Page 93 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

I press up to him, letting his chest rub roughly along my tender breasts. I want to feel his abrasion against my soul.

He slows, going more and more slowly until he stops.

His gaze invades mine.

My breath hitches. I can’t look away—this is what he does to me. I raise a shaking hand to his beard. “Why did you stop?”

He doesn’t reply. He’s looking into me, piercing my defenses. He grabs my ass cheeks and grinds more slowly, circling against me now, watching me.

I’m trembling with pleasure.

His eyes crinkle. We know each other’s minds now, and he knows he’s making it good, but in my strange world right now, that is very, very bad.

He buries his growly, beautiful face in my neck. I tense against the pleasure of him wanting me, the bliss before the heartbreak.

He’s moving on me slowly, like he wants to conjure an orgasm right up out of the electric space between us.

Which he definitely will if current trends hold.

“Rex,” I say.

He says nothing. Him and his chest and his beard and his whole Rex way of being say nothing and everything.

“Rex, Rex, Rex,” I chant. I’m acutely alive, but that’s what they always say about people during a disaster.

The way he’s making me feel is beyond anything I’d ever imagined, cutting his hair all those Friday nights, staring at the smooth hidden skin on the back of his neck, breathing in his spicy scent, listening to him bite out all of those speakerphone commands to unseen minions.

It’s beyond anything I’d imagined even getting myself off in bed at night, his face in my mind’s eye—my forbidden client.

Careful what you wish for.

He’s dragging me deep.

I promise myself I’ll stop with him after this. I’ll shut the lid on this Pandora’s box after.

He pushes himself up over me, gaze heavy on my face, my neck, my breasts.

I look down, and with a rush of pleasure, I notice that my breasts are pink from him. The pink is a badge of him on my skin. Maybe this is what makes him lose control, this badge of him on me, but he’s sinking into me, shuddering into me, hard and fast and beasty.

“Yes,” I gasp. He’s fucking me with a primal force that makes my pussy ache, and I just want more.

Flesh slaps against flesh.

Heat blooms under my skin.

Pleasure coils up my body and finally explodes in my brain. The blaze behind my eyes matches the wild, orgasmic pleasure raging in my body.

He presses into me one final time; I can feel his cock pulsing inside me. He sucks in a breath, hot and sharp, lost like me.

His expression twists with agonized pleasure. Coal-dark eyelashes in a tight line.

He cries out and then collapses against me.

We’re both panting.

All those months of crushing on him. The charged moments, the feeling of connection. I never thought it could be like this. The goodness of us together is dangerous.

It was just sex,I think.It doesn’t have to mean anything.

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