Page 90 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“Wow,” she pants, grabbing the top of my belt and pulling me to her, fitting me flush against her. She wraps her legs around me and I give her what she wants, pressing into her hard, now, pressing my shaft in between her legs, right through the fabric of her cocktail dress.

“Come here,” I rumble.

“Ngggg,” she says.

Flames lick up my core. I’m kissing the side of her neck, yanking free the rest of the buttons.

“Look at you,” I whisper, sliding my fingers around the edges of her bra, dark, hungry travelers encountering smooth, warm flesh.

“You think Marvin’s still…”

“To hell with Marvin,” I say, climbing up onto the table, looming over her, pushing her dress up, uncovering miles of sexy leg, and then stockings that end at her thigh, held up with straps. I go on to discover the barest wisp of a thong. “Good god,” I groan.

She slides an appreciative hand over my chest. “What if he runs and tells—”

She trails off as I push her legs apart. I kiss the inside of her right thigh, then the inside of her left thigh, and then the damp scrap of fabric between. “Let him tell on us,” I rumble into her core.

She squirms with pleasure, pulling me closer.

I grab her thighs and press them wide, feeling the energy thrum through her.

“Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabitha.” I kiss her again, letting the scent of her arousal wash over me. “Need this.”

She sucks in a sharp breath in response to my blunt statement. Tabitha is a bright, colorful fish who stays in the playful sunny surface water, mistrustful of things that run deeper.

I graze the edge of my teeth over her silk-clad folds, dizzy from the scent of her, from her strangled sounds of pleasure. Lost in her. I grab the pussy-protecting panel of her panties and yank it aside, baring her folds to the dim glow of the room.

I’m feeling out of control. I usually wouldn’t be showing this to a woman. I usually wouldn’t be feeling this for a woman.

Her hips rise, needy in the dim glow of the room.

I give her a lick and she gasps softly. “I want to make you feel good…” I tend to be a good dirty-talker, but I only want honesty now.

I lick her again.

Her whole body seems to undulate in response. A wave of feeling.

I nearly lose it right there.

I do her with merciless precision, so in tune with her. I can feel her in a way that’s new for me. I flick my tongue over her needy bud as she devolves into a whimpering mess. She comes softly, all breathy whimpers.

Her orgasm stretches on until she’s a sweaty, hard-breathing, chest-heaving confection of soft, warm curves, so Tabitha.

Usually I’m racing to be inside of a woman at this point, to give my cock the thing it most deeply desires in life—the sweet, sure plunge into a warm, wet pussy.

But I don’t race to fuck her. That’s not what this is about. I find myself sliding my hands over her hips. I can’t believe how good she feels.

“What’s up, dawg?” she jokes, keeping it light.

“Take it off,” I rasp. “Off.”

She grins and pulls her dress over her head, pulls off her bra, dramatic and jokey, but I’m not playing.

Her features look soft in the salt lamp’s glow. Her breasts are lush and full, nipples wide and dark with an in-your-face attitude, just like Tabitha. Nobody is like Tabitha.

The curls between her legs are damp, and I fall to kissing them. There’s only her breath, her body, her quivering electric energy. I press my cheek to the soft pillow of her belly and splay my hands over her hips, holding her.

She shoves her hands into my hair, fingers grazing my scalp. The sweetness of her touch washes over me. It’s so good, I have to close my eyes.

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