Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 422 Madeline's POV That kiss was not an invitation. It was a claim. A mark of possession I hadn't realized how badly I needed until his lips moved over mine with a fierce, possessive hunger that stole my breath. Every doubt, every shard of insecurity that had eaten at me just minutes earlier melted away in the heat of his mouth, replaced by something deeper and more primal. A need so intense it made me tremble in his arms. When he lifted me and set me down on the cold kitchen counter, a shiver raced down my spine.

The icy granite against the bare skin of my back and the burning heat of his body pressed in front of me created a contrast that was both delicious and torturous. He fit perfectly between my legs, and I wrapped my jeans-clad thighs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to erase even the smallest space between us. "Marcus," I whispered his name again, but it was less a call and more a surrender. An acknowledgment of the power he held over every fiber of my being. He didn't answer with words.

His hands, large and steady, slid down from my shoulders, curved over my sensitive breasts, making me arch and let out a low moan, before finding the button of my jeans. The sound of the zipper sliding down echoed in the quiet kitchen, obscenely intimate, sending my pulse racing. He slipped his hands inside my jeans, over my hips, pulling the fabric down along with my panties in one smooth, decisive motion. He freed me from the prison of denim, leaving me exposed in nothing but a lace bra, my bare legs wrapped around him.

The cool kitchen air brushed against my wet skin, and I shuddered, not from cold, but from pure anticipation. His eyes, dark with uncontrollable lust, held mine as his hands gripped my thighs, opening me for him. "I want to see you," he said, his voice a rough growl, an order. "I want to see how much you want me." And then he knelt. The sight of that man, my husband, powerful and dominant, on his knees before me in our kitchen was the most overwhelming thing I had ever experienced. My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it.

hold on to something, anything, as the world fell apart around me. And then his tongue touched me. It was direct, deep,

I throbbed the most, was a lesson in pleasure. He drank me in, devoured me, like a starving man who had finally found his feast. My hips tried to move, to chase more friction, but his grip was iron. I was completely at his mercy, and the surrender was intoxicating. My moans echoed through the kitchen,

my legs, his broad shoulders, and a surge of possessiveness just as powerful as the pleasure crashed into me. He was mine. All that strength and devotion focused entirely on me. 1/3 "Don't stop... oh God, Marcus, right there," I begged, my voice breaking like waves. He answered with a guttural groan that vibrated through me, and the sensation was electric. His tongue circled my clit with perfect, relentless pressure, and I felt the tension coil at the base of my spine, tight and hot,

his movements. "Come for me, Madeline," he ordered, his voice rough and blurred against my skin. "Let it go. Now." It was the command I needed. The spiral snapped. A violent, all-consuming orgasm tore through me, arching my body back, held up only by

against his body, and I felt the impressive hardness of his cock pressing into my stomach through his pants. Just that sensation, after the orgasm I had just had, sparked a new, shockingly urgent desire deep inside me. He claimed my mouth in

"Now, Marcus. Please." A wicked, beautiful smile curved his lips. He lifted me again, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. He carried me easily out of the kitchen, down

felt. His hands were everywhere. On my breasts, my waist, my thigh, pulling my hips up to grind against the burning hardness of him. He opened his zipper with one hand, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the head of him, hot and hard, pressing at my entrance, and I lifted my hips