Shades Of Mr.billionaire - Chapter 253

Feng Teng and I spend the rest of the day in bed, devouring each other and a drama marathon.

His life is my life and my life is his.

“You smell like me now,” he purrs in my ear, his tone low, gravelly.

Heat rushes over me with the possessiveness in those words, and I roll toward him. We both shift, staying close, and I happily devour the sight of him, his s.e.xy rumpled hair in a mess, the alluring shadow on his jaw, and the bright brown of his eyes flickering with amber.

“I like smelling like you, that’s why I always love stuck with you,” I say.

He tangles my legs with his big, powerful ones, his hand going to my hip, branding me in that way he does that turns me wonderfully inside out.

“I love you near to my reach always, but something you teased me not able to reach you just like yesterday,” He leans in to kiss me.

After he releases my lips and kisses my forehead, I wrapped my arms around him and laying my head on his back. We snuggle in each embrace softly, I love touching and kiss on his chest. Staying like with him is what I love the most and I don’t think I would ever get tired of him.

Just the Feng Teng grabs me and pulls me around, cradling me while one hand slides into my hair.

“Babe, thank you for marrying me. And accept everything of me even my past, please promise me that you will never leave me,” he says.

My hand covers his, a mix of relief and heartache ripping through me as he said about his past.

“Feng Teng, I’ve told you before. I’m your wife, I’ll always stay by your side no matter how hard it is I won’t leave,” I assured him.

His mouth comes down on mine, his kiss a deep slice of pain and passion that is over too fast.

His lashes lower, lingering on his cheeks for several moments.

“Wei Lin. We’d make beautiful babies,” He mutter.

“Just have your genes, anyone would make beautiful babies with you,” I say.

“NO! Not just anyone, only us. We’d make beautiful babies because you are my most beautiful wife,” he repeats, and we stare at each other, and something shifts between us, like a flower blossoming despite the cold chill of the winter’s day.

“Yes,” I agree, my throat constricting.

“Of course us,” I add.

Feng Teng then wraps his arm around my neck and presses his cheek to mine, his breath a warm fan on my skin as he whispers,

“Never say just anyone in between us.” And with those words, we’ve both opened ourselves to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, one day we’ll be strong enough to dare just about anything, as long as we’re together.

He kisses me and I press against his chest with the intent of escaping, but this is one of his deep, passionate, claiming me on his kisses, and my resistance is feeble. With a swipe of his tongue, my elbow softens, my fingers relax against him, my body melts into his again, then I jerks.

Feng Teng was anticipating my move, his hand sliding to the back of my head, holding me to him, his mouth demanding my submission. He arches into me, forcing our h.i.p.s into an intimate hug, his free hand tracing the seam of my knicker down to my backside.

My mind says yes, and my hand goes to his hip, my tongue meeting his, tasting him. And when he caresses a path over my ribs and cups my b.r.e.a.s.t, I m.o.a.n and he rolls me over to my back, the heavyweight of him on top of me driving away my worrisome about our matter coming in future.

His mouth lifts, leaving me breathless as his eyes meet mine, and the look he gives me is blistering heat and challenge, daring me to do the one thing I have always failed at miserably to deny him anything he wishes.

Holding my stare, he walks his fingers under my shirt, up to my belly, pulling down my lacey bra and teasing my nipp, a soft touch that turns to rough tugs.

Oh no! I am panting, and on some level, as we both ready to have a baby. And I’m too entranced with the way his mouth is getting closer and closer to care. But he withholds the kiss I crave, his warm breath whispering over my lips, my cheek until he whispers in my ear.

“Wei Lin. Who has control, here?” He demands,

“You do, my husband,” I answer confidently.

He pulls back to stare down at me.

“Because you chose to give it to me only. Remember that,” He state affirm.

I open my mouth to argue differently, but he moves first, his head dipping low, his tongue swirling over one of my nipps and then the other. I arch my back, wanting more, craving what he has yet to give me, and he answers my silent demand.

He sucks the swollen peak, a deep, sweetly punishing drag that has my fingers twisting in his hair. I bite my lip, sensations spiralling from my nipps straight to my spot, were aching for him to be now.

He seems to understand where I ache, shifting his body again, inching off of me just enough to allow his hand to travel down my ribcage and over my belly and my knickers, and somewhere in the wash of sensations, and him kissing me again, I’m moving with the now rhythmic stroke of his fingers, my spot clenching.

The tingling promise of release comes over me. My mind went blow up, but the rest of me just wants another taste of him as he makes another stroke of his fingers. I almost hit the exact moment I tumble into release, then hitting with the couch same force as my orgasm, an intense jarring of my body that’s fast and hard before he pulls out his finger.

Then I bury my head on his shoulder. He turns my face to his.

“You are f.u.c.k.i.n.g s.e.xy as hell in n.a.k.e.d.” His voice is a low, rough rasp before he devours my lips again.

He tears his mouth from mine, his gaze heavy-lidded, his desire so raw and palpable that I’m right there with him in an instant, wet, hot, and in need, in a way, only he can satisfy.

