Dirty Filthy Rich Love by Laurelin Paige
Release Date: September 11th
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Dirty Filthy Rich Men (book 1):
I’ve discovered Donovan Kincaid’s secret.
It’s dirty and filthy and rich – as dirty and filthy and rich as he is – and it haunts me as much as he ever did.
Even after knowing what I know now, I still want to talk to him, to touch him. But there’s an ocean between us, and I’m not sure it can be crossed with something as easy as a phone call or a plane ride.
Yet I’m willing to try.
He doesn’t know this yet, but this time I’m the one with the power. And maybe – just maybe – if the air were cleared and all our secrets bared, there could still be a chance for us.
And this dirty, filthy thing between us might end up being love after all.
He took another step toward me, and I started to step back, but there was a counter behind me, so I had to stay put. And maybe I wanted to stay put. He was only a foot and a half away from me now.
“But I haven’t lied to you, Sabrina.” His gaze never left mine. “And I’m not lying when I say I don’t give a fuck about anybody else’s cunt but yours.”
We stood there, not touching, not speaking, each of us standing our ground. But I had no basis to keep my position, and it felt like he’d won so much already.
I couldn’t back down.
“Prove it,” I said.
His expression flared, his eyes growing dark and mean, and I realized what I’d done. Donovan wasn’t one to be provoked.
I’d just invited the devil out to play.
“Unzip your skirt and put your hands on the counter behind you.”
My heart hammered and my belly twisted. My panties were embarrassingly drenched all of a sudden, and I wanted him. But I stood completely still. “I didn’t—”
He cut me off. “No talking and unzip your skirt.”
My mouth slammed shut, but I still didn’t move. If I moved, I’d be asking for this. But if I talked, I’d be telling him to stop.
And I didn’t want this to stop.
I just didn’t want to ask for it because I was stubborn and stupid for wanting him in the first place.
But he would give it to me without the words, without my obedience. Because he knew me. He knew what I needed.
With his eyes never leaving mine, he found the zipper at the side of my waist and pulled it down. After that, the skirt was loose enough that all he had to do was tug it once and it fell easily to my feet. He nudged his knee against my inner leg, and automatically I stepped that foot out of the pool of material on the floor, widening my stance.
He gave a nod of praise, sending a jolt of warmth through my entire body.
Then he bent down in front of me.
Suddenly, breathing was harder than it should have been. My chest moved up and down, air passed through my mouth, but I couldn’t get enough of it to my lungs.
And he hadn’t even touched me yet.
The sight of him alone—Donovan Kincaid, one of the most powerful men in the world, down on his knees in his black Ermenegildo Zegna suit—it was overwhelming and erotic, and by the time he put his hand at the back of my knee, I was already trembling.
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