My Divorce Came With a Billionaire

Episode 3

Ninette's POV

His hands gripped my hips as he pressed his face against my stomach, kissing the soft flesh there like it was precious. Every touch felt like worship, like he was trying to memorize me through his fingertips. He hooked his fingers into my underwear and dragged them down my legs slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I stepped out of them, completely naked except for my bra, standing in front of this stranger who was still fully dressed in his expensive suit. The power imbalance should have made me feel vulnerable. Instead, it made me feel powerful.

His hands slid up my thighs, spreading them slightly. Then his mouth was on me, and I stopped thinking altogether.

I gasped, my head falling back against the door with a soft thud. His tongue moved with precision, finding spots I didn't know could feel like this. Damein had never done this, said it wasn't his thing, and I had accepted it like I accepted everything else about my disappointing s*x life.

But this stranger devoured me like I was the best meal he had ever had.

My fingers tangled in his dark hair, holding on for dear life as pleasure built in waves. He added a finger, then two, curling them inside me while his mouth worked magic. I heard myself making sounds I'd never made before, desperate and needy and completely shameless.

When the orgasm hit, it shattered me. I cried out, my legs shaking so badly he had to hold me up. He didn't stop until I was whimpering from oversensitivity, until I was pulling at his hair to make him ease up.

He rose to his feet in one swift move, his lips glistening with evidence of what he had just done. He kissed me hard, and I could taste myself on his tongue. It should have been strange. Instead, it was the most erotic thing I'd ever experienced.

"Bed," he said against my mouth. "Now."

I stumbled toward the king-sized bed on shaky legs. He followed, shedding his jacket and loosening his tie. I watched him undress with my heart pounding. When his shirt came off, I saw a body built from hours in the gym, all defined muscles and golden skin.

Then his pants joined the growing pile of expensive clothes on the floor, and I saw exactly what I was dealing with.

He was big. Intimidatingly so and for a second, doubt crept in. Damein had always complained that I wasn't enthusiastic enough in bed, that I didn't know how to please him. What if this stranger realized I was bad at this? What if…

"Stop," he said firmly, climbing onto the bed and caging me beneath his body. "I can see you thinking, and whatever you're thinking is wrong. You're perfect. This is going to be perfect."

He kissed me again, slower this time but no less intense. His body pressed against mine, skin to skin, and the feeling was overwhelming. His hand snaked between us, positioning himself at my entrance.

"Protection?" I managed to ask, my brain briefly engaging despite the tequila and lust.

He reached for his pants and pulled out a condom from his wallet. I watched him roll it on, mesmerized by the casual competence of his movements.

Then he was pushing inside me, and the stretch was intense and perfect and nothing like the rushed mechanical s*x I'd gotten used to. He went slow despite the tension I could see in his jaw, giving me time to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort.

"Okay?" he asked when he was fully seated inside me.

"More than okay."

That was all the permission he needed. He started moving, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in deep. The thrust was deliberate, controlled, hitting spots inside me that made my eyes roll back.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I did. His gray eyes were molten, burning with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"That's it. I want to see you when you come apart."

He shifted the angle, and suddenly every thrust hit that perfect spot. I grabbed his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. The pleasure was building again, faster this time, spiraling higher and higher.

"Please," I heard myself beg, though I wasn't sure what I was asking for.

He understood anyway. His hand moved between us, finding my sensitive flesh and circling with just the right amount of pressure. The combination was too much. I came with a cry that probably echoed through the entire floor, my body clenching around him in waves.

He followed right after, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and groaned a name he had given me in his head.

We collapsed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving chests. For several minutes, neither of us moved. I could feel his heart pounding against my ribs, could feel the aftershocks still rippling through my body.

This was supposed to be it. One and done. Scratch the itch and move on.

But when he finally pulled out and disposed of the condom, he came back to bed. He pulled me against his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.

"What's your name?" I asked, my voice sleepy from the tequila and the best orgasms of my life.

"Does it matter?" he murmured against my hair.

"I guess not."

We lay there in comfortable silence. His hand continued its gentle exploration of my body, like he was memorizing every curve, every dip, every inch of skin. It felt intimate in a way s*x with Damein had never been.

After a while, his hand moved lower, dipping between my thighs again. I gasped as his fingers found me still sensitive and swollen.

"Again?" I asked.

"Again." His voice was firm. "I'm not done worshipping this body. Not even close."

This time, he took me to the window. The curtains were open, the city glittering below us like a carpet of stars. He bent me over, my palms pressed flat against the cool glass, and entered me from behind. This time without a condom.

The position was deeper and every thrust made my breath fog the window. He gripped my hips hard enough to leave bruises, and the slight pain mixed with pleasure in a way that made my eyes roll back.

"Touch yourself," he ordered, his voice rough with exertion.

I did, my fingers working in time with his thrusts. The feeling of being displayed against the window, of the whole city below us while this stranger took me apart piece by piece, was intoxicating.

When I came this time, I screamed his name even though I still didn't know it. He followed moments later with a groan that sounded like it had been ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

We showered together after that. He washed my hair with gentle hands, his fingers massaging my scalp until I was practically purring. Then he dried me off with one of the plush hotel towels and carried me back to bed.

"One more," he said, laying me down on the silk sheets.

"I can't," I protested weakly. "I'm too sensitive."

"You can." He settled between my thighs, his mouth finding me again. "Trust me."

He was right. He worked me slowly this time, patiently, using his tongue and fingers until I was writhing beneath him. When he finally pushed inside me again, the stretch felt different, more intense somehow.

This time, he made love to me. There was no other word for it. He moved slowly, deeply, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. He whispered things against my throat that I couldn't quite hear but felt in my bones.

When we came together, it felt like something broke open inside my chest. I cried, real tears that I couldn't hold back anymore. He held me through it, stroking my hair, murmuring soothing words that I couldn't quite make out.

Eventually, exhaustion won. I fell asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling safer and more valued than I had in years.

When I woke up, morning light was streaming through the windows I'd forgotten to cover. My body ached in the best way, muscles I didn't know I had protesting from last night's activities.

I reached for him, my hand searching for the warmth of his body, but he wasn't there.

I sat up, my heart sinking. The bed beside me was empty and cold, like he'd been gone for hours. I looked around the room frantically. His clothes were gone. His shoes, his wallet, everything was gone.

No note on the pillow. No number on the nightstand. Just the lingering scent of his cologne and the marks he'd left on my body.

He was gone like he'd never existed at all.

I pulled the sheets up to my chest and tried to tell myself this was fine. This was always going to be a one-night thing. I knew that going in. So why did my chest feel like someone had carved out my heart with a rusty spoon?

My phone buzzed from where I'd thrown it yesterday. I picked it up, saw seventeen new messages from Damein, and threw it back down without reading them.

I needed to figure out what came next. I needed to find a divorce lawyer. I needed to get my life together.

But right now, all I could do was sit in this hotel bed and try to remember what it felt like to be worshipped, because something told me I wouldn't feel that way again for a very long time.