Page 52 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

“Kaled, we’re not sure when we’ll go to the U.S., right?”

“No. I’m doing everything I can to speed up the process.”

“I’d like to call my mother...if that’s possible. I mean, only if she’s well enough.”

Her tone carries apology, as though she has no right to ask. And that makes me hate everyone who broke her spirit this way.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes.”

Hours later

“You’re not coming into the fitting room with me.”

I stand in the doorway, watching her. She looks nervous but also excited, even as she takes a step back.

I dismissed the saleswoman after my fiancée tried on and chose a dozen dresses for different occasions, but there is one left, and she can’t reach the zipper on her back.

“You need help, and I’m here. So why not?”

“Because it’s not proper,” she says, cheeks flushed.

I’ve spent the past three hours behaving like a gentleman, suffering through an ache that refuses to subside while imagining my future wife naked, or in the sheerest lingerie, behind that dark green velvet curtain.

The fitting room is large enough to hold six people, with plush chairs scattered around.

“Turn around, Adeela. It’s just a zipper. What could possibly be wrong with helping you get dressed?”

“You made it sound like something far more than that, Prince,” she says with a hint of sass, and that drives me insane.

I pull the curtain closed behind us and step closer. “If it’s nothing, then be a good girl and turn around.”

She hesitates, then gathers her long hair into a loose bun, holding it up with one hand, and turns her back to me.

The dress is a pale color, modest in front, but from behind, it clings to her like a second skin, sculpting every curve.

I don’t even bother to hide that I’m staring. The rounded shape of her hips, the narrow waist, the smooth expanse of her back...

When I finally let my fingers touch her skin, she’s burning. I meet her eyes in the mirror. She’s watching me, one hand still holding up her hair, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck.

Without looking away, I reach for the zipper...but I don’t pull it up.

She’s trembling, and knowing that my nearness alone makes her shake only fuels my hunger. I want to strip away the layers, not just of fabric but of the shy girl hiding the passionate woman beneath.

My thumb grazes her skin. Her body arches. Her lips part.

I slide one hand around her waist, pulling her back against me, while the other tilts her chin toward the mirror.

“Look at us,” I murmur, and she obeys. “I’m going to have a mirror three times this size installed in our bedroom. In every bedroom we ever own. When you’re mine, I’ll undress you in front of it, taste you with my tongue and my fingers.”

She gasps, a pulse beating visibly in her neck.

“I’ll make you come like that, watching while I worship every inch of you. And only when your sweetness fills my mouth will I take you from behind, so you can see how perfect we are together and never forget what it feels like to have me inside you.”

Her hand falls, releasing her hair. She turns in my arms, eyes wide with passion.