Page 207 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Solene

His eyebrows furrow. There’s a conflicted look in his eyes. He seems so uncertain, so approachable, so much closer to the man he was when I met him, so much more the Declan I dreamed of being with. A melting sensation pools in my chest. I raise my palm to cup his cheek.

"Tell me, Declan, what made you change so much?"

The sound of my voice seems to shake him out of his reverie. His jaw hardens.

"None of your business."

I stare. Of course, he had to shut down, just as I thought I was getting through to him.

Every time I think he’s softening toward me, he seems to find that alphahole part of him and draw that persona over himself like a cloak.

He’s hurting, and I think it’s because of what my brother and his men did to him, and yet—it’s not like he’s blaming me completely for it.

He’s certainly punishing both of us for it, though.

"You know it is. We are very much each other’s business since the day we met."

"Is that right?"

I nod. "It’s why you brought me here to LA. You can tell yourself it’s because you wanted me to find myself, carve out a career and showcase my talent to the world, but really, it’s because you want me near you."

"Interesting theory." He smirks.

"Oh, please, don’t mock me. You know I’m right."

His eyes gleam. "What I couldn’t have guessed is what a filthy little hussy you are."

My nipples harden. My stomach flip-flops. I will not let him speak to me like that; I will not. "Take that back." I try to sit up, but he wraps his arm about me and holds me close.

"You’re not leaving until I share some truths with you."

I search his features, see the resolution in his eyes. "O-k-a-y." I nod.

"Okay." He glances up. I follow his gaze to where the man has the woman he fucked earlier in his arms. She is curled into his chest, a look of contentment on her face. He rises to his feet and walks out of there.

"Where is he taking her?"

"Aftercare."

I turn my face in his direction. "Is that what this is?" I point my chin in the space between us.

"I didn’t whip you," he points out.

"Do you—" I swallow. "Do you want to whip me?"

"Do you want me to whip you?"

I search his features. His expression is almost bored. It’s as if he doesn’t care about my answer. Then his left eyelid twitches, and I know it’s the opposite. There’s a part of him that’s very much invested in how I reply.

The silence stretches. What should I tell him? Then before I can reply, his brow furrows.

"What are you doing here anyway?"

Ah, that. I raise a shoulder.

"I’m going to have Rick’s arse for this," he says grimly.

"No, it’s not his fault, uh—" I glance away, then back at him. "I might have thrown a fit and not given Rick a choice but to bring me."

"He’s a bloody security guy. He should know how to deal with his principals."

"It’s not his fault."

"Hmm." He scans my features. "I take it that’s a no, then."

"To what?"

"My earlier question."

"You mean about the, uh, the—"

"Whipping," he smugly supplies.

"I’m not sure what I think about it. It's not something I've ever thought about. It didn’t look very pleasant there." I stab my thumb in the direction of the now empty room.

"And you saw how much she enjoyed it. For that matter—" He curls his fingers around my neck lightly. "So did you."

I flush. It’s true. I came so hard I blacked out for a few seconds.

"What you did—" I place my fingers over his. "When you—"

"Choked you?"

"Choking? Is that what it was?" I ask slowly.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I enjoyed the orgasm, but for a few seconds there, I panicked," I confess.

His gaze intensifies. "You held on, you rode the wave, you had the mettle to see it through."

A warmth bleeds through my veins. Why does his praise feel so good?

"I had a feeling you knew what you were doing," I finally say.

"I did."

"So, you’ve done this with other women?"

In response, he brings his digits—the same ones he had inside me, the same ones I sucked on—to his mouth and sucks on them.

Heat flushes my skin. He licks each of his fingers in turn, then wipes them on my cheek.

I flinch. "You’re filthy."

"Took you long enough to realize that."

"You—" I firm my lips. "Did you do that to change the topic?"

His gaze shutters. "It’s time we got you home." He rises to his feet.

"Now, you’re definitely changing the topic."

His lips curl. "Not aware we were discussing anything."

"You’re so full of yourself." I huff.

"I’d rather you be full of—" He stops and firms his lips.

"Why don’t you complete the sentence, huh? What were you going to say?"

"It doesn’t matter."

Was he going go to say he’d rather I be full of him? I wrinkle my nose. That’s hot. Also, that’s a bit ugh. But still hot. If only I’d had access to my spicy novels, my education would have been more rounded. Instead, I had to glean information from the gossiping between the women in the kitchen.

More often than not, they complained about the act itself and how it was a duty for them to open their legs when their men climbed into their beds.

I wanted to tell them it needn’t be that way.

That if their men were a little less selfish and more focused on their pleasure, they’d know that having sex needn’t be the chore they made it out to be.

