Page 200 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Solene

"Nope, no fucking way. Not until we fix this thing," he drawls.

Madonna santa! For the love of all that’s holy, this asshole is intent on stripping me of all vestiges of self-respect.

"What do you mean fix this thing?"

"I’m going to show you where your clit is."

I back up until I’m flush against the wall of the bathroom. "No way."

"Yes way."

"I’m not letting you touch me."

"I’m not going to touch you," he says with conviction.

"Right, that whole thing of making me 'come'"—I make air quotes—"without you touching me."

"Correct." His lips twitch. "Now take off your dress."

"What? No!"

The smile vanishes. "You will do as I say."

I scowl at him, and for some strange reason, I want to stamp my foot and yell at him. But that would only confirm to him that I'm young and inexperienced; and while that may be true, I’m not going to reinforce that image to him.

"Solene, take off your dress.”

His hard mean voice ricochets off my heart and arrows straight to my core. I tremble. Something knotted inside of me eases and a pulse flares to life between my legs. With trembling fingers, I shrug off the dress and let it drop to the floor next to me.

His breathing grows rapid, the rise and fall of his chest increasing in intensity. Other than that, there is no other change in expression on his face. He merely folds his arms across his chest, then nods toward my panties.

"Slip those off." His voice brooks no argument.

This time, I don’t even try to protest. There’s something about his assertiveness that elicits a response from me I’m not able to control, something about the confidence in his stance, about how relaxed he still is, like this is an everyday occurrence, that both puts me at ease and makes me want to question exactly what it is that’s happening here—though, perhaps that’s a thought I’ll save for later.

For now, it’s almost a relief to hand over control to him.

"Take off your bra."

I do.

"Now slide your legs apart."

I do.

“Touch the slit between your legs.”

I slide my fingers between my thighs, and the pulse in my lower belly intensifies.

“What do you feel?” He rumbles.

I hesitate, he arches an eyebrows.

I glance away, then back at him. “Uh, it’s so moist.” Heat flushes my skin. “And so hot. I... I’m dripping.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Did I say dripping? I said dripping.

He clicks his tongue. “Did I give you permission to close your eyes?”

I snap my eyelids open and shake my head.

“You will do only as I say.”

I jerk my chin.

"Scoop up some of your cum then hold your fingers up and over the topmost part of your pussy."

My cum? The pulse in my belly drops to my core and every part of me seems to be focused there. I follow his lead, then touch my pussy lips.

"Did I tell you to touch yourself?" he growls.

“B-b-b-but—”

He glares at me, and the words die in my throat.

"Did I, Solene?”

I shake my head slowly, before raising my hand and letting it hover over my core.

He nods, "Now, touch the part at the top between your pussy-lips."

I slip my fingers between my pussy lips at the top and a spark of pleasure zips out from the point of contact.

"Oh," I gasp.

"Indeed." He smirks. "What do you feel?"

"A… spongy bud… that’s… growing?"

"Harder, more stiff, more swollen?"

I nod.

"That’s your clitoris."

"Clitoris?"

"Or your clit. Now, move your finger around and see what feels good to you."

"My clit." I trace the little button-shaped part of me and tendrils of pleasure zip out.

"Oh, god." How did I miss this? It seems so obvious now. My eyelids flutter but I manage not to close them. The fact that his now-indigo eyes are fixed on mine insists I stay in the moment. I continue to rub my clit, and my thighs clench. Heat zips out from where I’m touching myself to my breasts. My nipples are so tight, so hard… I need to squeeze them, need to massage my heavy breasts, need to... My fingers tingle, the pulse between my legs intensifies and seems to spread to my wrists, my breasts, and even behind my eyeballs. But I don’t stop. I keep fingering my clit.

His eyes flash. His features form into an expression of approval, and every pore in my body seems to pop in response.

"You’re doing so well," he croons.

A quiver of heat streaks through my veins.

What is it about his praise that gives me such a primal thrill?

Maybe, it's the fact that I never received any growing up.

I continue to rub my clit and feel a tickling sensation further back.

I ease my finger back and discover more moisture gathering between my thighs.

I move my finger back toward my clit, and it slides even more easily over the bud, so I speed up my actions.

That heavy throbbing feeling grows thicker, deeper, swirls in on itself.

The coming of a storm. The tension in the air before lighting hits.

That sense of something teetering, looming over the horizon.

“Slide the finger of your other hand inside your hole.”

I moan. He called my entrance a hole, and that feels so wrong. And so right. A-n-d I slip a finger inside myself, but it still feels so empty. I wriggle my hips, and when that doesn’t help, I can’t stop the whine that spills from my lips.

“Still empty, huh?” He scans my features then, before I can reply, he adds, “Slip another finger inside yourself.”

I do.

“Better?”

When I don’t reply, his lips curl. “Add a third finger.”

Wha—? Did he say a third finger? My pussy clamps down on my fingers, but something’s still missing.

Butterflies take wing in my stomach. Sweat beads my upper lip a-n-d, fine, I have nothing to lose, do I?

I stuff a third finger inside my pussy, stretching myself around the girth, and whoa—!

Sensations crowd my skin. My scalp tingles. That’s so good. Sooooo good.

My movements slow down and he snaps, "Don’t stop kneading your clit; keep at it."

"B-but I feel like"—I lower my voice to a whisper—"like I'm gonna pee."

"Don't worry. You won't."

