Page 78 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“What are you doing?” she whisper-yells.

I ignore her. Because I’m done. The only thing that makes me more furious than the comments I’ve deleted on the beach post is the same comments coming from her own mouth.

“Look at yourself,” I tell her, my lips brushing against her ear as I hold her against me. “I want you to look at every inch of your body.”

“Morgan,” she whispers with urgency as my hands run over every curve of her. “Morgan, we can’t do this in here.”

I ignore her.

“This is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen on you,” I tell her as I run my hands over the fabric of the top. I grip her breasts in my hands, showing off the fullness of her cleavage.

“I just…I’m not–” she stutters because while she is still dead set on her thinking, she also can’t control herself when I touch her like this, a fact that makes me even harder in my pants.

“Not what?” I ask.

“Things like this aren’t made for bodies like mine,” she says.

“Bodies like yours?” I echo. “I’m sorry, but what part of your body?” I ask. “Your breasts? Because they look phenomenal, don’t you think?” As I ask the question, I run my thumbs over her nipples, making them hard through the material. It makes her squirm, her ass dancing against my hips, accentuating her hips even more. And speaking of that…

After teasing her nipples enough to make her bite down on her bottom lip and bring color to her cheeks, I glide my hands down her torso, running them over her hips and down between her thighs, then back up again.

Scarlett arches her back, her head falling against my chest, and my hands come closer and closer to her pussy with each pass.

“Morgan…” she whispers. “We can’t…you can’t…”

“Look at yourself,” I cut her off, sliding one hand over her pussy and cupping it through the fabric. My other arm is still holding her against me, my hand on her breast, thumb caressing her nipple. “I want you to see what I see. Feel what I feel.”

I rub my palm over her firmly, and she gasps, then covers her mouth with her hand.

“You want me to stop?” I ask, slipping my middle finger inside the swimsuit bottoms and finding her opening. Scarlett shakes her head, her hand still on her mouth. “If you don’t want me to stop, then I want you to stop,” I tell her, grinding my hand against her pussy while my finger swirls inside of her. “Stop putting yourself down. Stop being afraid to look in the mirror. Stop seeing your curves as a bad thing.”

I rub my palm against her hard and fast, all while driving my finger deeper and harder inside her. As Scarlett moans into her hand, her body shakes against mine, every curve of her moving with the pleasure of desire. As she dances in place against me, I groan at the sight. At the feeling of her watching me pleasure her. At the feeling of her body grinding involuntarily against mine.

Her moans become higher, louder despite her attempt to stifle them, and I can feel her losing control in my arms. Then I feel the orgasm tearing through her, wave after wave. Scarlett whimpers and her hips convulse against me, nearly getting me off as well as her body goes soft in my arms.

I steady her and let go. Then, as she removes her hand, panting and bracing her hand on the wall, I snag the tag off the swimsuit and open the door.

“We will be buying this, thank you,” I say before leaving her to collect herself.

I pay for the suit and wait for her to get dressed again, knowing it’s going to take a moment. In the meantime, I think back to the bucket list and make a mental note to cross off a few.

Become a full-time, financially stable travel journalist/blogger

Visit ALL the beaches. Beaches are officially my love language.

Forget tourist trap 5-star dining. Cook with the locals. Eat what they eat. Make friends!

Go swimming in the wild! No crowded beaches or fancy pools.

Help baby sea turtles into the ocean.

Wear a bikini. Not hate it.

Have sex under the stars.

Go to the House of Blues

Fall in love in New York City.