Page 122 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

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He closes his eyes, and I peer at his features. That hard countenance, the hooked nose that caps the surprisingly pouty lower lip, and I am familiar with how that tastes.

"I suggest you get some sleep."

"And round two?"

He opens one eye, "I’m beginning to think you can’t get enough of me."

Jerk.I scramble back, then pull the covers up to my chin.

Close my eyes, try to sleep. Turn on my side. Wriggle my feet, then turn over on my back. Dammit, now I have an itch on my back. I shift my hips, arch my spine, try to reach the spot which is below my nape.

"What are you doing?" He grumbles.

"Trying to scratch an itch, you mind?”

"I can do that for you—"

"Not that kind." I huff.

"Hmm."

I roll my shoulder blades against the bed.

There’s a long inhalation of breath. Then the mattress, dips. He shifts toward me. "Turn over."

"But."

He grabs my shoulder and moves me on my side.

"Where is it?"

“Center of my back.”

He places his palm unerringly on the right spot and drags his fingers down the length of my back.

"Oh," I can’t stop the moan that bleeds from my lips. He repeats the action, this time in reverse.

"Ah."

I stretch into his touch, and he obliges. He digs his fingers into the space between my shoulder blades, and all the way down to the cleft of my butt. And again. Soo good. A sound of pleasure escapes my lips.

"You remind me of a kitten I had."

"You used to have a kitten?"

His actions stop for a second, then he continues his strokes.

"It doesn’t matter."

"Of course, it would only humanize the bad-tempered alphahole if you were to share something of his personal life, huh?"

"Exactly."

Getting this man to talk about himself is like... trying to find a seat on the tube during rush hour. "Soo... Amadeus huh?"

He caresses his big palm up my spine and I arch into his touch.

"Is there a story there?"

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