Page 140 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Cade

And with those words, she floored me. I’d expected her to scream at me, rage at me, tell me how much she hates me.

Hell, I’d been counting on it, to be honest. It’s why, although a part of me wanted to stay and care for her after how I’d taken her, I forced myself to walk away.

In fact, I tried to leave without even applying the ointment to her reddened behind, but I couldn’t talk myself out of it.

She makes me weak. She forces me to find the last dregs of goodness in myself.

She makes me want to become a better man, and I hate her even more for that.

She asked me that question, and I gaped at her.

It took a good few seconds for me to find my balance, then I drawled, "Sure, sugar, but next time, I won’t go easy on you. "

She paled further, and I knew I’d had the last word. It should have made me happy, but instead, I only felt like a heel. So, I turned, slammed the door shut behind me, and left. Fucking hell, she’s going to make me a motherfuckin’, pussy-whipped, sniveling coward—unless I prove otherwise to myself.

Which is why I came straight to practice, hungover as hell. It’s why I pushed myself to run an extra three laps on the track. Then practiced my sprinting, breaking my previous records, before putting in an extra hour at net practice with the lads.

Now, I’m back at the gym on the lower level of Lords, trying to bench press an additional fifty pounds.

Sweat slides down my temples; my biceps burn; my triceps hurt.

My pectorals scream in protest, but I don’t pause.

I continue to try to lift the weight-laden bar over my head.

'Try' being the operative word, for the bar begins to slip. My heart crashes into my ribcage. I’m braced for impact from the weights hitting my chest when a pair of hands grabs the bar and rights it.

"The fuck, King? Don’t you ever know your limits?

" Declan helps me lower the weights back into the cradle behind my head. I sit up with my breath coming in pants. My shoulder muscles feel like they’ve been put through the wringer.

My abs ache. My entire torso feels bruised.

I push up to standing, then let out a groan.

My entire body is one giant, throbbing ache.

Just like she must have been hurting after I took her.

Oh, she loved it, was on the verge of climaxing so many times, but I didn’t let her.

I took her to the edge over and over again, but I didn’t let her orgasm.

And I commanded her not to come until I give her permission.

Which means, submissive that she is, no amount of her trying to bring herself to climax will work.

It’s the kind of punishment that’s going to drive her out of her mind with anticipation and craving.

An erotic retribution for what she did to me, but disciplining, nevertheless.

It will serve to heighten her pleasure when I finally fuck her into a climax, of course.

Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt her in the meantime, and not only physically.

She loved it when I spanked her. And the sight of my palm prints on her backside was enough to give me a permanent hard-on.

Still, leaving without taking care of her and bringing her down from her high will have hurt her even more.

I’m a bastard. At least, I’m living up to the reputation I’ve earned from all of the women I’ve dated, so far.

Except, none of them counted. But her? She’s different.

It’s why I need to keep my feelings divorced from my plan of making her pay.

"Cade, did you hear me?"

Declan’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Yes, I did, and yes, I’m going to Zara’s wedding.

" Yep, in between the shit-show that my life has become, my sister called me to say that she’s getting married, and to Hunter Whittington, no less.

She’s marrying the man tipped to be the next Prime Minister of the country.

Oh, and it’s going to be a surprise to Hunter, so I’m not supposed to breathe a word of it to him.

Not that it’s a likely scenario, considering the only time I’ve met Hunter in person, at the V & A Ball, we came to blows.

And now, he’s going to marry my sister. At least, he’s in love with her.

That much was clear from our last encounter.

And this is the least I can do for Zara, given I spent so much of our growing years not being there for her.

"Cade? Get your head out of your arse, man, and get a move on," Declan interrupts me.

"Eh?" I grab my towel and mop my forehead before I drape it around my neck. "The wedding’s not for another few hours."

"And you need to shower and get dressed."

"Hmm?" I rub my chin. "I suppose, I should, given she asked me to walk her down the aisle." I glance up at him. "Wait—" I blink. "I thought this wedding was supposed to be a secret?"

"For Hunter, yes. But Zara messaged me to invite me to the wedding. And my guess is she’s invited her and Hunter’s friends, too."

