Page 32 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

Not that I haven’t wondered what he’d kiss like…in extreme detail. Not that I don’t sometimes breathe in his sharp, spicy scent when I cut his hair, letting it fill and intoxicate me.

“A very funny feeling in your tummy…” I whisper.

“For fuck’s sake.” He surges up from his seat and grips my shoulders, holding me in place in front of him, like I might suddenly float away if he doesn’t keep me firmly in place, two inches from his beautiful, scowly face.

My breath hitches as he stares down at me. His lips hover over mine, hovering one tiny, electrically charged millimeter away.

And then he brushes his lips over mine.

My body hums in response. I’m a panting rag doll in his hands.

He’s peering down at me with those dark eyes. Confident hands pull me closer—close enough now that my breasts are pressed to his chest. I can feel him breathe with my breasts.

It’s unbearably intimate. Mind-bendingly hot.

We fit together perfectly. Breathe together perfectly.

“S-so this is how you do a first kiss?” I say. “An almost kiss?

His expression intensifies. His nostrils flare. It’s like he doesn’t even hear me over his own ragged breath.

The charge between us ramps up. A certain area between my legs has boarded the crazy train to tickly town. Needless to say, I really want to press into him—hard.

His gaze lowers to our almost-touching lips, enough so that all I see is a sweep of dark lashes.

It’s excruciatingly delicious being flush to him, breathing with him, enjoying his sexy man-eyelashes. I slide my greedy palms over his beard the smooth way. My panties might be soaked.

I slide my hands down to his shoulders. I never get to touch him wherever I want. I like touching him like this.

He lets go of my shoulders and cradles my cheeks like two fragile birds, gently cradling them.

“Are you trying to decide how to hold me and which way to tilt your head?” I ask.

“Shut the fuck up.” With that, he crushes his lips over mine, kissing me fervently. He presses me to the wall with his body.

The air whooshes from my chest. Did somebody flip his beast mode switch?

I am loving it. And my hands are grabbing his shirt, greedily holding him flush against me, like I must consume him.

But not in a praying mantis way.

He growls, and the tremor it sends through me is a thousand percent heaven. He feels amazing.

And we really should stop, but his hands are now roaming the small of my back, and then his thumbs skim the sides of my hips, urging me closer.

My sex makes contact with his steely erection, and at this point, I’m more likely to come now than to stop this thing.

His tongue flicks out, and I suck it in—I’m a vampire for his tongue, and it’s the hottest thing ever, sucking his tongue while he’s pressing his rock-solid rod right into me.

He makes a rumbly sound. He feels out of control. It shouldn’t be hot, but it really, really is, because this guy is always in control. I’m hungry for his mouth, barely able to form thoughts.

Suddenly one wicked hand slips under my waistband. The plane seems to dip, to do the loop-de-loop. I hold on more tightly. I give him his tongue back, but I’m all over his lips, starving for them.

One strong hand thrusts into my hair, cups the back of my head; his other grasps my ass, holding me to him.

A bloom of heat rolls through me.

I slide my fingers over his beard, cupping and stroking—and let’s be honest, I’m basically mauling his face.

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