Page 27 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
I don’t need to be told twice. I thrust into her, slow and deliberate, watching her face as I fill her. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting on a soft gasp, and I feel her tight heat envelop me, her walls clenching around my cock like a glove. I groan, my head falling back, the sensation overwhelming.
“Fuck, Charli,” I pant. “You feel so good.”
She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I start to move, my hips snapping in a steady rhythm. Every stroke is matched with a kiss, a whispered word, a moan torn straight from her throat. She’s loud, her voice echoing off the walls, her body responsive and wild. I grab her hips, bruising her skin as I pound into her, my cock sliding in and out of her wet core.
“You like that, don’t you?” I growl, my voice harsh. “Me stretching you out. Filling you.”
“Yes,” she cries, her nails digging into my back. “Harder. Faster. Please.”
I give her what she wants, my thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. I’m close, so close, my balls tight and aching. I reach between us, my fingers finding her ball of nerves, and I rub in quick, firm circles, my thumb pressing down hard.
“Cum for me, Charli,” I demand, my voice a low growl. “Right now. Let me feel you fall apart.”
Her body tenses, her core clenching around me like a vice, and she screams my name as she shatters, her orgasm ripping through her like a tidal wave. Her juices flood around me, and I lose it, my control snapping like a rubber band. I thrust into her one last time, my cock pulsing as I empty myself deep inside her.
“Fuck,” I groan, my forehead dropping to hers, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Charli.”
When we finally collapse against each other, slick with sweat, breathing hard, I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her fingers trace lazy circles against my chest, and for a long time, neither of us says anything.
Because what could we possibly say?
This wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just release.
It was something else.
And we both know it.
The moonlight filters through the blinds, casting the room in a soft, silvery glow. Her breath evens out, her body relaxing against mine, and I feel her heartbeat slow, syncing with my own. The air is thick with the scent of our desire, the tang of sweat, and the faint floral notes of the hotel room.
I trace the curve of her shoulder with my fingertips, my thumb brushing the delicate skin of her arm. She hums softly, a contented sound that makes something in my chest ache. This moment, this quiet aftermath, feels heavier than the passion that preceded it. It’s not just the physical connection—it’s the emotional weight of what we’ve shared.
“Charli,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
She doesn’t answer and I realize that she’s fallen asleep on my chest. I brush a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering on her cheek. “You’re incredible,” I whisper to her before I can stop the words. Thankfully, she doesn’t hear me because I’m pretty sure that would freak her out and she might bolt on me.
Now, what do I do? Do I get up and leave the room? Do I wake her up and send her to her room? I’m so used to the one or two-night stands I’ve had over the last five years that it’s just a habit I have. Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am. Now get out.
But this time it is different. Charli is different. I don’t want to get up; I don’t want her to leave my bed. Actually, I want to lie perfectly still and let her use me as her pillow all night long.
So, the question is… why? What is the difference? The last time I let someone sleep on my chest, she left me waiting for her in an airport while she went away with another man. No note, no text, not a word. Just left me standing there like a fool.
I swore to myself I’d never be a fool again.
So, what is different now? Why do I want Charli here with me? Why does my stomach drop every time she looks at me? Why am I bending over backwards to make her life better?
For the last two hours, I’ve let these questions tangle up in my head until I can barely keep my eyes open. But I’ve decided not to fight this. I keep remembering what Ian told me, ‘Look, I’ve been where you are—overthinking every look, every moment, trying to make sense of something that hasn’t even had a chance to breathe yet. But trust me, that’s how you ruin it before it even begins. So, here’s what I’ve learned: go with it. Let it happen. Let it be messy or strange or unexpectedly good. Whatever it is, let it surprise you.’ So, that’s what I’m going to do.
Let it surprise me.
The next morning, I wake up before Charli. The early light seeps through the gauzy curtains, casting a golden hue across the sheets. She’s still curled up against me, one arm flung over my chest, her breath soft and even. Her hair is a tousled halo against me, and her legs are tangled with mine beneath the sheets.
I don’t move. Don’t want to. For once, I don’t feel the familiar itch to get up and start checking emails or reviewing project updates. All I want to do is lie here and memorize this moment.
But I can’t help myself. My brain spins plans for the day. I want to give her a perfect one—something she'll never forget. We leave tomorrow, but today is ours.
Snorkeling. There’s a reef close to the cove where the water is crystal clear and filled with bright, tropical fish. I can already imagine Charli in a turquoise bikini, her laugh echoing across the waves as she pops up beside me, mask askew and eyes wide with delight.
Maybe parasailing. She’ll pretend she’s scared, maybe even say no at first—but I have a feeling once we’re up there, floating above the island with nothing but blue sky and ocean in every direction, she’ll fall in love with it. Just like I’m falling for her.
