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“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.

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