Unfortunately, my ma made sure no additional spicy novels reached me.

In fact, she impounded the non-spicy fiction novels Olivia managed to sneak in for me on one of her visits home.

"What’s wrong?"

"Eh?" I blink up at him. "What’s wrong is that you’re carrying me like I’m a child when I am perfectly capable of walking on my own two feet."

"You just came so hard you could barely stay upright. Not to mention, I wasn’t exactly gentle with you—" He shoots me an annoyed glance, as if that orgasm was my fault. "So no, you don’t get to walk."

"So, I have to look completely foolish so you can assuage your conscience?"

His arms tighten around me. He doesn’t reply, simply strides through the corridor, then down the flight of steps I used not long ago.

He heads past the reception. The woman behind it doesn’t even blink an eye.

Guess she’s used to women being carried out of here.

I frown. That’s not good, is it? On the other hand, if it means women are having such strong orgasms, they’re unable to make it out on their own steam, then that’s good, right?

Declan walks out the main door. He waits for only a few seconds before the limo drives up. Rick rounds the car and opens the door to the backseat. "Is she okay?" He frowns at Declan.

"I’m okay."

"She’s not," Declan says at the same time.

"Hey, I’m good, I—"

He drops me in the passenger seat with just enough force that I blink. He follows me in, and I scoot over.

"Why are you in such a mood?"

"I’m not in any mood." He hits a button, and a panel rises, cutting us off from the driver’s seat.

He pulls out his phone and busies himself.

"I forgot to say thank you."

He stills. "For the orgasm?"

Heat flushes my face again. Damn, I’m not a shy kinda girl. I’m not, I swear. But my lack of exposure to the world, and definite lack of experience when it comes to O’s, is catching up with me. I refuse to show it, though. I tip up my chin. "That, too. But I was talking about the cell phone."

"Hmm." He settles back into the seat and continues to scroll through his phone.

"Are you checking your social media?"

"I leave that to the minions."

"Minions?"

"My team. I have a team that takes care of all that." His tone is impatient, but at least, he’s answering my questions, eh?

"Isn’t it better if you do some of it hands on? You know, be authentic and all that."

He shrugs. "The fans will be happier if I focus on my next film."

"You sure?"

"It’s worked for me so far, hasn’t it?"

"That’s before you had a hit. Now you’re hot property and all—"

He shoots me a sideways glance.

"What?"

"You saw my last film?"

I glance away. "I wasn’t allowed to see movies or have any access to popular culture."

"Hold on, you weren’t allowed to see movies?"

"Only some of the classics, like "The Sound of Music," and even then, I had to close my eyes during the kissing scenes."

He stares at me. "So, no movies?"

I shake my head.

"No music—"

"Italian opera. I wish I could have learned to play musical instruments, but my family was against it."

His eyebrows knit. "What else weren’t you allowed to do?"

"No eating out in restaurants, lest I was tempted to flirt with the waiter or worse, run away with one of the other patrons."

"You’re kidding."

"Do I look like I’m kidding?"

He puts down his phone; his forehead furrows.

"What about going to a nightclub?"

I scoff.

"Picnics?"

"Only in the company of women."

He tilts his head. "Gaming?

"Please. I didn’t have my own phone, let alone, access to the internet. Not that it stopped me from using my friends’ phones or sneaking down to the family computer in the study after everyone went to sleep.”

He opens his mouth, and I raise my hand. "I learned how to wipe out all traces of my searches."

He seems to relax a little.

"And no books, of course."

"What?" He gapes. "No books?"

"Not the kind that matter. I did have access to the books in school, and the classics and non-fiction. Just not the right kind of books, you know?”

"What do you mean?"

"The kind of books that matter?" I make air quotes.

"Sorry, you lost me."

"Spicy books."

His frown deepens. "You mean books about cooking?"

I burst out laughing. "Oh, my god, that’s classic. I mean it is about cooking, but not the kind of cooking you're thinking of. The kind with steam and interesting positions, and vegetables which are of the right shape, and—"

His brow clears. "You mean, erotica?"

"I mean spicy books."

He looks me up and down. "I see."

"There you go, getting all judgmental." I stab my finger at him.

"So, men can watch all the porn they like, but if women read spicy novels we’re judged, huh?

And what about men objectifying women, as they've done for centuries.

Not to mention, marrying us off in arranged alliances, then expecting women to spread their legs, receive their sperm, and produce children for them.

But when it comes to us women seeking pleasure between the arms of book boyfriends, you get all smirky and snicker at us, and—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on, I’m not judging you."

"You were judging me right then."

"I wasn’t."

"You were!"

He blows out a breath. "Can I prove otherwise to you?"