Page 188 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Solene

"You need to be punished for your indiscretion." He glares at her. "On your knees, hands behind your back, mouth open. You will take everything I give you without complaining. And—"

"Solene, are you here?" My mother’s voice reaches me through the closed doors of the wardrobe. I press back into the wall and hold my breath.

The light slicing in through the slats in the door dips as her shadow passes in front of the door. I press my book close to my chest and wait…wait… Footsteps fade as he walks in the direction of the window.

"Where did she go?" That’s my brother’s voice. I freeze.

"Maybe she’s out in the garden?" my mother replies.

"I checked before I came here," he snaps.

"Perhaps she’s in the maze; you know how much she loves that space."

"I’ll go check." Footsteps sound again, and the light through the slats disappears for a few seconds when my brother walks past. A second set of footsteps pad away. I stay frozen, my palms clammy, sweat pooling under my armpits. That was close. If my brother had caught me reading a spicy book, the two of them would have, have—I shudder. I don’t dare to think of the repercussions, of how they’d react to the contents of my preferred genre of literature.

After my father died, my brother became the head of our family.

Which means, he also took on the responsibilities of Mafia Don.

And unlike our father, he has an archaic view on the role of women in the family.

It doesn’t help that he’s fifteen years older than me which makes him practically a father figure.

Thing is, he loves to boast that I’m a reader—which, in Mafia circles, makes me something of an anomaly.

Thanks to the American nanny my sister and I had in our early years, we read and write English better than the rest of my Italian family.

It’s also why I prefer to read my smutty books in English.

Of course, whenever my brother or my mother are around, I read only classical literature—with my smutty books hidden between the pages.

On occasion, when I get tired of pretending to read the 'right' kind of book, I like to duck into the closet so I can read the kind of novel I prefer without having to hide it.

Silence returns. Some of the tension fades from my shoulders. I peek down at the book pressed against my chest, then at the shut door. I switched off my flashlight when I heard their voices earlier. I could switch it on and start reading again, b-u-t...

Maybe I should wait. Just a few more seconds to ensure my ma’s left.

And then, I can slip back into the land of my lead characters and that very detailed scene I was reading.

Why did the MMC say he wanted to punish the FMC, and why did that feel so hot?

I bite the inside of my cheek. And when he commanded her not to come until he gave her permission.

.. Why did that send a pulse of heat racing up my spine?

Something liquefies between my thighs. Ooh, that doesn’t seem right, and yet it feels…

right. It feels so good, surely, it can’t be wrong.

I draw in a breath, then another, waiting until my pulse settles down.

Until my heart stops beating so fast. Then I crack open the door and peer out.

The room is empty. Thank god! I crawl out of the closet then jump to my feet.

I glance down at the page where I stopped.

"—you hear me, little girl? Don’t you dare come! "

I walk forward, throw myself onto the bed on my front, then kick up my legs and peruse the words.

"Oh, master, I can’t hold it, I can’t," she groans.

"You can," he growls.

"Please, master, please—"

The book is snatched out from under me.

"Hey!" I look up to find my mother has the book in her hands. She looks at the cover—which is discreet, thank god. Not that it’s going to help when she opens it up to the page where I was.

"No!" I jump up on the bed and swipe my hand out at the book. My ma steps out of reach, and I fall over on the mattress. I spring up again, reach for it, but she holds it away. She begins to peruse the contents, and my cheeks flame.

"That’s my book," I cry.

She merely continues reading.

"Give it back!" I lunge for it, but she holds up an arm to fend me off. I throw myself at her, but she moves aside. I tumble to the floor. My knees hit the wood, and I cry out. Tears of frustration prick the backs of my eyes. I shove the pain aside, leap up to my feet. But Ma is taller than me. She holds the book high and continues reading. The blood fades from her cheeks. Her jaw tightens. The tips of her ears grow white. No, no, no, when that happens, it means she’s really, really pissed off at me. Which means she’s going to— her palm connects with my face, and I cry out. Stars burst in front of my eyes.

"What is this filth you’re reading?"

"It’s not filth."

She slaps my other cheek, and the impact carries me back. My heels slip on the floor, and once more, I hit it--this time, on my butt. I bounce up and reach up on my tiptoes. "Give me my book. That’s mine, not yours. You have no right—"

She snaps the book shut and slams it down on my head. I cry out as black spots blink out behind my eyes. Bile boils up my throat. No, no, no, I can’t be sick. I can’t. If I am, she’ll know that she’s won, and I’m not going to let that happen.

"I hate you. Hate you!"

"You think I care what you think of me?" My mother lowers the book to her side. "How dare you read a romance novel."

"It’s not a romance novel."

"Oh?" Her gaze grows more piercing. "Now you’re lying to me?"

It’s a spicy novel. There’s a big difference.

