Page 61 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

Her restless little hand doesn’t stop moving, hips rolling in unconscious rhythm.

“I need more than this,” she confesses.

A thin layer of sweat covers her forehead, and witnessing her desire steals what’s left of my sanity.

“I can make it better.”

I kneel a few inches from her now, her scent intoxicating me, the sight of her dark hair stirring something primitive inside me.

Without asking permission, I remove her lingerie completely and bring the hand she used to touch herself to my mouth.

Her fingers are slick and sweet with her pleasure.

She gasps when she sees me sucking them.

I’ve gone far beyond the point of restraint and pull one of her legs over my shoulder.

She moves closer to the edge of the bed, and knowing her desire is stronger than her fear of the unknown strips away any hint of control I still had. I part the lips of her pussy and run my thumb over her clit. She lies back, her free leg bent.

Adeela seems as thirsty for pleasure as I am, and I can’t resist anymore.

I trace a path with my lips from her knee to her pussy, never stopping the motion of my thumb.

I take a moment just to look at her, relying on every ounce of experience not to lose myself in the desire. Tonight is only the beginning of her universe of discoveries.

“Please,” she begs.

I bite her inner thigh lightly, and her hands slide into my hair, her body moving on the bed.

My fingers dig into her skin while my hungry mouth searches for the sweetness she offers me.

I drink her excitement, taking everything she gives, committed to making her cry out as she discovers herself as a woman for the first time.

My tongue explores her slick folds, teasing the untouched flesh, my teeth grazing her most sensitive point.

I know the exact moment she begins to fall apart, her body trembling, sending me a message that builds painful anticipation.

In that instant, her desire becomes mine. I could spend the rest of my days devoted to making her lose herself in my arms.

With each whimper and moan, Adeela pulls me deeper into her world. The eroticism of our act isn’t only in thepleasure of seeing her taken by lust, but in how connected I feel, something I’ve never experienced with another woman.

I open my mouth, trying to reach every part, drawing from her endlessly, sucking gently as my finger, carefully, replaces my tongue.

When her spasms begin, I wish there were a camera to capture it so I could relive the moment again and again.

I don’t stop until the last drop of her pleasure is mine, and even then, I spend a little longer tending to her, like a cat finishing its bowl of milk.

Her legs relax, and I climb onto the bed. I pull her dress down to cover the tempting sight of her bare body. After lying beside her, I draw her into my arms.

I can’t relax. Not because my desire hasn’t been satisfied but because I’m trying to piece together what just happened.

While my mind races, the beautiful woman, my woman, surrenders to post-orgasmic sleep, unaware that tonight, at least, the teacher became the student of her pleasure.

It’s already past midnight when we leave the cabin, and the party that was still going on when we came in is nothing but a memory now.

She can barely stand from exhaustion, so I lift her in my arms to leave the marina as quickly as possible. I don’t want torisk any paparazzi catching sight of her in my arms at this hour. I have no doubt it would end up on the covers of dozens of celebrity magazines.

What for a normal couple would be nothing out of the ordinary—a man out late at night with his fiancée after a party—could for us, raised in a less permissive culture, cause quite a stir among our people.