The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 110

Aveline

After a long, hot shower, I felt considerably more refreshed. The warm water had washed away the lingering scent of alcohol and smoke from the bar, and for a moment, I could almost pretend the entire evening had been some bizarre nightmare.

But as I slipped into the soft silk pajamas that Mitchell had thoughtfully provided, the reality of why I was here came flooding back with uncomfortable clarity.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I was going to march upstairs and demand answers from Orion Blackwell.

I settled into the plush armchair by the window, brushing my damp hair as I stared out at the city lights. The truth was becoming harder and harder to ignore. I had stayed because I needed to understand what had happened in that bar. I needed to know why Orion had kissed me like that, why he'd looked at me with such desperate intensity.

And if I was being completely honest with myself, I needed to understand my own reaction.

The memory of that kiss sent a dangerous, liquid heat pooling low in my belly. I hated that he'd kissed me, hated his arrogant assumption. But my body, the traitor, remembered differently. I shifted uncomfortably in the chair as a tell-tale slickness bloomed between my thighs. My core clenched with a shameful, undeniable wetness at the mere thought of his mouth on mine.

I had melted. My mind screamed no, but my pussy had wept for him.

The way his tongue had moved against mine, the desperate hunger in his kiss, the possessive strength of his hands holding me exactly where he wanted me—it had awakened a deep, carnal ache I'd been suppressing for weeks.

"Don't be fooled by a man's body," I muttered to myself, shaking my head firmly. "You're just sexually frustrated."

That had to be it. His perfect physique, those intense dark eyes—add in the dangerous, predatory edge he'd shown tonight, and it was no wonder my body had responded. It was purely physical. Biology. Nothing more.

But even as I told myself this, my pulse quickened, and I could feel the damp heat between my legs intensify.

I forced myself to push those thoughts away. With a final resolution to confront him, I finally managed to fall asleep.

But my dreams had other plans.

In the hazy world of sleep, the boundaries between anger and desire dissolved completely. I found myself back in that bar, but it was empty, silent, lit by a single spotlight that held the two of us. This time when Orion kissed me, I didn't just fail to pull away. I devoured him, my hands fisting in his shirt as he lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the cool, hard surface of the bar.

"You belong to me," he whispered against my lips, his voice a rough growl of want. "You've always belonged to me."

"No," I protested, but my body betrayed every word. I arched into him, my silk-clad thighs parting for him as his hand slid between them.

My protest died in a gasp as his fingers found me. He didn't hesitate, just pushed two fingers deep inside my wet, waiting heat, stretching me, claiming me. My own slickness coated his hand as he began to move, a slow, punishing rhythm that made me cry out. His other hand found my clit, hidden beneath the silk, and began to rub in firm, maddening circles.

"This is what you want," dream-Orion murmured, his dark eyes burning into mine. "Stop fighting it."

"I hate you," I gasped, my hips bucking against his hand as I pulled him closer. "I hate what you do to me."

"No, you don't," he said with infuriating confidence, his mouth leaving mine to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat. He tore the silk of my pajama top, exposing my breasts to the cool air before his mouth closed over a nipple, sucking hard. Pleasure, sharp and overwhelming, shot straight to my core. "You're just afraid of how much you want this. How much you want me."

He was right. I was terrified. And I was hopelessly, desperately aroused.

His fingers withdrew, leaving me empty and aching. I whimpered in protest, but then I felt him, hard and thick, pressing against my entrance. He had freed his cock, and I could feel its heat, its rigid length poised to take me.

"Look at me," he commanded, and my eyes fluttered open. He was watching me, his face a mask of raw, possessive hunger.

Then he pushed inside.

A scream tore from my throat as he filled me completely, stretching my pussy, sheathing his entire cock in my tight, wet channel. He held still for a long moment, letting me feel every inch of him inside me before he began to move. He fucked me with a brutal, relentless rhythm, slamming into me again and again, his hips hitting mine with a force that rattled the bottles on the bar. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper as my protests turned into breathless moans of his name.

"Whose are you?" he growled, his teeth grazing my neck.

"Yours," I sobbed, the truth torn from me as I felt my orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation coiling in my gut. "Yours."

That was all he needed. He drove into me faster, harder, his cock hitting my cervix with every powerful thrust. The dream became a whirlwind of raw sensation—the slap of our bodies, the scent of his skin, the sight of his face contorted in a pleasure so fierce it was almost violent. Just as I convulsed around him, screaming his name as my climax shattered through me, I felt his own release, the hot pulse of his cum flooding my womb as a deep, guttural roar was torn from his chest.

In the dream, I suddenly felt myself falling, tumbling through space—

I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in the quiet room. Disoriented, I was tangled in the sheets, my body flushed and trembling. But it was the sticky dampness on my inner thighs, the undeniable evidence of a powerful orgasm, that made my cheeks burn with shame.

Pale morning light was filtering through the French doors. "Just a dream," I whispered, pressing my hands to my burning cheeks. "It was just a dream."

But the images, the sensations, the feel of his cock inside me—it all felt far too real. The dream hadn't just been a fantasy; it had been a confession.