That sounds like my sister alright. She always had a flair for the dramatic, and given the vibe between her and Hunter, I’d say she’s met her match in him.

If anyone can tame Zara, it’s Hunter. If anyone can surprise the soon-to-be leader of the country, it’s Zara.

"You think she’s going to have the media in attendance when she breaks the news to Hunter? "

I guessed correctly. Zara and Hunter’s friends, including me, stayed hidden in his townhouse until after she announced to the press that they were getting married, right then.

Not to be outdone, Hunter pulled his own surprise when he revealed the set-up he’d arranged for the wedding.

He also mentioned that it was Zara’s team, including Abby, who had helped him with the preparations.

Abby! I hadn’t factored in that Abby would be there.

Of course, she’d be there. She works for my sister, and given the long hours they work together, and the high-pressure PR clients Zara takes on, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she considers Abby a friend.

I look on as she ushers the journalists onto the lawns where the chairs are lined up in rows leading to the platform where the wedding will take place.

Their friends—among whom I recognize JJ and his girlfriend Lena, Sinclair and his wife Summer, Michael and his wife Karma, and Liam with his new wife Isla—take their seats. Abby smiles at one of the journalists, then straightens and heads in my direction.

I stiffen and watch her from under hooded eyelids as she approaches me.

With each step she takes, the slit in the side of her dress parts to reveal the toned flesh of her thighs.

Thighs that I squeezed and caressed, before I slapped her across that perfect pear-shaped arse of hers.

And the dress she’s wearing stretches so tightly across her backside, it shows off her hourglass figure to everyone assembled here.

How dare she allow anyone else to admire her gorgeous outline?

I’m the only one who should be able to appreciate her contours. No one else.

She comes to a halt in front of me. The wind changes direction and the scent of her—cherries, this time, with a hint of rose that is both innocent and strangely erotic—teases my nostrils.

The blood drains to my groin. My cock lengthens.

If I look down, no doubt, I’ll see the fabric tented at my crotch.

Fucking hell. It’s my sister’s wedding, and all I want to do is tear the clothes off her employee, throw her to the ground, force her thighs apart, and bury myself inside her.

Right here in front of everyone else, so there’s no doubt who she belongs to.

I’m losing all perspective, and she’s to blame.

I glare at her, and she pales. Her green eyes turn into alluring emeralds. My fingertips itch. Goddamn, I want to reach out and wrap my fingers around the nape of her neck and pull her close. Fuck me! I shove my hands into my pockets and widen my stance. "What do you want?" I growl.

She blinks, then gestures in the direction where Hunter is talking to another gentleman I don’t recognize. "Uh, Zara thought it would be a good idea if you caught up with Hunter and Edward Chase, the officiant for the wedding."

"And why would I do that?"

"You’re going to walk her down the aisle, so—" She clears her throat. "So, it would be useful if you spoke to them and arrived at an agreement on the sequence of events for the wedding."

I tilt my head. "And if I refuse?"

She seems taken aback. "You...you…you’re going to refuse?"

"Unless you agree to what I want."

"What you want?" She frowns. "I don’t understand."

"You want me to do something for you. I want something from you in return."

She opens, then shuts her mouth. "It’s your sister’s wedding. You’re about to walk her down the aisle, and instead of trying to find out how to make this the best day for her, you’re here negotiating with me?"

"So?"

"So? So, you’re an asshole."

“Do you know how many fucks I give about your opinion of me?” I pretend to glance around me, then back at her face. “Precisely, zero.”

Her cheeks flush. "I hate you," she bursts out.

"Finally." I turn my eyes heavenward. "Took you long enough to declare that."

"Is that what this is about? Is that why you’ve been so horrible to me? Because you want me to tell you how much I abhor you?"

"You call what I’ve done to you being horrible? I haven’t even started, Sparrow."

"Don’t call me that," she hisses at me.

"The little bird’s finally learning to fight back, hmm?"

When I reach toward her, she flinches. A burning sensation flares to life in my stomach. Must be because I pushed myself during my work out. I must have pulled a muscle. That’s all it is.

"Relax, I was only going to do this..." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers touch the exquisite shell of her ear, and she shivers.