Dirty Billionaire (The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy, #1)

by Meghan March

Books talk about sparks flying. Screw that. With her, it was like emergency flares mixed with jet fuel.

I want her on her knees, those wide brown eyes staring up at me as I cup her jaw and thrust my cock between those lush red lips.

Her quiet moan goes straight to my balls. I rock into her, my cock pressing against her pussy. She whimpers and bucks against me, her instincts coming on strong, despite her innocence.

“I’m going to rip those flimsy little panties right off you and eat that juicy cunt for dessert.”

The anticipation is almost a tangible thing.

This man owns every one of my senses, and I lose myself to his forbidden touches as he forces me higher and higher until I shatter.

“Just give me a chance to show you what I mean, Holly. I don’t want a docile little Barbie doll. I still want your spark and your fire. I don’t want to tame it; I just want to guide it. And at the same time, I’ll take every burden that’s been weighing you down, and make them mine.”

I’m not used to any of this. Not used to him.

I could happily stay inside her forever. Get me a phone with a never-ending battery life and I could do my business right here, while I give her the business.

She also has invisible scars and insecurities that I need a map to navigate without triggering.

“There are no other men when it comes to you, do you understand me, Holly? None. You belong to me.” Whoa. Holy possessive alpha-male alert, Batman.

Me and Creighton Karas. My husband.