Page 22 of The Billionaire Invitation

More moans of pleasure came from her parted mouth. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze, her pupils black with need. He made out the word “please” but she didn’t have to beg.

“How do you want it?” He slowed his fingers, purposefully flicking the sensitive bud. She shuddered beneath him. He grinned, wolfish. He had always loved how responsive she was to his touch, and how present he was when she was responding. It was heady, the power he had over her and she had over him.

An even exchange, wordless. Soul to soul.

“Now.” She sucked air through her teeth, her fingers on his shoulders clawing at his shirt. “I want it now.”

“That’s no fun,” he teased. “Don’t you want to enjoy yourself?”

“Please.” Her eyebrows tilted, her expression bordering desperate.

“How do you want it?” he repeated. “My fingers or my tongue?”

A surge of wet soaked his fingers as her eyes sank shut.

He had his answer. “One of each? Excellent choice.”

His hands wrapped around the waist of her pants. He pulled them from her legs while she kicked off her shoes. She toed his shirt. “Off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He made fast work of the buttons, turning the sleeves inside out as he freed himself from the button-down.

Bare chested, he positioned himself between her legs and yanked the gusset of her panties to one side. When his tongue hit her soft center, she drove her hips upward sharply, as if she was trying to get more of what he was offering.

No problem, honey.

He renewed his efforts as she came unglued. Her hands made their way to his head again. He thought she might pull out a handful of his hair the way she was grasping at it, but then he decided he didn’t care.

Her musky smell filled his nostrils, her taste consumed his mouth, and at once he felt the surge against his tongue as she cried out his name.

CHAPTER NINE

Her own sated shouts threatened to pull her from the ecstasy of her orgasm, but Honesty refused to allow reality to intrude so soon. She would ride out her satisfaction, and she would enjoy every nuanced second of it.

When her thighs were shaking and her breath was thin, only then did Dante ease her panties back over her bare skin, climb her body, and place two sweet kisses onto each of her breasts.

Then his naked chest was resting on hers, his nose nuzzling her cheek. “Better than any single bite of food I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

Her laugh was throaty, weak. She didn’t care if that made her transparent. She hummed when he rested his cheek against hers, her hand once again finding his hair and toying with its length. “You need a haircut.”

“I know. I got busy.”

“Some things never change.”

Only then did she sober. The conversation was so…them. A conversation they’d had back when they’d dated. He had always needed a haircut. He had always put off making an appointment. She had always pointed out when it’d been time to make one.

His expression showed no sign of that memory intruding. He leaned over and snagged a crostini and crunched into it, the honey dripping off the ricotta and trickling down his chin.

She licked it off, smooching his bottom lip when she was done. “Famished already?”

“Fueling up for the big one.” He nudged her center with what she knew for certain was his “big one.”

She propped herself up on her elbows and then ate the rest of the crostini when he fed it to her. When he offered a fig, she ate that too.

“Should we talk before—?” she started to ask.

“No.” He forked a buttery scallop and ate that next. “We should only do what feels great right now. We can talk after.”

“About…?”