How To Lose Your Billionaire Alpha Husband In 365 Days (Or Less)!-Chapter 97: Aligning..

"Tell me if it’s too much," he whispered.

"Don’t stop," I breathed.

And God help me, I meant it.

His fingers didn’t rush.

They traced up the inside of my thigh like he had all the time in the world, like my body was a secret he wanted to learn by touch alone.

My breath hitched again, and his name formed silently on my lips.

And when he finally brushed against me, even through the thin fabric, I arched into it.

The touch wasn’t daring, not yet; it was just a gentle pressure, almost like a hint of what was to come. But it sent a spark through me so powerful that I had to grip the sheets to keep myself steady.

"You’re trembling," he whispered.

I didn’t know if it was a question or an observation, but either way, I nodded because it was true.

I was trembling.

From want.

From the way his breath ghosted over my skin.

From the way my body seemed to anticipate his next move, cell by cell.

Kyle leaned in, lips brushing the edge of my panties. Right there. He kissed me gently, not too passionately or forcefully. It was warm and slow, and it hit me hard emotionally.

Then again.

Higher.

I let out a sharp breath, trying to stay still, but my hips moved on their own, desperate for more, for friction, for him.

His hands curled under my thighs, holding me in place, gently but firmly.

"Still okay?" he murmured.

I nodded again, too far gone to find real words.

His lips curved in a smile I felt, not saw. Then, finally, the soft scrape of his teeth grazed the edge of my panties and—

"Please," I whispered.

A single word, half-moan, half-prayer.

That’s all it took.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on mine the whole time, like he was watching for any flicker of hesitation.

But there was none.

I was burning.

And when the fabric slid off and his gaze dropped lower, his breath caught, and so did mine.

"You’re soaked," he said.

Heat rushed up my chest, my face, but I didn’t look away. I didn’t want to. Because the way he looked at me, like he was about to kneel at the altar of my body, was too intoxicating to run from.

His fingers brushed over me, feather-light, maddening, and the second he touched me bare, I gasped. My legs tensed, but he kept his grip gentle and sure.

"Tell me if you want more," he said.

"I want more," I said without hesitation.

His touch got bolder, slow and searching, like he was memorising every part of me. My breath hitched, faster now, as my body moved on its own, reaching for him, needing him closer.

Then, his finger gave one slow, deliberate stroke between my folds, and I melted.

A low and shaky moan escaped me, and I felt the muscles in my stomach clench.

He slowly moved his finger over my slit, letting me feel every second of it. His thumb circled that one spot that made my eyes flutter closed and made my hips buck gently.

I couldn’t stop the sound that left me.

"Kyle—"

"I’ve got you," he whispered.

One of his hands found mine again, threading our fingers together and pinning them beside my head. The other continued its exquisite rhythm, stroking, learning, drawing something out of me I didn’t know how to name.

A warm feeling spread gradually inside me, growing more intense by the moment. I could sense something big approaching, something important. My entire body was shaking with anticipation.

And then, when I didn’t think I could take any more, he dipped lower.

Not far.

Just enough.

His fingers teased my entrance, and with exquisite slowness, he slipped inside.

Just one finger at first, and my breath caught.

My body clenched around him desperately, a helpless moan slipping out before I could even think to stop it.

He froze, his breath catching against my skin. "Too much?"

I shook my head. "No. Please... keep going."

So he did.

The movement resumed, each stroke sending new tremors through my limbs. His lips brushed my cheek, my neck, his free hand sliding up my side to cradle my breast again, thumb brushing over my nipple.

It was all too much.

And not enough at the same time.

My body was unravelling, one nerve at a time, and the heat—that growing pressure—was rising.

Faster.

Deeper. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

And when he added a second finger, my hips bucked, my back arched, and I let out a cry that felt like it came from someplace deeper than sound.

He was murmuring something I couldn’t quite hear, my name, maybe, or curses of reverence. I didn’t know. All I could do was feel.

And then his mouth was back on my breast, his lips wrapping around a nipple as his fingers kept working that unbearable, perfect rhythm.

I could feel the pressure mounting.

My legs tightened around his fingers, and my free hand clawed at the sheets.

I was holding on, just barely, as the pleasure rose, sharp and fast and hot, curling like a storm at the edge of everything.

"Kyle... I—"

"I know," he breathed against my skin.

"Don’t stop."

"I won’t."

And then it hit.

Like lightning behind my eyes.

Like heat exploding in my chest, my stomach, and my thighs.

Every part of me tensed.

Every part burned.

My mouth opened on a silent cry, and then the sound tore out of me: a high, desperate moan as wave after wave of sensation rolled through me. My fingers gripped him, my legs shook, and my heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat.

The orgasm tore through me like a wildfire, all-consuming and devastating in the best way possible.

I clung to him, eyes shut, breathless, trembling, and feeling the aftershocks pulse through me like echoes.

But when I slowly opened my eyes, it was to the soft morning light creeping through the curtains.

For a moment, everything felt hazy, like I was still tangled in the remnants of a dream, my body heavy with a heat that hadn’t fully faded.

I shifted, and then I felt it, the unmistakable wetness between my legs. My breath caught, and I immediately rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the fog in my head.

No. It couldn’t have been real.

Kyle had walked me home last night, kissed my forehead, and left. That was it.

But the wetness... the damn wetness. It was too real to ignore.

I let out a soft laugh, part disbelief, part embarrassment, as I ran a hand through my tangled hair. It was just a dream.

But damn, it had felt so real.

I sat up, wincing slightly at the dull ache between my thighs, a reminder of just how vivid it had been.

My fingers brushed the cool sheets beneath me as I replayed every second—the way he’d touched me, the way his whispers had made me ache, and the way my body had burned with need.

My cheeks flushed, and I stood, heading for the bathroom, trying to shake off the heat still coiling through me. "Get a grip," I muttered to myself. "It was just a dream."

But damn, that was some wet dream, and it felt real.

Every part burned.

My mouth opened on a silent cry, and then the sound tore out of me: a high, desperate moan as wave after wave of sensation rolled through me. My fingers gripped him, my legs shook, and my heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat.

The orgasm tore through me like a wildfire, all-consuming and devastating in the best way possible.

I clung to him, eyes shut, breathless, trembling, and feeling the aftershocks pulse through me like echoes.

But when I slowly opened my eyes, it was to the soft morning light creeping through the curtains.

For a moment, everything felt hazy, like I was still tangled in the remnants of a dream, my body heavy with a heat that hadn’t fully faded.

I shifted, and then I felt it, the unmistakable wetness between my legs. My breath caught, and I immediately rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the fog in my head.

No. It couldn’t have been real.

Kyle had walked me home last night, kissed my forehead, and left. That was it.

But the wetness... the damn wetness. It was too real to ignore.

I let out a soft laugh, part disbelief, part embarrassment, as I ran a hand through my tangled hair. It was just a dream.

But damn, it had felt so real.

I sat up, wincing slightly at the dull ache between my thighs, a reminder of just how vivid it had been.

My fingers brushed the cool sheets beneath me as I replayed every second—the way he’d touched me, the way his whispers had made me ache, and the way my body had burned with need.

My cheeks flushed, and I stood, heading for the bathroom, trying to shake off the heat still coiling through me. "Get a grip," I muttered to myself. "It was just a dream."

But damn, that was some wet dream, and it felt real.