Page 300 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Knight

"Flying away so soon, Little Dove?"

She laughs, the sound nervous. "I, uh, have everything I need."

But I’m only getting started.

I reach out and tug her handbag down her arm, then drop it onto the couch behind her.

"What are you doing?" She sucks in her breath through her lips.

I hold out my hand. She looks down at it, then back at me. "Knight—"

"What did I ask you to call me?"

She hesitates. "Sir," she says under her breath.

"I didn’t hear you."

She clears her throat. "What are you doing… Sir?"

I allow her voice to sweep away the myriad of thoughts running through my head. Allow my attention to drop back down into my chest, my arms, my legs. I push my feet into the ground and anchor my gaze on the gorgeous siren standing in front of me.

"Whatever you want me to do to you, Little Dove."

The pulse at the base of her throat drums faster.

"You’re going to be married soon."

"And I’m never going to be in a relationship—not with her, not with you, not with anyone."

"So, this…" She nods toward my outstretched hand. "What’s this?"

"Sex."

"A quick and dirty fling, and then we go our separate ways?" Her lips quiver, and she manages to flatten them.

"It’s going to be anything but quick. And dirtier than anything you’ve read in your Dramione fanfic."

"How do you know, when you’ve never read it?"

"Why don’t we put it to the test, and you can tell me, hmm?"

Color flushes up her throat. "I’m not sure that’s a good idea."

I search her features, then nod. "Okay."

She seems taken aback. "That’s it? You’re just accepting what I said?"

"It’s your choice. You can stay and be fucked on every surface in this house and in every way and in every orifice over one night, and I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Or you can leave, go home to your own bed, and I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.

Her forehead furrows. She glances around the apartment then at me. "My choice, huh?"

I nod.

"You won’t stop me if I leave?"

I hold up my hands. "I won’t."

She picks up her coat, shrugs into it, then picks up her bag.

She hooks it over her shoulder, and the tempo of my heart accelerates.

It’s as if wild horses have invaded my chest as I watch her head for the elevator.

She presses the button to call the cage, and the doors part.

Of course, they do. It’s my private elevator.

Only I use it, so it’s always at my disposal.

For the first time, I curse the benefits my money is able to buy.

I never missed it when I lived off my military salary.

And didn’t pay much attention to the luxury that came along with moving into this flat.

I needed somewhere high enough from the ground that I wouldn’t have to look at it and remember what it was like to be buried six feet deep.

I wanted a place with enough light that there were no dark corners I could step into.

This penthouse delivers on all those fronts. I decided to move it because it would give me the solitude I crave. Now, I wish I hadn’t been so quick to seek out the trappings that feed my desire for seclusion. A first, since I returned from my captivity.

She steps inside the car and turns. Our gazes meet, then the door slides shut.

She’s gone. I gave her a choice, and she took it.

I could have commanded her to stay, and she would have.

I could have asked her to strip, and she’d have gladly shed her clothes.

I could have ordered her to bend over the chaise, and she’d have obliged.

Instead, something inside of me had wanted her to stay of her own accord, and she didn’t.

She left. I turn and glance about the space.

The sun has set outside, and the lights of the city shine up in a cloud of iridescence.

They drown out the light from the stars above, so the sky is a flattened sheet of plastic.

A void into which, if I shout, not even my echo will answer me back.

Like my life. My heart. My soul, which is no longer mine.

I head toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, then raise my arm and crash my fist into the windowpane.

There’s a dull boom, then pain shudders up my arm and it feels… Cleansing.

Apparently, the only way to feel anything, other than when I’m being dominant, is by hurting myself.

I stare at the fractured surface. This windowpane is not meant to crack easily.

Not unless you hit it with the right pressure at the right angle and at the weakest point of the panel.

All of which I seem to have accomplished.

This time, luck is with me, or maybe, against me?

Was it luck that had Adam come to my rescue at the right time?

Was it luck that had us being captured in the first place?

The pressure presses down behind my eyeballs.

My brain feels like it’s pushing against my skull.

Sweat beads my forehead. I need to relieve the pressure.

Right this second. I throw up my arm again, intent on punching through the glass this time, when the ding of the elevator doors opening reaches me.

I look into the fractured glass surface in front of me and spot her approach in the reflection.

She sweeps her gaze down my body, and halfway across the floor, she drops her bag and runs toward me. "Knight!" When she reaches me, she takes in the lacerated skin over my knuckles.

"Oh, my god!" She reaches for my hand, and I pull it away.

"Get out."

"You’re hurt."

"I’ve been hurt before."

“You’re crazy."

Not enough. I pivot and head for the bar in the corner of the room. I reach for a bottle of whiskey and uncap it with my unhurt hand. Then, I chug down the alcohol. It goes down smoothly, leaving a burn in its wake. I take another sip, then turn to find she’s walking toward me.

"I told you to leave."

"I’m not going."

"You left earlier."

"I came back." She swallows.

"For what?"

She shuffles her feet. "You know what."

"No, I don’t. You need to spell it out."

"I…" She glances to her left, then her right, then wraps her arms about her waist. "I want you to fuck me, okay?"

"No."

"Eh?" She jerks her chin up. "You want me. I know you do."

"So?"

"You’re pissed because I didn’t choose to stay. Your ego is hurt. Is that it?"

"A-n-d there you are again with your pop psychology one-oh-one. I have news for you, I’ve fooled hardened army shrinks. You’re nothing in front of them."

"They don’t know you the way I do."

"Oh?" I take another long pull from the whiskey bottle, then lower it to my side.

"You know I’m right. I see you, Knight. I know you’re angry about what they did to you. I know you want revenge for what happened.”

"Oh, I had my revenge.” I crack my neck. “Adam and I killed those bastards before we escaped.”

She pales, then seems to get hold of herself, "You may have k-killed them, but you don’t seem any happier.”

I tighten my fingers around the neck of the bottle. "It gave me the satisfaction of knowing I made them pay.”

“And yet, you act as if you’re still at war. You’re on edge. You prefer to stay on your own. You avoid your friends and family. It’s as if you never returned from wherever you were being held.”

“Oh, I’m very aware that I returned. I made it out alive… But the rest of my team didn’t.” I set my jaw. “I don’t deserve to be here when they aren’t.”

"Why can’t you focus on the positive? You got out. Adam got out. There must be a reason for it."

I tilt my head. "Look at you. As usual, spouting your optimism and sunshine and hopefulness. I’d normally find it cute, but right now, you’re getting on my nerves."

"You’re happy I returned."

"Do I look happy to you?" I laugh, and the sound is hollow.

"You look"—she searches my features—"lonely."

"And you’re the one who’s going to soothe my brow and tell me I’m not."

"You’re not… for tonight." She reaches for her coat and pushes it off her shoulders.

"You don’t really want to do this," I growl.

She smiles, then bends and grabs the hem of her dress.

In one swoop, she yanks it up and over her head.

She flings it aside and stands clad in her bra, which barely contains her breasts, and a tiny thong, with a crotch that reveals the shadowy outline of her slit.

The blood drains to my groin. I’m instantly so hard, the pain in my balls beats in tandem to the pain that pulses up from my injured knuckles.

I drag my gaze down her fleshy thighs, her shapely calves, her delicate ankles encircled by the straps of her three-inch high stilettos.

By the time I raise my gaze back to her face, she’s flushed.

Her lips are parted. Her color is so high, her dilated blue eyes are pools of desire that beckon me to dive into them, to drown myself in them.

In her. To forget, for one night, what happened to me. To remember the man I once was.

"Last chance," I snap.

She pulls down the strap of her bra over one shoulder.

"Stop."