Page 76 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
I rock my hips into him and slide my hands across the swell of his pecs. “Whatever you’ve been wanting to do since I opened the door to you on Tuesday.”
“That will involve me removing your clothes.” He drags a finger down my throat and hooks it into the neckline of my sweatshirt, tugging it lower. “How do you feel about that?”
I drop my mouth to his neck where a hint of the aroma of my body wash still lingers under the saltiness from the manual work he’s done today.
Knowing that his hands are as capable of crafting woodwork as they are of setting up a complex spreadsheet—or whatever it is he does with his investments—is a major turn-on.
“I would be very happy about that.” I breathe the words against his skin.
Then his hands are under my shirt, lifting it higher and higher, fingers sweeping my sides as they go, until it’s over my head and off.
He pauses for a second.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Just looking for somewhere clean enough to put this down. Ah.” He reaches around and drops it onto the foot of the cot behind him.
“Your turn.” I slide my hands up the inside of his T-shirt, taking in the power of every rippling muscle on the way.
Miller is a strength and solidity that my life has never had. I’ve always been pushing forward, scrambling, never feeling like my feet are steady and on solid ground.
Miller feels solid. He feels steady. And he feels strong.
He lifts his arms for me to pull the shirt off over his head. I toss it on top of mine.
Then his mouth is on my collarbone, teasing my skin with his tongue, down over my chest and between my breasts.
I press my center fully onto him. His hard girth hits exactly the right spot, making my eyes close, my head drop back, and sends a heavy groan of pleasure tumbling from my mouth.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Miller says, reaching around to unhook my bra, then slide the straps off my arms in one smooth motion. “Just look at you.”
I can feel his eyes on me, gliding over my freshly naked skin.
My bra vanishes, presumably onto the same pile of clothes, and his hands are on my breasts.
The fingers that looked smooth from desk work when he arrived now have a rough edge from the recent spate of manual labor. It gives his touch an edge, making the massaging, the kneading, even more arousing, even more potent.
He kisses across the mounds of my breasts, making my spine so jelly-weak that I have to reach behind me and rest my hand on his firm thighs for support.
I vanish into him, lose myself, whoever myself even is anymore, and surrender to him completely, trust him completely with my body.
Then the warm moisture of his mouth is on my nipple. The sucking and the pressure of his tongue lifts me to a new level where bright shapes dance behind my eyes, where my entire body tingles from head to toe, and where I am wetter than I ever imagined possible.
I want this man. I need this man. Not just because he’s so ridiculously hot, but because he’s like me. He understands me. We both fought hard to earn the money we thought we needed. It might have been for different reasons, and he might have flown to massively greater financial heights than me, but we’ve comefrom similar places, similar mindsets, and are fired by similar motivations.
And it’s not only our minds that understand each other—our bodies do too.
Miller lifts his head from my breast and wraps his arms around my back in an embrace that brings my bare chest against his.
The full contact with his skin makes me gasp.
And then his hands are under my butt again and he stands up, holding me against him so that my legs wrap around his waist on instinct.
“Where are we going?” I ask, nuzzling into his hair. There’s something so incredibly hot about smelling your own shampoo on an amazing man.
He turns around and slowly lowers me onto the cot. “I thought here might be good.”
When he stands back up I am eye-level with his zipper and what is straining at the other side of it.
