Page 248 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Declan

"I just need a minute of your time."

Her features flush. Her lips flatten. She makes no move to rise up. "I don’t want to talk to you."

"But I need to speak with you."

She tips up her chin, "We can’t always get what we want or need. Time you realized that, Mr. Heartthrob-Wannabe."

I arch an eyebrow. "You’ve been stalking my social media feeds again, Rabbit."

"I fucking hate it when you call me by that name."

"That’s not what you said the last time I made you come."

Her cheeks flush. Her lips tremble. Those emerald eyes of hers flash with a mixture of anger and helplessness and lust. Oh yeah, she can try to deny it, but her body recognizes its master. I stalk over to stand over her, then hold out my hand.

She glances at it, then at me. Juts out her lower lip in that expression which hints at that stubbornness in her. The one I noticed the very first time I met her, when she was trying to fight off those men on the beach in Napoli. We’ve come a long way since then.

I’ve faced my inner demons, had to find that core of resilience in me, had to challenge the devils that pre-occupied me during the time I was fighting preconceived notions of what a leading man in Hollywood should look like.

I broke down barriers—I was fortunate to have the money and circumstances on my side.

And it’s one of the reasons I’m attracted to her.

Like me, she's had to overcome her impediment and break free of the situation holding her back. I always knew all she needed was the chance to thrive. To share her voice with the world, and they’d see what I recognized.

That she’s special, unique, and her voice is a window to the beauty inside of her.

Talented, alluring, and magnificent. She holds people’s attention because she’s stunning, exquisite, ravishing, bewitching, and all mine.

Only I know her hidden insecurities. That she’s sick with nerves before every concert.

That she yearns to break free of all constraints.

That she hates being tied down. She’s a free spirit, my Rabbit.

And also, an old soul. She has that innate goodness inside of her which makes her want to trust people, which makes her believe the best in them.

Which is why, despite the fact that her brother never allowed her to embrace her talent, she came to his rescue when I began to beat him up that day in her room.

It’s what made me stop and led to his men thrashing me instead. And I hated her for so long for that…

But now I understand she did it because it’s the kind of person she is.

Loyal, tender-hearted and caring. It’s why she accompanied me to LA when I gave her the chance.

That, and the fact that she loves me. Or at least, she loved me before I shattered her heart.

And now, it’s up to me to make it up to her.

To give her what she wants… What she doesn’t know she needs… Yet.

"Take my hand, Rabbit." I lower my voice to a hush. Narrow my gaze. I infuse just enough dominance into my tone, and she shivers. Her pupils dilate, a tell-tale sign she’s turned on. Could I bring her to orgasm with just my voice? Hmm… something to try out.

"Take my hand. Now."

She grabs my palm. I haul her to her feet, then reach down and lock my fingers with hers.

Her gaze widens, and her lips part. She swallows, leans forward, I hold up my hand, with the white golf ball locked between my fingers.

I throw it over my shoulder and take a step forward, until the tips of my boots brush against her sneakers.

My chest brushes against her breasts, her nipples standing at attention, little buttons of delight waiting for my delectation.

The thickness at my groin stabs into her belly, and she shudders, then tilts her head back so her gaze is fixed on mine.

I tuck a lock of her gorgeous hair behind her ear.

The pulse at the base of her throat speeds up.

I cup her cheek. She draws in a breath, then turns her face into my palm.

She kisses the base of my thumb, and my heartbeat grows erratic.

"I’m sorry, baby. So sorry for what I put you through."

She stills then turns her face to stare at my chest.

"When I’m around you, I don’t think straight. And when I’m away from you, I'm so preoccupied by thoughts of you, I don’t think straight anyway."

She smiles slightly, which is a plus, eh?

"I know you don’t want to be with me anymore."

She scoffs.

"That possibly you don’t trust me anymore."

"Whatever gave you that idea, I wonder?"

"That you don’t believe me when I say being together is exactly what we both need at this stage."

She holds up a hand. "You can’t charm me into wanting a relationship with you."

"I agree."

She blinks. "You do?"

I nod. "It’s why I’m proposing that we pretend we’re together."

