Page 39 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

I was about to lose my mind when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and slid the panties off, tossing them to thefloor without looking away from me in a way that destroyed me. He knelt between my legs, gaze fixed on me like I was something holy.

He bent and kissed me there, a single soft press that made my breath stutter. Then his tongue was on me, slow and languid, licking up and down the length of me, then circling my clit with infuriating gentleness. He alternated between long, flat swipes and sharp, flicking pulses, never settling into a pattern, never giving me enough.

I buried my hands in his hair, gripping tight, trying to force him closer, but he just laughed, an actual laugh, muffled by my body, and then sucked my clit, surprising me with pleasure so much I nearly screamed.

He worked me with his mouth until I was shaking, hips bucking, thighs threatening to close around his head. He held me open, relentless, and when he slid two fingers inside me, I thought I might die.

The orgasm hit fast and brutal, a shockwave that left me thrashing, sobbing his name, tears leaking down my cheeks. He didn’t stop, not even when I begged, not even when I was too sensitive to bear it. He licked me through the aftershocks, coaxing another orgasm from me before I could even catch my breath.

When he finally pulled away, his mouth was wet, chin shiny, eyes wild. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, then crawled up the bed, caging me with his arms.

He kissed me again, slow this time, and I tasted myself on his tongue. The sensation made me moan, made my whole body melt.

Then the world shifted. He rolled onto his back, dragging me with him, and settled me astride his hips. His cock pressed against me, thick and hard, straining the front of his pants. I ground down on him, desperate, and he bucked up, matchingmy rhythm. I didn’t even care that I was probably ruining his expensive slacks.

He yanked at his belt, cursing when it caught. I laughed, delirious, and helped him unfasten it, then unzipped and freed him. It was…intimidating. Long, thick, flushed at the tip, a pearly drop beaded at the top. I stared, suddenly nervous, but he caught my chin and forced me to meet his gaze.

“You can stop,” he said, voice a rasp.

I shook my head. “I want you.”

He exhaled, long and shaking. “Then take me.”

I wrapped my hand around him, pumping once, twice, then adjusted myself and lowered on him, slow and easy. He didn’t push, didn’t hurry; he let me set the pace. I sank down, slow, feeling the delicious sense of fullness as he stretched me. It hurt, but it was good, better than good, and when I bottomed out, I thought I’d never felt so full in my life.

He groaned, hands gripping my hips, thumbs digging in. “Fuck, Eden.”

I rocked, experimenting, and the friction made my eyes roll back. He thrust up, careful at first, but I wanted it rough, wanted to feel him everywhere, so I slammed down, hard, and he lost control.

He fucked me like he was trying to erase every other man – and there weren’t many - from my memory. He grabbed my ass, angled me just so, and drove into me until I felt dazed and amazing. I clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, and rode him with everything I had.

But he seemed to have other ideas. He rolled us, pinned me beneath him, and fucked me deeper, harder, grinding his pelvis against my clit until I was sobbing, begging, pleading for more. He kissed me through it, murmuring my name, telling me I was perfect, that I was his, that he’d never let me go.

The next orgasm was blinding. I screamed, shaking, and he followed, roaring as he came, spilling inside me, shuddering so hard the bed rattled.

We lay tangled together, sweaty and raw, bodies still joined, neither of us willing to move.

He stroked my hair, breathing hard. “You’re a menace,” he said, but there was no anger in it, just awe.

I nuzzled his chest, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He laughed, soft and genuine, and held me tighter.

For the first time, I felt safe. Wanted. Like I belonged here, in this room, in this house, with him.

I knew it was an illusion. I knew there would be hell to pay tomorrow.

But for now, I let myself believe it.

I didn’t dream, just woke with the early sunlight, tangled in navy sheets, naked, limbs a tangle of soreness and afterglow. Gareth was already up, of course, I swore he never slept for more than four hours, his body apparently powered by rage and black coffee. The space next to me still held his warmth, but he was gone, replaced by a perfectly laid out outfit and a note in his handwriting: “Breakfast at 9. -G.”

No hearts. No smiley faces. I rolled my eyes at the ceiling, but my chest was a mess of squirming, giddy things.

I tried to get dressed, but every move reminded me of the night before: the marks on my hips, the way my legs trembled when I stood, the insistent ache between my thighs. My first coherent thought was, worth it.

The next was, you’re an idiot.

I showered, twice, because I couldn’t get the intoxicating smell of him off me, and dressed, thankful the clothes he’d given me were not flashy or showy. When I stepped into the hallway,I was sure everyone would know. That I’d have a neon sign over my head that read: I fucked the boss and I’ll do it again.