Page 254 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Solene

"Are you going to tell me what the next stage is?" I look across the table at the man seated opposite me. We’re at Declan’s home in Malibu.

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore is a distant yet comforting hum.

A gull screeches from somewhere overhead.

The infinity pool stretches out, seeming to lead straight to the setting sun that slips slowly down the horizon.

The sky is streaked with reds and purples.

Intensely sensuous colors to halo an intensely sensuous man.

Declan’s wearing a white button down and black pants.

His hair is slicked back, his jaw freshly shaven.

Which is a pity. Not that I don’t like him this way, but I prefer the whiskers on his chin which chafe my skin when he draws it across the sensitive skin of my pussy.

I squeeze my legs together, and the feel of my thighs against the smoothness of my sheath-dress sends a burst of sensations up my skin.

He laid out a thong that was barely there, and the glossy, satiny, white dress—that I'm wearing— on my bed. I saw them as soon as I came out of my shower, and while there was no message from him, it was clear he wanted me to wear them. And now, I understand why. The whisper of the fabric on my skin adds to my arousal, as if his proximity isn’t enough to rouse me to fever pitch. I scowl at him.

As if sensing my perusal, his lips curl. Then he slides his hand inside the front pocket of his shirt. I stiffen and wait for the inevitable vibrations that will send those familiar shivers undulating up my spine. Wait. Wait. He withdraws his hand and places a small hourglass on the table.

"What’s that for?”

“You wanted to know what the next stage is?” His lips curl.

I glance at the hourglass, then up at his too-pleased face. Bet he has another of his BDSM-related surprises up his sleeve. "Stronzo." I glower at him.

His smile widens. "Oh, ye of little faith."

"You don’t get to say that, considering you pulled that little stunt in front of those journalists. What if I’d—"

"You'd…?"

"You know… arrived."

"Arrived?" He blinks.

"Get with it. That’s how you refer to 'coming' in polite company.

" I make air-quotes with my fingers. "Not that you’re polite company, but considering you made the effort—" I gesture to the table between us set for dinner for two, complete with cutlery, plates, wine glasses, sparkling wine chilling in a bucket, and roses and candles with wind protectors placed over them.

"Arriving, coming, cumming. Call it any name you want, but before the night is out, you’ll be calling out my name as you indulge in all three verbs."

Heat flushes my skin. My nipples harden. He pours himself a glass of the Prosecco, then puts away the bottle.

"What about me?" I gape.

"You’re still not old enough to drink in this country,” he reminds me.

I tip up my chin. "Can I have a tiny sip, please?”

"Have I ever failed to cater to your tastes, Rabbit?"

His housekeeper—who’s also an amazing cook—wheels out a cart laden with food. She parks it next to the table, then turns to Declan. "Anything else this evening, Mr. Beauchamp?"

"That will be all; you may leave," he says without turning to look at her.

"Thank you, Charlotte," I call out.

She flashes me a smile, then turns and walks off.

"Her name’s Charlotte?" He frowns.

"You didn’t know that?"

"Why would I know that?" His eyebrows knit.

"Why wouldn’t you? She’s worked for you for five years. Also, she’s a Michelin-star chef."

"I pay for only the best."

I rub at my temple. "Your ego knows no bounds."

He throws up his hands. "I’ve barely been here the last five years. I bought the house because it was a good investment and it made sense to have a base in LA. I also have a home in London, and I’m thinking of buying a place in Naples."

"Naples?" I still.

"Would you like to have a place to stay when you go back and visit your family?"

I place my hands in my lap. "You’re not making any sense. Why would you buy a home in Naples?"

"Why wouldn’t I?"

"You know why; our engagement is a fake."

"And the press is going to try to prove that, too. The only way to hold them off is to show how much I care for my fiancée. In fact, I’m so in love with her, I’ve splurged on a heritage house in her hometown."

"So, it’s all for show?" I ask slowly.

"And for investment. I’ll rent it out."

"Of course you will. Can’t pass up a means to increase your wealth, huh?"

"You bet." He leans forward in his seat. "Any more questions?"

"Just one."

He tilts his head.

"Where’s my Prosecco?"

"Coming right up." He takes a sip from his flute, then rises to his feet. He walks around to stand beside me.

"What are you—" He plants his big palms on either side of my mouth, then squeezes with enough pressure that I open my mouth. He lowers his head and trails the sparkling wine into my mouth.

My stomach tightens, and my pussy contracts.

Bubbles warmed by his mouth pop on my tongue.

The taste of lemon, pears, green apple…and him fills my palate.

He releases his hold on my face, and I swallow.

The liquid slides down my throat. It feels like I swallowed a part of him.

He watches the movement of my throat, and his blue eyes darken to that indigo I’m so familiar with. The one that indicates he’s turned on.

"Open," he growls.

Before I can comply, he grabs his flute, takes another sip, dribbles it into my mouth, and wraps his fingers around my throat as I swallow.

"You’re so fucking sexy, Rabbit. It makes me want to turn you over and take you right-fucking-now."

Before I can respond, he releases me. Then he straightens, walks over to the food cart and slides my plate in front of me. "Eat."

I glance down and exclaim, "Spaghetti a la Puttanesca? My favorite? How did you know?"

"I know everything about you, Rabbit. I take my role as your Dom very seriously."

I peek up at him from under my lashes. What do I make of this complex man?

Now I know that the distance I sense in him is not of his making.

Now, I know that, although he seems dissociated from the moment, in reality, he’s very engaged.

His focus is always on me, even when I’m not aware of it.

During the time I was upset he wasn’t in touch with me when we were apart and I thought he was focused on his career, even then, I didn’t feel alone.

It wasn’t until that day I came home to find him with that woman that I felt a distance between us.

Have I forgiven him for that farce? I’m not sure.

At the very least, I gave him a taste of the anger, jealousy and helplessness I’d felt by pretending to be with Finn.

I couldn’t resist when he invited me to experiment with the power exchange in our relationship.

Blame it on my fascination with spicy books.

Or on the fact that I hold the power in our association.

I do hold the power. I do. I remind myself of that as he nods toward my plate. "Eat."

The power in that one word sends another burst of anticipation up my spine.

I dig into the food and take a mouthful.

The tangy flavors of tomatoes, the bite of garlic, the zing of capers, the saltiness of anchovies—all of it bursts on my tongue.

It also makes me miss the taste of him that clung to the bubbles. He watches me, his own food untouched.

"Aren’t you eating?"

"Watching you appease your appetite is enough to satisfy mine."

"Oh." I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth. "You mean that don’t you?"

One side of his lips quirks. His cold blue eyes sparkle with a fire that scorches as it chills me.

The hair on the back of my neck rises. Goosebumps pop on my skin.

I bring the fork to my mouth and slide the tines of the fork between my lips.

He watches with utmost focus as I pull it out, then place it back on my plate.

"You need to eat some more."

"I can’t." I lean back in my seat.

"You’re going to need your strength," he murmurs in a low voice.

I can’t stop the nervous giggle from bursting out. "You sound so serious."

"That’s because I am, Rabbit."

"B-b-but I’m full," I whine.

"Not as full as you’re going to be when I take your arse."