Page 64 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“You have no idea,” I tell him.

He continues to massage for another minute or so before stopping. And for a moment, I think he’s done. Until–

“You know what would make this better?” he asks.

“What’s that?” I ask, and there goes my heart again, flip-flopping around in anticipation.

“If you took this off.” I can feel him tugging on the hem of my dress. And while I know where this is most likely headed, I honestly have no desire to stop it. Nothing has ever felt as good as this man’s hands on my body.

“I think you might be right,” I answer, and he slips his fingers under the strapless hem, tugging it down over my breasts, my hips and then all the way off, leaving me in nothing but a pair of powder pink, satin, seamless panties.

And even though I am lying on my stomach still, I swear I can feel his eyes running over my exposed curves.

Then he says the last thing I am expecting.

“I’ll be back.”

Be back? Where in the world could he possibly be going?

But before I can question it too much, he reappears and a moment later I feel warm oil on my spine along with the scent of bergamot.

“It may not be the E-suite, but it does have its perks,” he says as he massages the oil in. “Oils, soaps, lotions, candles.”

“Mm,” I respond because, honestly, it’s all I can manage right now. His hands glide over me with more ease now, up to my shoulders, down to the elastic of my panties. Then, his fingertips slide inside them, over the curve of my hips and butt, lower with each stroke.

Naturally, my thighs part in response to his touch. I can tell he wants to be rid of the panties altogether, so I slip them off, tossing them aside.

“You read my mind,” he says in a gritty voice. And before I can make a joke about just how dirty my mind is right now, his hands find me again, gliding from the top of my ass, over the curve of it and down between my legs.

“Oh…” I moan softly as his fingers run down and around the length of me before gliding back up. He does it again, more slowly this time but with more pressure, his fingers finding nerves they missed the first time, and my hips raise slightly into his touch.

Again and again, he strokes me, each time he unravels me a little more than the last. Yet, he makes a point of not quite giving me what I want with each touch. What I really need. Until he kisses the back of my neck and growls into my skin and says, “roll over.”

Chapter 23

Morgan

“Roll over,” I tell Scarlett, and she does, exposing the unseen places of her body that were hiding before.

Scarlett is gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. There is no other way to describe her. Every curve is perfect, unapologetically thick and soft and perfect. I let my eyes trail over her for a moment, simply taking her in before I touch her. When my eyes land on her navel, she covers it with her hands. Again and again, I tug her hands away.

“I can’t give you a massage if you cover yourself up,” I tell her.

I don’t know if she doesn’t want me looking at her stomach, or if she is worried about the birthmark, which I do recognize. It’s an elephant in the room that we are not strangers to one another’s bodies. An elephant we ignore. As I drizzle more oil over her and run my hands over her skin, we find it easier to ignore everything else.

“You are so beautiful,” I tell her, and Scarlett’s eyes flash open, meeting mine. But I only continue to massage, first around her neck and the tops of her shoulders. I am standing over her, looking down at her. As I press my thumbs into her tense nerves, her shoulders melt. Then, as I lean down over her, kissing her upside down, I feel the rest of her relax as well.

Our lips slowly part and I stand straight again, my hands traveling lower to the swell of her breasts. I take each of them in my hands, kneading them and toying with her nipples, making her gasp and shudder. They’re small, hard and perfectly pink. And oh so very sensitive, especially with the oil. I flick them with the tips of my fingers, and Scarlett squeezes her thighs together, bringing her knees upward as she wriggles on the bed in pleasure.

For a moment, I continue to tease. Palming the fullness of her breasts in my hands, tracing my thumbs up over her nipples again, tickling them until she unravels a little more, clenching the sheets in her fists.

Then I slowly travel south, over her navel and the familiar heart-shaped birthmark, and all around her pussy, which is neat but not bare. I move my hands over her hips and down her thighs. Each time, her hips rise in anticipation of my touch. Each time I come close, but not close enough. Until I do…

I run my hands over her, just above her pussy, teasing the nerves there. Then I glide my fingertips upward until they run behind her breasts and back down, lower with each run. Until finally, finally, I glide my fingers down the length of her.

“Yes,” she says, clearly in desperate need.

“You’re so wet,” I tell her.