The Wrong Wife (Morally Grey Billionaires #5)(64)

"You do," she murmurs.

"You need to release me."

"I don’t wanna."

I smile; so does she. We look into each other’s eyes, and a warmth invades my chest. For the first time since I returned from being held captive, I feel alive.

Then Tiny plants his butt down on the floor and barks. She looks at him. "Poor baby, he really is hungry."

I frown. Am I really going to be envious about the tenderness in her eyes when she talks about the mutt?

She notices me glaring at her and widens her gaze. "What?"

I shake my head, then step back so she has no choice but to release her hold on me. I miss her instantly, and fuck me, but this is not something I counted on. I brought her home because… No way, was I going to allow her to be anywhere else today. And now that she’s here, it’s clear she belongs here at my side, and it’s evoking emotions I’m not sure how I feel about.

I stab my finger at her. "Stay." Then pivot and head for the shelf where I stock the dog food. I top up Tiny’s bowls with the chow and water and can’t resist scratching him behind his ear before I turn and stalk back to her. She’s looking at me with a slight smile on her face, and there’s this look in her eyes, something that makes the back of my neck heat. "What?" I growl.

She shakes her head.

I prowl up to her, then plant my hands on either side of her thighs on the counter. "Something you want to tell me?"

"If I do, you won’t like it."

"Try me."

She places her hand over my heart, and my breathing grows shallow. My balls tighten, and fuck me, never has anyone’s touch affected me like this. "You’re a good man, Sir. A tough man. A man who’s been through a lot and who’s still standing and taking life one day at a time. Your strength, your protective instincts, and your need to do the right thing is the sexiest thing about you."

Jesus, this woman. Her words cut me to the bone like a laser saw. I straighten, then laugh without humor. "You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me. If you think I’m intent on doing the right thing, you’re mistaken."

"I’m not. However much you insist otherwise, I know the truth. I see you, Sir. I see you more clearly than I see myself and that’s"—she looks to the side, then back at me—"that’s scary as hell."

Me, too, Little Dove. I’m fucking scared about what this feeling is that grows between the two of us only, I’m too scared to say it aloud. Instead, I cup her cheek and drag my thumb over her lower lip. "Not as scary as the things I’m going to do to your body."

She flushes, and her pupils dilate. The pulse at the base of her throat speeds up, and everything within me insists I throw her down on the ground, part her thighs, and bury myself inside her hot, tight cunt. Instead, I hook my fingers into the neckline of her camisole and tug.





36





Penny





The cloth tears down the middle, and I yelp. He doesn’t stop there. He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a knife, then slides it under the center of my bra. He twists his wrist, and the lace snaps. My tits spill out. I suck in a breath from between my lips, and my chest heaves. He stares at my breasts for a second, another. Goosebumps flare across my skin. My core weeps. I squeeze my thighs together, and he drops his gaze there.

As if I reminded him of what he wanted to do next, he slips the blade under the waistband of my skirt and snips—the material splits down the middle. He places the knife aside, then grips the two ends of the skirt, and in one swoop, tears it down the center.

I cry out; I can’t stop myself. This man is so strong, the brute force trapped in his body has never been more evident than it is today. My pulse rate speeds up. My throat dries. All that manliness, all that alphaholeness concentrated under his skin, and I’m going to be at the receiving end of it.

Will I survive this encounter? Does it matter if I don’t?

To feel his body on mine, his palm-prints on my skin, his breath on my cheek, the rough hair of his thighs scraping against mine, his fingers inside me, his cock, his tongue, his eyelashes tangled with mine… To be his would be heaven and hell and everything in between, and I want it more than I can say.

He reaches for the waistband of my panties and tugs. The fabric gives way so quickly, it’s easy to forget it’s because of the power locked in his muscles, his tendons, his flesh—that I want to mark as thoroughly as he will mine. I raise my hand to cup his cheek, but he catches my wrist and twists my hand behind my back. Then the other. He drags his gaze down my naked breasts to the triangle between my legs. "You’re so beautiful, I want to eat you up."

I swallow.

"I want to lick your pussy and suck on your clit, then stab my tongue inside your slit. I want to stuff my fingers inside you and ensure you’re stretched enough to receive my cock. I want to suckle on your tits and twist your nipples and violate the hole between your ass cheeks."

My stomach flutters, and my toes curl. My skin feels so sensitive that if he touches me now, I’m going to burst into a million tiny sparks.

"I want to wrap my fingers around your throat"—he drags his fingers around my neckline, and I shiver—"and squeeze so you get enough oxygen to fuel the building orgasm in you… slowly… slowly"—he cups the nape of my neck—"to the edge, so when I bury myself inside of you, you’ll beg to come. But I won’t let you."