.

I lay her on the bed gently, but before I can move, she’s shifting.

Sliding down my body.

Taking control.

She drops to her knees at the edge of the bed, her eyes locked with mine, and her hands curl around my length like she’s claiming it. Then her mouth follows—hot, wet, sinful.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my head falling back.

She works me slowly at first, tongue teasing the tip, mouth hollowing as she takes me deeper, her eyes fluttering shut in pure focus. One hand at the base, stroking in time, her other hand braced on my thigh. Her lips glide over me like silk and fire.

Every groan that leaves my chest is hers.

I bury a hand in her hair, watching her take me over and over, her mouth so slick, so perfect. When she moans around me, I almost lose it.

“Ivy,” I grit. “Get up here. Now.”

She licks her lips, wicked and flushed, and climbs back onto the bed.

I roll her onto her back and drive into her in one thrust that has her gasping—legs wide, arms pulling me closer like she never wants to let go. And I give her everything. Every inch, every thrust, every ragged breath I have left.

She claws at the sheets. I bite her shoulder.

The headboard slams the wall.

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