Page 43 of The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
My helplessness only adds to his arousal.
And that only makes me strain against him more even as I come against his hand. The intensity of the sensation smothers me, firing my nerve endings so every pore in my body is crying out with pleasure.
By the time I recover from the sexual haze, he's pulling off me. He withdraws from me mentally and emotionally, his body rolling off me as he slides to his feet, still wearing his formal trousers. His face is an unreadable mask.
He brings his fingers to his lips, licks.
And that moves me even more than having his mouth on me. It feels curiously intimate, as if he's wearing my essence, tasting it.
Feeling myself go wet, I sit up and reach for him, but he steps away.
The heat pulls back from over me, as if being sucked right back into his body. I shiver, aware for the first time that I am not wearing clothes.
Some of the desire fades. His breathing is normal too. The predatory look is gone from his eyes, leaving them more silver than green.
He reaches for his discarded shirt, slipping it on. Leaving it unbuttoned he walks away from me.
My pulse hammers as I try to make sense of what's happening.
"Wait," I call out. "Why?"
He doesn’t even look back.
"Why?" I repeat, louder.
He stops at the door of the bedroom, says over his shoulder, "We're even now."
"So this was what? A revenge jerk-me-off?" I feel that familiar anger from earlier, the one he seems to keep sparking in me, roar back to life.
"No." He smiles, then holds up his fingers, the ones he'd plunged inside of me only a few minutes ago. "Just a taste of how it could have been between us."
He turns to go. Stops. "I moved my things earlier. I'm taking the other room."
This time he doesn't look back when he leaves.
20
Sienna
* * *
When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I do is walk across to the other bedroom and knock on the door. When there's no answer I slide the door open, peer in.
Empty.
The bed ruthlessly made, suitcase neatly placed on the platform provided for it near the cupboard.
A pair of shoes next to the chair by the window.
I'd got what I wanted. Jace had moved to another bedroom.
But after last night, when I'd bared my soul to him, and then exploded in his arms...it feels like it's already too late. He already knows me better than anyone else.
Turning, I walk to the kitchen, grabbing a cup of coffee from the percolator. In a few minutes, I'm dressed in my running clothes and heading out.
By the time I clear the grounds and run into the open fields behind the hotel, the sun is already overhead.
I breathe in the smell of hay, the scent of the morning rain that lingers in the moist soil, leaves crunching underneath. So different from the images that often overwhelm me.
