Page 178 of The Rebel Billionaire

I pull a condom from my pocket, unzip and free myself, swiftly sheathing my cock.

“Are you ready for me?” I ask.

“More than ready,” she says, pressing her arse back against me.

I grip her hips and line myself up, pressing forward into her welcoming depths. Her muscles contract around me as I take my time, savouring the feel and every centimetre.

We both moan when I bottom out.

“Oh my God, that feels so deep,” she says breathlessly.

I lean forward and press a kiss against her neck.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she says, twisting her hips and beginning the dance between us.

I pull back slowly, torturing us both, before pressing home again, I keep the rhythm measured at first, until she’s pushing back against me, and the sound of our bodies meeting echoes around my home office. Her muscles contract, making me close my eyes.

I slide a hand around her front, finding the tight bud of nerves and flicking and circling it with my fingers, coating it in her arousal.

“Alessandro, I’m going to come,” she says desperately, her breath now coming in pants.

“Let go, beautiful,” I say, watching as her muscles lock beneath me and her pussy clasps me in a vice-like grip.

“Fuck!” I yell, picking up my pace, riding her through her orgasm, straight into my own.

My balls tighten, and I freeze, cum shooting from my body with more force than I’ve ever experienced.

“I’m never going to look at this space the same way again,” I groan, withdrawing and disposing of the condom, before sitting down and pulling her into my lap.

“It could be worse. It could be your office desk at St Clair.”

I run a hand down my face. “Now you’ve put thoughts in my head,” I say, making her tut.

“Not me, you just have a dirty mind.” She grins.

The picture myself bending her over my desk and sliding between her silky folds while the rest of the office goes about its daily business.

Heaven help me, I’m done for.

“And who’s to blame?”

“Definitely me, sorry, not sorry,” she says, sucking on my bottom lip, my cock springing back to life.

It’s like I’ve become insatiable.

We pull on our clothes. “Come on, we’re on the last twenty, then we’re done,” she says, and I’m beginning to wonder if she’s more of a taskmaster than I am.

“I’ll be sending the French and Italian packs back to the printers to get them amended,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her waist as we stare down at the files that have been both a blessing and a curse. Without them, we may not have taken this step, but I, and every part of my aching body, am over them.

“Fine by me,” she says, turning and patting my chest, her hand resting above my heart. “I’ll get them couriered as soon as the updated versions arrive back from the printers.”

This is the crux. I’m leaving tomorrow and will be gone for three weeks. First to London, then on to Milan, and finally Paris. In London, I’ll be staying with Enzo, in Milan and Paris, I’ll stay at the hotels Brooke has arranged.

We haven’t mentioned what that separation means for us. I need to be prepared for the fact that when I return, she’ll have seen sense and decided that starting something is not a good idea.

“I can hear your brain whirling,” she says.