Semua Bab Revenge On My Ex, Accidentally In Bed With A Billionaire : Bab 61 - Bab 70

I suck on his tongue until I feel him moan. Only then do I ease up enough to nibble and tease around his mouth. Pasha presses me harder against the wall and wastes no time in peeling off my soaked dress, careful around my baby bump but possessive and firm everywhere else he touches.“You think you’re the only one who’s been marked?” he growls against my neck as he rips down my panties. The second I kick them off, his hand cups my pussy in a way that feels like claiming. “You think you haven’t done the same to me?”My head is swimming with pleasure. Just his touch on the surface, just that press of his hand against my heat, has my lashes fluttering closed and my lips parting in soft gasps. “Wh… what? What are you talking about?”“I had a meeting today.” Pasha kisses a fiery path down to the tops of my swollen breasts. My bra is barely containing them at this point; I’m gonna need to replace it with a maternity version soon. “Had to deal with this desperate cougar who keeps trying to ge

DAPHNEThe soft knock at my door arrives several hours too early.Conrad is here, with flowers in hand.The first thing I notice is how small the bouquet looks compared to what Pasha usually sends me. In fact, one of his elaborate arrangements is taking up a good portion of my side desk as I scramble to gather my wits.“Conrad! What a surprise!” I force my voice to sound pleasant, despite feeling anything but.He pushes through the door, holding the vase like a shield. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”Keep it business. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t we go to the conference room?” Where there’s nothing but windows and a clear view for witnesses. I push my chair in and try my best to circumvent him on the way to the door.Unfortunately, he catches me on the way by pushing those stupid flowers at me. “I wrote a letter for you, too.” He taps an envelope stuck between the yellow roses. “I’m an artist, not a writer, but?—”“Looks great.” I take the vase and drop it on the desk. “Let’s go

PASHA“Where. Is. My. Mark?” I ask her again.Technically, I do know where it is—the makeup is evident this close.What I don’t know is why the hell she covered it up. The whole point was for her to wear it loud and proud. So dumbasses like Ewing would get the fucking hint and back the fuck off.He shouldn’t even be here. He shouldn’t be allowed to walk inside this building, let alone be here in Daphne’s office.Daphne’s protesting, but I couldn’t hear her even if I wanted to—my blood is roaring through my ears and I’m doing everything possible to not just throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of the art gallery to the car.As it is, I’m shoving her out her office door, my arm firmly wrapped around her.One of her idiot bosses pokes his head out of his office, but I shoot him a glare that dares him to fuck with me. He ducks back inside and I can hear him lock the door.“Pasha!” Daphne whips her head around. I don’t stop, and I don’t let her stop, either. “I haven’t checked with

PASHAThere are two rules to crashing a political party you haven’t been invited to:Bring your own soldiers.Make sure everyone else can see your guys have zero fucks to give.The security team on hand at La Vinessa isn’t even armed. They’re only there as a facade of safety for the men meeting inside.If it ever comforted those poor bastards at all, that comfort vanishes the second we walk through the ornate doors of the clubhouse.Sofi, striding alongside me, is radiating stress. But to be honest, the only one tense about this is her.Me? I just emptied all my stress into the mother of my unborn child. I’m practically giddy.That’s why, when I interrupt what’s clearly a secret luncheon between Senator Brennan and thirteen of his Senate cronies, I’m grinning ear to ear.“Good afternoon, gentlemen! Fancy finding you here.”Brennan spits his tea back into the cup he was sipping on. “Pasha! Mr. Chekhov! W-what? What are you doing here?”I clap a firm hand on the shoulder of Senator Robi

I frown at the white box tied with velvet ribbon in her hand. When I take it from her, I recognize the gold embossed logo on the lid.No. No way.Hazel steps inside and locks the door behind her. “What is it? Please, I’ve been dying to know ever since the courier made me sign for it!”I tug on the ribbon and let it fall away. I know that ribbon, though. I know the place it came from. I know the kind of price tags they use.“It’s… silk.” I hold up the first carefully folded layer of cloth inside the box. The fabric feels so unbelievably soft, pouring between my hands as I spread it out. “A silk scarf.”Hazel whistles low. “Damn. Dude is not fooling around! Was that it?”Good question. In true Pasha style, it’s not the only thing in the box. There are two buttery soft cashmere scarves, a handwoven fine linen scarf, and a heavy-but-warm raw silk scarf at the bottom.“Let me guess.” Hazel openly stares at the hickeys on my neck, her mouth twisted in a playful smirk. “Your man is making up