"Eh?" She peers up at me. "So, we—"

"Are seen together. Which will affect an instant boost to both our profiles. Meanwhile, you accept the role in my film, and the publicity from our joint sightings is going to give us both the hit we need."

"The hit you need, you mean?" She scowls.

"The one that’s going to give you the money you need to launch your own music label."

She purses her lips. "This is an insane scheme. Besides, I have a boyfriend."

"Finn’s your security detail. Also, he’s interested in men."

She flushes.

I curl my lips. "Nice try, though."

"Did it make you jealous?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you were shocked to realize I have options."

I lower my hand and curl my fingers into fists.

Your only option is to prostrate yourself on the floor.

Back toward me, butt in the air, part your arse cheeks and take everything I give you.

Your only option is to bend for me. To become my willing slave.

The sweet pussy that I’ll bury myself in whenever I want, and you’ll receive every drop of my cum and be happy about it.

I draw in a breath, another, and force my heartbeat to slow down. To disperse the adrenaline that threatens to overwhelm my blood flow.

"Your option, if you don’t accept my proposal, is to spend years trying to find your way back into the mainstream."

She stiffens. A myriad of expressions flits across her features. First shock, then hurt, followed by that familiar jut of her chin, which tells me she’s going to be stubborn about sticking to her position on this. How I fucking love her obstinacy. How I wish she’d give in this once?

She tosses her head. "Maybe I don’t want the kind of popularity I enjoyed. Maybe I’m happy doing this slowly, at my own pace."

"And risk being forgotten by your own fans?"

"They won’t forget me." She sets her lips together, but there’s a spark of doubt in her eyes. Good.

"Sure, there’ll be those who wait for your next album. But you and I both know, unless you find a way to stay in the headlines, it’s going to be an uphill struggle for you."

She rubs her temple. "Why do you have to be so logical?"

I smirk. "Just one of my many superpowers, baby."

She scoffs, "If you’re trying to convince me—"

"The beating at the hands of your brother’s men led me to the kink lifestyle."

She stills. "Excuse me?"

I step back from her, not because I want to put distance between us, but because it’s the only way I can avoid being distracted by her beauty. It’s the only way I can tell her what I should have shared a long time ago—rather than gaze at her beauty which, to be honest, would be my preference.

"After they beat me up, Knight and I got on a plane back home—"

"Wait, Knight was with you?" She frowns.

"He saved my life. If it weren’t for him, I might not have made it that night."

She looks stricken. "I’m so sorry about that. I had no idea it was that bad. I mean, I know your face was scarred"—she glances at my forehead—"but to think you may have—"

I hold up my hand. "The wounds didn’t seem that bad, but by the time the flight landed in London, I had collapsed. They rushed me to the hospital. They discovered I had internal bleeding. They had to operate on me urgently. I was in an induced coma for a week."

"Oh my god." She pushes her knuckles into her mouth. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

I raise a shoulder. "Seemed beside the point. The damage had been done. I came out of the coma and needed to have therapy, and I recovered all bodily functions. However…" I look away, then back at her. "It would seem, the blow to my forehead resulted in something called Emotional Blunting."

She lowers her hand. "What does that mean?"

"It’s when your ability to feel emotions and express them gets restrained."

"You’re saying your ability to feel emotions is—"

"Dulled. It makes it difficult for me to identify what emotion I'm feeling. It makes me appear as if I don’t care about things or other people, but that’s not true.

I simply have difficulty showing it. I can feel the emotions, but often, I'm unable to connect with them or recognize them, so I'm unable to express them. "

She stares at me, then realization dawns. "And you’re an actor. Your job depends on emoting, on being able to bring dialogues to life by showing emotions."

I laugh, and the sound is toneless. "You can imagine how much of a shock that was.

It took me a year, and seeing several doctors, to get a diagnosis.

Meanwhile, the inability to understand what was happening to me, combined with the scar on my forehead which, even after plastic surgery changed the way I looked and began limiting my roles, meant I was spiraling into depression.

"Knight and Cade were there for me. They saw me through it. I refused to meet them for months, and it was Knight who showed up at my place and pulled me out of my funk. He forced me to see a therapist who helped me through the aftermath. I learned how to understand the emotions I’m feeling and react appropriately.

How to translate the emotions into expressions others can understand. "