Page 14 of Big Billionaire

“You feel so good, baby,” I murmur, kissing her forehead.

“You do too,” she whispers.

I can’t hold back any longer. I plunge inside her, deep into that maddening clutch, that heat. Lena moans, her fingers digging into the skin of my shoulders.

“Yes!” she gasps, her breath hot against my face.

I pull out and thrust into her again, swallowing her moan with my mouth against hers, our lips pressed tightly together in a passionate kiss. My tongue invades her mouth in time with my thrusts, and each time I enter her I feel like I’m somehow claiming her more fully.

Our bodies are joined as tightly as they can be and yet I want her closer, want to bury myself in her tight virgin heat until the end of time.

I continue to fuck her. Hard and fast. Each thrust driving me closer to the edge of insanity. I don’t care. The pleasure is insane, indescribable…like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

I grip the sheets tighter, throwing my head back with a growl as her muscles tighten impossibly around my length. She’s comingagain, around my cock, and this time I’m right behind her, spilling into her warmth, filling her with my essence.

“Oh, baby,” I growl as she puts her lips against my ear, whispering my name over and over, like a prayer. “My perfect baby girl.”

I stay inside her for a long while, our arms around each other and our breaths in sync until we fall asleep.

***

The next morning, I wake up with an unfamiliar but welcome lightness in my chest. For the first time in years, my bed doesn’t feel cold. Her scent lingers on the sheets, warm vanilla and something uniquely Lena. My hand instinctively reaches across the mattress, but it’s empty.

My chest tightens. Irrational, I know, but still.

I push up, run a hand through my hair, and stride out of the bedroom. It doesn’t take long to find her.

She’s in the living room, dancing barefoot. The hem of my black button-up shirt skims her thighs as she moves across the polished floor. Her arms arc gracefully, her body turning with liquid precision. She doesn’t notice me yet, completely lost in the music only she seems to hear.

I lean against the doorframe, silent. Just watching.

Christ. She’s…breathtaking.

Not because she’s perfect—though she is—but because shefeelsevery movement. Like the music lives in her veins. It’s the same thing that drew me in the first time I saw her dance. The same thing that’s kept me awake too many nights since.

She spins, her dark braid whipping over her shoulder, and then she sees me.

Her steps falter, a blush crawling up her cheeks. “You’re staring.”

“Guilty,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.

Instead of retreating, she smiles shyly and holds out a hand. “Dance with me?”

I hesitate. Dancing isn’t my world. I build, command, conquer. I don’t waltz around my living room at eight in the morning.

But then she tilts her head, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Afraid you’ll step on my toes?”

Damn tease.

I push off the frame and close the distance. “You’re trouble, firefly,” I murmur, taking her hand in mine.

Her fingers are warm, delicate against my palm. She places my other hand at her waist and I fight the urge to drag her closer.

“Just follow me,” she whispers, guiding me through slow, easy steps. Her body fits against mine like it was made for it.

“I thought you left,” I say, tightening my arm around her waist and pressing her body closer to mine.

The thought bothered me more than I’m willing to admit.