My chest hurts, and my stomach ties itself in knots, "I… I’m n-n-not, lying to, y-y-you." I hate how my stuttering makes me sound weak.

"Oh, and now she stammers. You are incorrigible. You can’t do anything I tell you to do. Then, you go against my instructions not to read romance novels. How many times have I told you, you should not read these sinful tomes?"

Tomes. Did she say tomes? She said tomes.

"It’s not a tome," I snarl.

My ma curls her mouth. "It’s a tome."

"No, it isn’t."

The whiteness extends out from the tips of her ears to the lobes. Oh, no, that’s bad. So bad. I’ve seen that happen only once, when she got so upset with my sister Olivia that she caned her.

I begin to back away, but my mother closes the distance between us and snatches me by my ear. She twists my ear lobe and pain slices through my head. "Let me go, you… you… witch."

"You mean bitch with a capital B, don’t you?" my ma snaps.

"Yes, I do."

She stills. "What did you say?"

"I… I… I…"

She laughs. "Can’t string two words together and wants to read romance novels. The way you’re headed, you’ll be losing your virginity before you’re eighteen, and then your brother won’t have a choice but to sell you into prostitution."

I stare at my mother in horror. "That’s a terrible thing to s-s-say."

"It’s what you deserve for reading these evil words."

"They are not evil."

Her smile widens. "But I can be when you don’t obey me."

I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. Maybe she has a point.

Maybe I am too young to read these kinds of books.

Not that I looked it. Thanks to an early growth spurt, when I also filled out, I’m often mistaken for an adult.

I certainly feel like one in my head and in my soul.

Besides, all of my friends are reading them, too, and one of them loaned a book to me.

How else am I supposed to find out about what happens between a man and a woman?

My mother certainly isn’t going to talk to me about it, and as for my brother.

.. That would be creepy. My sister already left home; else I’d have someone to talk to about these strange goings-on in my body that I really didn’t understand at all.

I drag the back of my hand across my face.

My arm trembles. My palm hurts. I turn it over, stare at the slashes of pink that crisscross the soft skin.

"She’s a bitch with a capital B." My mother caned me. She dragged me to the kitchen, made me hold out my palms, then in front of all the staff, she brought the thinnest stick I’ve ever seen down on me.

I almost cried out. Almost. Thankfully, I managed to bite down on my tongue enough to draw blood.

But I’ll take the coppery taste over giving her the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

Twenty strokes on each hand, and by the end, I was sweating and shivering.

She’d finally stopped only to send me to my room and ground me without food for the next day.

I threw myself on the bed, had a good cry, and fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was past midnight. I was starving, and my palms still ached.

I drank water from the sink in the bathroom, which sated me for the moment, then washed my face.

I headed back to my room, and unable to sleep, paced back and forth.

I was still awake when the clock in my room struck two a.m. So, I crawled out of the window and down two floors using the branches of the tree that grows past my bedroom window.

Then, I raced across the lawn, through the gate in the fence and down to the beach.

I kept running until the house was out of sight.

Only then, did I slow down. I walked until my feet were tired, finally sinking down on the sand under the moonlight.

It’s late, but I couldn’t stay in that house for one second longer.

I needed to get out and run and pretend I’m free, at least, for a little while.

Also, this is Naples, and everyone knows who my father was.

It means anyone could recognize me and report me back to my family.

On the other hand, no one would touch me.

Not unless they want to incur the wrath of the local Mafia Don, which, face it, no one wants.

I bring my legs up, wrap my arms about them, and rest my chin on my knees.

"I am going to run away and become a singer. I am going to be the most well-known pop star in the world. Everyone will want to hear me. I’ll be rich and famous and—" I sniff. It’s always a struggle to complete a sentence without stuttering when I get emotional.

The only exception is when I sing. When I close my eyes and allow the music to carry me away, I don’t stammer. I don’t trip over my words. I’m a completely different person. A beautiful woman, who is confident and bold, and who never has to worry about anyone catching her reading a spicy novel.

So what, if I’m a teenager? I understand what’s happening between the pages…

Most of it, anyway. And my imagination fills in the gaps.

I love how the spice in the books makes me feel.

All those tingles and trembles which imbue my lower belly, and between my legs, and send spurts of heat under my skin.

It’s weird, but also, strangely familiar.

Like I’ve been waiting my entire life for something. Like I’m ready for it. I am.

I close my eyes and drop into that part of me which is only mine. I draw from that energy, then open my mouth and sing.

I let the words, the tune, the melody...

carry me away. I pour myself into the rhythm, allowing the tune to subsume me.

When I finally fall silent, I allow the sound of the wind to pour over me.

The crash of the waves on the shore surrounds me.

The sound of clapping brings a smile to my lips. I open my eyes and gasp. "Who’re you?"