I study his face to see if he's telling the truth, and he nods. So, I go at it again, sliding over the swollen bud and stuffing my fingers in and out of myself, in and out. The tension builds, knots, folds in on itself. Sweat pools on my upper lip. "Declan, I can’t."

"You can."

"Declan, please, please..." What am I begging him for? What do I want? Liquid heat spurts through my veins. My breathing stutters, but I continue to stroke my clit, keep on skating my fingers in and out of myself, in and out, and all the while, I’m holding this gaze. I’m looking into those startling, now midnight blue eyes of his.

He’s guiding me, leading me, pulling me toward that goal I can’t get to fast enough.

Keep going. Don’t stop. A trembling sweeps up from my toes, my knees…

My thighs tremble. My inner muscles clench.

"Dec-lan," I gasp.

"You will not come, Rabbit."

"Wh-what?" I stare at him, continuing to pump my fingers in and out of my sopping wet pussy.

Every brush of my fingers against my clit sends a fresh burst of sparks shooting up my spine.

Something is lapping up against my nerve-endings, threatening to overwhelm me.

It batters against my will, threatening, pushing, dashing, battering against the last barriers of my sanity. "Please, please, Master."

His gaze intensifies. Those midnight blue eyes deepen in color until they’re almost black. The scar on his forehead stands out against his skin. He draws in a breath, then jerks his chin. "Come," he growls.

And the orgasm—because, surely, that's what this is—crashes over me. The climax goes on and on, and he still doesn’t release me from the tractor beam of his gaze. I pull my fingers out and begin to slump against the wall.

That’s when he closes the distance between us.

He shoves his hand between my legs, cups my pussy in a possessive grasp and holds me up.

My inner walls contract, and I shiver again.

Every movement of his seems calculated to impress on me the mastery he has over my body.

With his free hand he circles my wrist and brings my fingers—now stained with my cum— to his nose.

"The sweet scent of your freshly orgasmed cunt…

Is there any better scent in this world? "

Oh, my god, that’s so dirty. And hot. Why are his filthy words such a turn on?

Before I can voice my protest, he lowers my fingers to his mouth.

And when he closes his lips around my digits and sucks them clean, that melting sensation that gripped me when I’d climaxed overwhelms me.

My eyelids flutter, and I give in to sleep.

When I come to, I’m horizontal on a bed. Muted light streams in from one of the windows. I hear the hum of the engines, so I know we’re still up in the air.

"How’re you feeling now?" a hard voice asks from beside me.

A small scream spills from my lips, and for a second, I’m transported back to that moment when I woke up in Declan’s bedroom in Naples. And when he unfolds himself from the chair and walks over to stand next to me, I wish I could go back in time and fix everything that happened after.

"I’m sorry Diego’s men beat you up. I didn't think it through. I didn't realize…"

"Shh…" He picks up the bottle of water on the bed stand, uncaps it, and holds it out.

"I really do mean it.".

"I know, Rabbit." He urges me to accept the bottle of water, then insists I drink half of it before he allows me to put it down.

"I’m good."

"Let me be the judge of that."

I fold my arms over the sheet and realize I’m still naked.

"My dress?"

He angles his head in the direction of a dresser on the far side where my dress is folded up along with my bra and panties. "You sure you’re okay?"

I take in the crease in his forehead, the worry in his voice, and can’t stop the slight curve of my lips. "I had an orgasm, and I was tired from all the events of the past few days, but other than that, I’m fine."

He surveys my features. "Good."

"I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I figure out how to launch my career in LA."

"Hmm." He holds his fingers under his nose, and oh, my god, he’s smelling me. He’s sniffing at the remnants of my cum on his digits. That’s gross. And strangely, romantic. Ugh. I didn’t think of that as romantic, did I? Because he’s still wearing me?

"The evidence of your arousal smells even better a few hours later. Like aged, fine wine whose bouquet grows more potent with time."

I swallow. "What are you trying to do, Declan?"

"What do you mean?"

"This—" I point to the space between us. "I was sure you wanted revenge for what happened but now, I don’t know."

He slides his hand inside his pocket and frowns down at me. "Neither do I." He seems taken aback by his confession, then he sets his jaw. "Very insightful words for a weak society princess, who’s only accomplishment was agreeing to an arranged match."

It’s as if he’s plunged a hot knife into my chest. He gave me my first orgasm, gave me so much pleasure, I’m sure my brain cells are going to take a while to recover from it and now, he’s injured me so much it hurts to breathe. My emotions must show on my face for he swears aloud.

"Fuck, didn’t mean to say that."

"Yes, you did."

"Fucking hell." He drags his fingers through his hair. "You tie me up in knots, you know that?"

We stare at each other for a few seconds. The silence stretches and the mixed-up feelings inside me are mirrored on his face, and that eases some of that tight feeling around my ribcage.

Then he inclines his head. "Why did you call me that?"

"What?"

"Back there in the bathroom, you called me Master."

"Did I?" I frown.

"You know you did."

I lean back against the pillows. "It seemed... right. When you use that tone of voice, you seem to know what you want. And it makes me want to—"

"Make me happy?"

I nod slowly "Yes. It makes me want to do everything you ask, and—" I stiffen. "How do you know that?"

"Lucky guess?" This time the smile on his face is secretive. Does he know something I don’t? Before I can ask, he heads toward the doorway, only to stop.

He looks at me over his shoulder and states, "This doesn’t change anything, Solene."