“We’re going to be late…” I murmured, eyes closed, as he traced his fingers along the top of my breasts and gently nibbled my earlobe.
“We’ll be fashionably late.”
“We can’t…”
“What good is it being a billionaire if you can’t make love to your wife and be a little late?” he whispered.
Make love to your wife.
I was a goner.
“Ohhhh,” I sighed blissfully as his fingers removed the spaghetti straps from my shoulders, and my little black dress fell to the floor.