Page 57 of Marrying the Billionaire

“It’s Dior,” I whisper, afraid to fully wake him. “A rose and peony blend.”

“You should wear it more. All the time.” He presses a soft kiss to the back of my neck, tingles running rampant down my spine.

“My bottle’s almost out, actually.”

He lets out a drowsy yawn. “I’ll buy you more. Anything you want. And more lingerie. Definitely more of that.” He shifts again, caressing his palm over my stomach. “Although I like seeing you in my clothes too.”

I grin, wondering how long I have until he fully wakes up. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to.” I press back further into him, the pressure turning me on even more. “I like the way you look at me when I do.”

“How’s that?”

I rub my ass up and down his length, his harsh intake of air spurring me on. “Like you want me.”

He stills, his fingers tightening on me for a moment before he lets go, rolling to the other edge of the bed. “Serena-”

“You owe me a question from last night,” I interrupt, mourning the loss of his body. I knew it was too good to last.

“What is it?” His voice is hesitant, weary, and unfortunately, fully awake.

“What did you mean before bed when you said you weren’t a saint?”

I turn over to face him, squinting in the darkness to try and make him out, but it’s still too dark.

“I’m sorry I was touching you. I was asleep. I didn’t realize what I was-”

“You’re not answering the question.”

I can’t imagine speaking to him like this a week ago, but things are different now. I’m not so worried he’ll shut me down anymore.

He lets out a heavy sigh, the sheets rustling. “I’ve been trying to be respectful of you, I promise. A minute ago not being the best example.”

“Why aren’t you a saint?” I ask again when he doesn’t elaborate further.

More silence until he finally admits, “I’m having trouble… separating everything. What’s real and what’s not. I keep having these thoughts I shouldn’t. I can’t turn it on and off the way you can. And like I said last night, I keep reacting.”

“To me?”

“Yes.”

I chew on my lip, debating how to respond. If I tell him I haven’t been acting, that if anything, I’ve been purposely provoking him, will he feel deceived?

Or relieved?

He’s attracted to me, reacting to me. Is it only his sense of honor getting in the way?

“It’s okay to touch me, Archer. There’s nothing wrong about it. I’m your wife after all.”

A fake wife. In a sham marriage. Please don’t let him bring up that fact.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks in a low voice, sending a shiver through me.

I thought that was fairly obvious when I was grinding on top of him in his office. But maybe I muddied the waters when I ran away afterward.

I close my eyes as I make a leap of faith, deciding not to flee and instead put myself out there. “Yes. I want you to touch me.”

I wait for him to reach out, to grab me, anything, but he doesn’t, still motionless on his side of the bed for what seems an endless stretch of time.

My face heats the longer the silence continues, until it’s impossibly hot, practically scorching the pillowcase. “Please say something,” I whisper.

“Serena, I’m holding myself back over here.” His voice is even lower, if that’s possible. “I don’t think you realize what you’re asking for.”

My heart lifts, a pleasant thrill running through me. “I do.”

He reaches out a hand and finds mine, our fingers entwining. “This would change things.”

“Things are already changing.” I pull his hand up to kiss his knuckles, unable to help myself.

He tugs me toward him and I gladly comply, letting out a soft sound of need as my lips find his in the darkness, his body still achingly warm as it presses flush against mine.

And this time, I’m not running away.

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