Page 295 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Knight

"Your list of qualities you’re looking for in a wife?" she retorts.

I take my time reading through the list.

Must be a virgin.

Must be ready to have sex anytime.

Must be meek.

Must be organized and able to manage the household.

Has no original thoughts of her own.

Must be good-looking—ideally, model-thin?

Must be ready to spawn right away.

Must make sure the world revolves around me.

Has no personality of her own.

Must be dumb enough to marry me.

"So, that’s what you think I’m looking for, hmm?"

"I know that’s what you’re looking for." Her voice is smug.

Without looking up, I turn the sheet over and begin to write. I take my time, and the seconds stretch.

She moves around in her seat.

I ignore her.

She taps her fingers on the table. "Is this going to take long?"

"You have somewhere else to be, Ms. Easton?"

"N-no," she stutters.

I keep writing, and she continues to fidget. When I raise my gaze to hers, it’s to find she’s biting her nails. She flushes, then lowers her hand. "Sorry, bad habit. I do it when I’m nervous. I also talk too much when things are too quiet, but you know that."

I place my pen down on the desk, then push the paper across to her.

She blinks. "What’s this?"

"Why don’t you read it out aloud?"

A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows, then she does as I asked.

"Number one. Must be a virgin." She huffs. "What a surprise you kept that in. Number two. Will be ready for me anytime, anyplace, especially in a public place." She freezes. "A public place?"

"Nothing like a little bit of exhibitionism to keep things fresh."

She bites down on her lower lip, and my gaze lowers to her mouth. "That arouses you, hmm?"

"What? No. Of course, not." She squirms around in the chair and my lips twitch.

Clearly, she’s lying, but I’m not going to call her out on it… Yet. Also, this is the most fun I’ve had since… My smile fades…Since the time I hung out with Cade and Declan before I left on my mission. I’ve avoided them since. Fact is, I’m not ready to meet them.

Life changed for them while I was away. They’re married and happy and I’d, no doubt, burst the bubble of their contentment with my unsociable mood.

No, I’m not ready to hang out with my friends yet.

Her though… She’s different. And she’s not a friend.

She’s… An employee? A paid lackey? A woman who keeps my interest engaged and is so entertaining to be with, I’m able to push to the back of my mind the ordeal I went through.

A woman I need to keep my distance from.

A woman I need to fuck and get out of my system? I stiffen. Now, that’s a possibility.

She continues reading. "Number three. Will challenge me and go toe-to-toe with me—" She jerks her chin in my direction. "You want someone who can challenge you?"

"It’s what keeps things interesting." I raise a shoulder. "If someone gives in too quickly, where’s the excitement in that?"

She rolls her eyes. "Are you planning a business transaction or trying to find a bride?"

"The first, obviously."

"Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer," she mumbles under her breath. I hear her anyway.

"You sassing me, Little Dove?"

"Just stating a fact."

"How could you, when you don’t know me at all?"

She looks up at me for a second, her gaze contemplative, then glances back at the sheet.

"Number four. Will value her family. Number five.

Will follow her instinct when it comes to making decisions.

Number six. Curvy, plus-size with a figure that embodies her heart— You want her to have curves? !" she bursts out.

"You should have gathered that by now." I tilt my head. "I like my woman to be soft and feminine and have the kind of hips that are perfect for childbearing."

"Of course there’s a practical reason to it,” she huffs.

"You didn’t think it had anything to do with liking the feel of her contours under my hands—"

Her lips part.

"— or the squeeze of her pussy on my cock or—"

She inhales sharply.

"The give of her breasts when I squeeze them"—I make a crushing motion with my fingers—"the give of her butt cheeks when I knead them and hold them apart as I drive into her; the—"

"Stop," she gasps.

"Oh, that's right. You need to finish reading the list." I nod toward the piece of paper held between her trembling fingers.

"Number seven. Wants to have children. Number eight. Must be faithful.”

She tosses her head. “You mean you can stray from the marital bed, but she cannot?”

“I mean, if she so much as dares to look at another man, I’ll cut off his balls.”

Her breath hitches. “You will?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. I won’t be seeing other women, either.”

“You won’t?” Her gaze widens. “You plan to stay faithful?”

“I’m old-fashioned that way.” I hold up a finger. “Provided her holes are available on demand.”

She winces. “No one can accuse you of being romantic.”

“I’m not marrying for romance.”

“Right…” She looks like she’s going to say something, then shakes her head and glances down at the paper again, “Number nine. Vivacious and speaks what’s on her mind.

Number ten. Is smart enough to marry me.

" She allows the paper to float to the desk, then sets her jaw.

"Number ten is debatable. What’s so smart about her wanting to marry you? "

"Because she will be well compensated."

She scoffs. "For allowing you to use her body as a receptacle to grow your child?"

“Among other things."

She raises her thumb to her mouth and begins to chew on her fingernail, then thinks better of it. "I can’t see any other benefits."

"For one, there will be multiple orgasms involved. I have my faults, but I’m not a selfish lover."

Her chest rises and falls. Her nipples are so hard, I can see them outlined through the blouse and the jacket she’s wearing.

I lean forward in my seat; so does she. I drag my thumb under my lower lip, and her gaze follows my actions. "I’ll make sure my wife orgasms every time I fuck her."

She tips up her gaze to mine. "You mean make love to her?"

"I mean fuck her—"

The color on her cheeks deepens.

"—Shag her. Bang her. Screw—"

She throws up her hand. "Fine, fine, I get what you’re saying."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do. No feelings. No emotions. No commitment on your side—"

"—except to my children, of course."

"Of course. Though this entire discussion seems like it’s rooted in the wrong reasons."

"It’s about procreation and ensuring I inherit my father’s company."

"It’s about love," she cries.

I take in her flushed features, her parted lips, the way she wrings her fingers together. "You really mean it."

"Of course I do."

"And you believe in rainbows and unicorns and fairies—"

"Not all of us are cynics, like you."

"Not all of us have been captured and tortured until it felt like the very skin from your body was being flayed. Not everyone was buried in a coffin-shaped hole under the ground with the rainwater seeping in and threatening to drown you alive. Not everyone was electrocuted until—" I shut my lips. The fuck am I doing, sharing my experiences with her? I haven't mentioned this to anyone other than Adam, and that’s only because he went through something similar. He was there. He understands how it was to spend every waking moment sure you’d never last another day. Then wake up to realize you’d survived and were stuck in the same nightmare, with no end in sight. The world moved on, and I regressed.

I touched the darkness inside of me. The ache, the hurt, the sorrows which were my shadow-self became real and came to the fore.

I had to draw on them. I had to become them to get through the next second, and the next, and the one after.

There was no hope… No future. Nothing but that blank void I surrounded myself with.

The only way to get through what was thrown at me was to disassociate my feelings from myself.

It’s why I remained alive. Why I’m here today, looking at her angelic face and taking in the pity in her eyes.

Pity. In. Her. Eyes. I stab at the button which releases the lock on the doors, then jerk my chin in the direction of the exit. "Leave."

"What?" She gapes.

"Get gone, woman, we’re done here."

She rises to her feet, turns to do as she’s told, then stops and turns around to face me. "No."