My hands find his shirt. Tug at the hem. He breaks the kiss long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside.
Hello, abs.
When your boss is secretly hiding a six-pack under all those chef whites.
Well, with all the Jiu-Jitsu he does, I’d expect no less...
I let my hands explore. The hard planes of his chest. The ridges of muscle at his sides. The way his breath hitches when my fingers trace the line of his hip bones.
“Jess.” My name sounds wrecked already on his lips. “Let me.”
“Let you what?” I ask breathlessly.
“Worship you.” His hands slide under my sweater. “Properly. The way you deserve.”
Oh.
Oh wow.
He lifts the sweater over my head. Drops it on top of his shirt. Then his hands are at the clasp of my bra and that falls away too.
Cool air hits my skin. I fight the urge to covermyself because body image issues are real and also I ate like three servings of pasta at dinner.
But he’s looking at me like I’m art. Like I’m something precious and perfect instead of a curvy former influencer with insecurities.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Every fucking inch of you.”
His hands skim my waist. Thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. Then he’s kneeling in front of me and my brain short-circuits because... well... the view. This gorgeous billionaire on his knees looking up at me like I’m Aphrodite reborn.
A contented sigh reaches my lips.
How is this my life?
He unbuttons my jeans. Slides them down my hips along with my underwear. Helps me step out of them until I’m completely naked and he’s still half-dressed and somehow that makes it hotter.
“Lie down,” he says. Not a command. An invitation.
I lower myself to the rug. The dim fire’s warmth kisses my skin on one side while the rest of me shivers with anticipation.
He settles between my legs. His hands find my thighs, pushing them wider.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says.
“I won’t.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I’ll tell you.” My voice shakes. “Promise.”
“Good girl.”
There it is.
Those two words that turn my brain to mush.
Then his mouth is on me and I forget how to thinkentirely.
He starts slow. So slow it’s almost torture. His tongue traces patterns that make my hips lift off the rug. His hands hold me steady. Keep me where he wants me.
