Page 124 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

I raise my gaze to his crotch and make out the outline of the column in his pants.

Oh, my god. Why have I never noticed that he's unusually large in that particular department? I don’t remember him carrying an Eiffel Tower between his legs, if you know what I mean.

Or maybe, I should call it Big Ben, considering we're in London.

Geez, did I think that? I did. Clearly, I need therapy—or a boyfriend—if my eyes go straight to the one part of him I should avoid looking at, at all costs.

"Like what you see?" his mocking voice cuts through my thoughts.

Heat flushes my cheeks. I jerk my chin up to find him watching me with his lips curled in a smirk. The smirk I hate and love. The smirk that makes me want to throw something at him. Then throw myself at him. Argh, get a grip on yourself. I tip up my chin and square my shoulders. "I’m ready."

His grin widens. Then he leans forward, slips his hand under the hem of my dress, and cups my pussy.

I gape at him, too shocked to move. Too shocked to say anything, and…

Oh, my god, why does it feel so good to have his hand on that most intimate part of me?

He cups my flesh, and I automatically widen my stance.

His eyes flash. He slides my thong aside, and crams one finger deep inside me.

Heat crackles up my spine. My knees threaten to buckle.

I sway toward him when he pulls out his finger, brings it up to his mouth and sucks on it. “You sure are.”

Then he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his finger on it. "Shall we?"

"So, what is this event about?"

"Are you really interested in finding that out?" he drawls.

I lock my fingers in my lap. "If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have asked."

"It’s the V everything about you is my business.”

I hold his mismatched gaze. The silence stretches. A beat, another. A bead of sweat crawls down my spine. My heart seems to drop into my stomach, and my nerve-endings stretch. When I finally lower my gaze, he makes a sound of approval. Dominant jerkass.

“So, who was it?” he asks again in that hard voice.

“Just a girlfriend.” When I glance up again, he surveys my features. I must sound and look convincing enough because he nods.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Wankhole! I slowly shake my head.

“Beautiful," he offers.

Heat flushes my cheeks. A-n-d why do his compliments make me feel so good? I must be starved of attention. That’s the only reason. This is what happens when you don’t date and prefer to focus on building your career. I look away again, then back at him.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

“But then, you’re the spoiled daughter who comes from crime nobility. I would be surprised if you didn’t.”

I narrow my gaze. “What are you trying to say?”

“That you play your part of a rich heiress well.”

“I’m no heiress. And I seldom speak to my parents,” I say hotly.

“You’ll inherit their wealth,” he points out.

“I’ve turned my back on their money.”

“Is that the story you tell yourself?” He scoffs.

“I left home without taking a penny from them. I refused to use my father’s influence to find me a job. I almost starved. Not once, did I reach out to them for their help. Even now, I barely speak with them. I built my career from scratch,” I snarl.

“What do you know about starving? Or about being so alone that you’d do anything, even go against your conscience, in your desperate need to survive?”

I frown. “Is that what you did? Did you go hungry? Did you have to do something you didn’t want to do?”

His expression shutters. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Of course, it matters. If it hurt you—"

He stares at me.

I shut up. I hurt him with what I did. I betrayed him, and he’s never going to forgive me for it.

I swallow down the ball of emotion that clogs my throat, then set my jaw when I ask, "Why did you bring me with you?"

"Why not?" He raises a shoulder. "One tight hole is as good as another."

I cringe.

His smile widens. "Am I too crude for you, Princess?"

"I’ve heard worse."

"Oh?"

"I’m no longer the sheltered schoolgirl who hero-worshipped you. I’ve grown up since."

"Good." He reaches over, locks his palm around the nape of my neck, and hauls me across the seat.