Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 422

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. He held my thighs firmly, pulling me to the edge of the counter, and there was no shame. Only blind, absolute desire.

He didn’t tease. His warm breath washed over my center, and I nearly writhed from need. My fingers sank into his dark hair, not to guide him, but to hold on to something, anything, as the world fell apart around me.

And then his tongue touched me.

It was direct, deep, and utterly devastating. A muffled cry tore from my lips. His arms locked around my thighs, holding me completely still while his mouth worked me with an expertise that pushed me to the edge in seconds. It was heavenly torture. Every movement of his tongue, broad and flat, then focused precisely where 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, wet and obscene, blending with the sounds he pulled from me, the soundtrack of my undoing. I looked down and saw his head between 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.

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“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, a spiral of pure ecstasy. My fingers clenched in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, but he only growled in approval and intensified 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 his strong arms. A long, unbroken cry ripped from my throat as blind waves of pleasure electrified me, each one stronger than the last, shaking me to my bones. He didn’t stop, softening his tongue, stretching out every tremor until I was left moaning, oversensitive and shaking, my legs trembling against his shoulders.

He rose slowly, his chin wet, his eyes burning with savage satisfaction. He pulled me 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 a deep, hungry kiss, and I could taste myself on him, salty and intimate, and it was unexpectedly erotic. My trembling hands went to his belt, eager to return the favor, to touch him, to feel him, to have him inside me.

“I need you,” I gasped, breaking the kiss. “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 the hallway, toward the living room. His mouth found mine in a devouring kiss as he walked, and I felt dizzy with want. The urgency between us was palpable, a raw field of energy crackling in the air.

He reached the living room and lay me down on the large, soft couch with an almost brutal reverence, his body covering mine instantly. The weight of him on me was the safest thing I had ever 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 in silent torture.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered, his voice heavy with a raw emotion that went far beyond the physical.

We were on the edge of reclaiming the intimacy we had lost, reconnecting in the most primal and beautiful way possible. Every nerve in my body was awake, waiting, begging for it.

Ding-dong!

The sound of the front doorbell sliced through the air like a knife.

We froze. Just for a fraction of a second. Two hearts pounding like drums in unison, two bodies suspended on the edge of oblivion.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

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The expression on Marcus’s face shifted from overflowing passion to fierce, almost murderous frustration. He buried his face in the curve of my neck and let out a deep, guttural growl of pure agony.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, his words a hot, furious whisper against my skin.

Ding-dooooong!

Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if holding himself back from strangling someone. When he opened them, he looked at me with an intensity that made my stomach twist in a completely new way.

“This isn’t over,” he promised, his voice low and loaded with dangerous intent. “Not even close.”

He rose from the couch in one fluid motion, adjusting his pants with a dark expression. He held out a hand to help me up, his eyes roaming over my naked, trembling body in the dim light with a possessiveness that made my heart race all over again.

“Put something on,” he said, his voice gentle but unquestionable. “I’ll send whoever it is away.”

He left the room, and his absence hit me like a bucket of ice water. I stood there in the dark living room, my body still pulsing with the memory of his mouth and his tongue, every nerve still screaming for him. The doorbell rang again, impatient.

But this time, I almost smiled.

Because I knew he was right.

This was nowhere near over. It had barely begun.

D

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