As if echoing my thoughts, he says.

“Babe, I need to be inside you, and out of my head.” His voice is rough e.r.o.t.i.c sandpaper on my nerve endings, and he doesn’t give me time to respond.

He undresses himself only boxer left on him and I admire his masculine from the couch.

“Enjoy with the view?” He asks.

“Absolutely,” I answer instantly.

He laughs lightly, before lean against me again. His one arm wrapping my waist, taking me to him, another hand cupping my b.r.e.a.s.ts, the sensation spiral through me. He abandons my b.r.e.a.s.ts and I want to pull him back but already he is shoving his boxers down. I help him every way I can, and somehow I am maintaining kiss our kiss locking.

The instant his body cradling mine, his thick buddy pressed to my n.a.k.e.d h.i.p.s.

“You so warm,” I whisper, desperate to feel his skin against mine.

His hands slide up and down my waist, sending shivers all through me, and when his hand cups my b.r.e.a.s.ts again, and his other hand explores my backside, I am consumed by his arousal.

NO! Again, I am consumed by my husband only, and as always, there is no explaining what it is like to be dominated by Feng Teng, to be owned the way he owns me at this moment.

After all, I am legally his wife and only woman that eligible to be in his arms, at his mercy in the most romantic of ways. And he is a master of creating a sweet torment.

His palm moves from my backside to curve over my hip and I suck in air at the biting pinch of fingers that continues to torment my nipps.

Unable to take it, I dare to cover his hand with mine, holding it to my b.r.e.a.s.ts.

“Husband,” I whisper, begging him to do something that I always wanted and addicted too.

He nips my earlobe, his breath a warm rush on my neck.

“No. You aren’t ready yet, to have a baby I need to warming you up ready,” he replies as if he knows what I’m asking for when I don’t know.

His hand on my hip moves, his fingers splaying on my belly, then moving lower, and my spot clenches in anticipation, a moment before his finger just barely teases my swollen sensitive spot. I shudder with the light touch that he withdraws and then gives back, repeating the same torment, again and again, each time touching me longer, deeper, until finally when I think he willfully explores my spot, he withdraws.

His palms cup my backside and he begins to massage.

“Oh,” I gasp, knowing this is spanking in the making.

And I want it. I want the way the anticipation and the fire of his palm make everything fade except the here and now.

But he doesn’t give it to me. Instead, he gives my cheeks a rough squeeze and orders.

“Don’t move,” He demands.

“Feng Teng,” I pant desperately, my elbows softening, my forearms settling on his shoulders.

My only comfort is the sound of his heavy breathing, and the hope he will soon be inside me.

He kissing me again and taking me to galaxy before I can feel his thick buddy at my hip. Slowly I reach down and close my hand around him.

One of his hands closes over mine, holding it to him while the other reaches behind my neck, dragging my mouth to his, and when he kisses me, it’s so passionate, so deep, that I can feel him everywhere. I m.o.a.n into his mouth and he makes a low, s.e.xy sound, cupping my backside with both hands and lifting me.

I wrap my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair. I don’t even remember him moving, but suddenly I’m on top of the counter and flowers are falling over, water pouring to the ground, but it doesn’t matter.

What does matter is him bringing his shaft to my aching entrance and pushing inside me, driving deep, his arm still around me, my face buried in his shoulder? I tilt forward, and so does he, both of us driving our bodies together and I am not even sure if I’m on the counter anymore or just on him. Or how we start or stop kissing. Or how hard my nails and teeth dig into his back. I just know the burn in my belly and b.r.e.a.s.ts that expands and grows until I am spasming around him, and he’s making these primal, s.e.xy sounds that have me clenching him even harder.

His body quakes, his legs tremble with his release and our weight, and somehow it’s over. At last, we’re on the wet floor and he’s sitting against the counter, me straddling him, my head on his shoulder.

The sound of our breathing fills the air, slowly becoming more rhythmic, our bodies each fully relaxing into the other. When I come back to reality with the awareness of his fingers splayed on my back and mine lying on chest.

“My husband so beautiful,” I say.

A low, s.e.xy rumble escapes Chris.

“Only for your eyes and I’m still inside of you,” He says.

I lean up, pressing my hands to his chest.

“Yes. Now you are my husband so you only reserve for my eyes,” I brush my fingers against the s.e.xy one-day stubble on his jaw.

He covers my hand with his and rests it over his heart.

“Yes, I will keep all mine on for your eyes, wife,” He wraps my arms around his neck and shifts.

“Hold on tight. We’re getting up,” He orders.

I cup his face.

“I will always hold on tight and never leave you,” I grated.

He curses under his breath.

“We’re going to have late to dinner.”

I frown at the odd response.

“What? Why?”

He kisses me and we end up back on the floor, laughing and making love in puddles of flower water.

And yes, we are going to have a late dinner.

And somehow it feels like one of the defining moments of our newlywed couple. The past can apart us, but it can’t destroy our love.