The Billionaire's Angel (Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires Book 7) by Ivy Layne

Author:Ivy Layne [Layne, Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Ginger Quill Press, LLC
Published: 2017-08-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Sophie

He kissed me like that forever. Long, drugging kisses that had my head spinning. Then he was on top of me, settled between my legs, his fingers on the top button of my white nightgown. I tried to sit up, and he raised his head, his blue eyes hot on mine when he said, “Don't move. I don't want you to hurt your head.”

“My head doesn't hurt,” I lied. I'd gotten so used to the dull ache from the bump on my head I was almost able to ignore it. I'd spent most of the day in bed, despite insisting that I was fine, outvoted by every single person in the household. Hell must have frozen over because even Mrs. W and Amelia had agreed I belonged in bed.

Gage shook his head. “If you think you can lay still, I'm going to undo this button. Then I'm going to undo the next one. And the one after that. But if you're going to move…”

I opened my mouth to argue, then abruptly snapped it shut. What the heck was I fighting about? Did I really want Gage to stop? I knew if I did, he would. All I had to do was tell him I wasn't interested, or I needed time, and he would back off.

In answer, I settled back into the pillows, a smug little smile playing across my lips as Gage slipped free the first tiny, faux pearl button. My nightgown, like my others, was made of sheer white cotton, trimmed in lace. It wasn't sexy, by any means, but it wasn't the virginal white flannel Anthony had made me wear.

It wasn't seductive, but it was pretty. Feminine. This one had a row of buttons from the scooped neck line to below my waist. So many tiny buttons and Gage was undoing them, one by one.

He lay between my legs, propped up on one elbow, his eyes fixed on the inches of skin he was baring, button by button. When he reached the bottom of my rib cage, I was sure he would fold the nightgown back to reveal my breasts, but he didn't.

He traced a finger along the inner swell of one breast, sliding it beneath the cotton to stroke my warm skin. A low hum of appreciation sounded in his throat before he withdrew his hand from the nightgown and went back to the buttons.

He slid down a few inches, putting his face level with my breastbone, and turned a little on his side so he could reach the last of the buttons, just below my belly button. Finally, finally, he folded the nightgown back, carefully, precisely, baring my breasts to his hot blue gaze.

“Sophie,” he breathed. That was it. Just, Sophie. Then, a little louder, his voice gravelly and strained, he said, “If you change your mind just tell me to stop, okay? Just tell me, and I'll stop.”

I didn't want him to stop. I couldn't imagine ever wanting him to stop. I wanted him to speed up, not stop.

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