Page 317 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Penny

He catches me with his big hands under my butt, and I wrap my legs about his waist. I saw the emotions flit across his features.

The nightmare he had earlier must have lowered his barriers because I’ve never seen him this open, this vulnerable.

This real. And I can’t lose this opportunity to get close to him.

Physically. Emotionally. This is my chance to get him to reveal the person he truly is—to the extent he’s willing to share, that is.

And maybe I’m making use of the fact that his defenses are down, but that’s okay.

A girl’s gotta play with the cards she’s dealt.

And the one thing I know is that, regardless of how grumpy and growly he comes across in my presence, he’s affected by my body.

If that’s what I have to work with, then so be it.

I’m going to use every advantage I’ve been afforded to ensure he never forgets what it feels like to be with me.

I twine my hands around his neck and hold on.

His nostrils flare. "You shouldn’t have done that, Little Dove."

"And you’re still talking, Sir, you—" I gasp as he plucks me off his body with seemingly no effort, then throws me over his shoulder.

My heart flutters like a trapped butterfly.

My hair flows down my face, hiding my line of sight, but I sense him moving.

I manage to push back the strands from over my eyes as he turns and marches off toward the closet.

"Where are you going?" I huff when he brings his big palm down on my backside. The pain shivers over my nerve-endings and my scalp tingles. All the pores in my body seem to wake up. He walks across the floor of the closet—in between empty shelves built into the walls. Huh? I tilt my head and spot a couple of pairs of shoes, and a row of suits—all black—as well as a few pairs of jeans and sweatshirts folded on a shelf. There’s nothing else in the space.

He may have decided to embrace this mean billionaire persona, but deep down, he’s the Spartan soldier who went on a mission to defend his country.

He might try to deny it, but I know he hasn’t changed as much as he’d like me to believe.

He pushes against the paneling on the far side of the closet, and a door—one which is hidden until you push on the panel— opens.

He walks in, touches a button, and the door swings closed behind us.

Then, he hits a light switch, and a golden glow illuminates the space.

His bare feet make a thudding sound as he prowls forward, then lowers me onto my back on a bed.

The mattress is so thin, I can feel the hardness of the wood through it. I sit up and glance around the space.

The single bed has a thin pillow and a threadbare sheet which is mussed up.

The room itself, is only about sixty square feet, if that, and it has no windows.

On a table pushed up against one wall are a few pairs of jeans and folded sweatshirts.

Below it, is a pair of boots, another pair of formal shoes and a pair of sneakers.

There’s a table—with a few books—and chair pushed up against the opposite wall.

In between the table and the bed is a nightstand, with a lamp, a phone charger, and some coins.

There’s also a coil of rope on it. Huh? The space feels claustrophobic.

It’s also more lived in than the rest of the house.

Is this the only space he feels at home?

Does it feel safe to him because it's hidden from the outside world?

He walks over to the nightstand and snatches up the rope. He turns to me "Hold out your hands."

"What is this space?"

"Lay back on the bed," he orders.

"B-b-but—"

"You will do as I say." He glares at me, and my heart seems to slide down to the space between my legs. A dull throbbing springs to life there. I draw in a breath—suffused with his scent, which is so much more concentrated in this space—and my head spins. He holds my gaze. Those green eyes of his are, once again, emerald chips, and I know then, he’s close to breaking. A crack in the ice that’ll show me the turmoil he holds within himself.

The rest of the room recedes. All I see is his features, his lips, his jaw, his cheekbones, and his scowl, which hold me captive.

As if in a dream, I lay back and hold out my hands.

"Good girl."

I flush, and my pussy clenches.

He looks down between my legs with interest. "That turns you on, hmm?"

Without waiting for an answer, he transfers the rope to one hand and swipes the fingers of his free hand up my slit.

He brings them to his lips and sucks on them.

"Caramel and honey," he says around a groan, and a whimper spills from my lips.

It seems to galvanize him into action, for he brings my wrists together, then wraps the rope around them.

When he knots the restraint, the soft material whispers across my skin, making goosebumps burst all over.

My nipples tighten, and I don’t need to look down to know they’re saluting him right now.

He twists my arms up and over my head. I draw in a sharp breath.

I glance up to find he’s looped the rope through the headboard.

He tugs, forcing me to straighten out my arms. I’m forced to flatten my back onto the bed as he secures me.

Then he walks to the bottom of the bed, ties each of my ankles to the footboard, so I’m spread-eagled.

As he straightens, he drags his fingers over the underside of my foot, and I shiver. "Ticklish, hmm?"

"Isn’t everyone?"

His eyes flash, then he lowers himself to his knees on the floor.

He wraps his thick fingers around the sole of my foot, then bends and sucks on my big toe.

I feel the suction in my core, I swear. My pussy clenches down and comes up empty, and it’s almost painful.

I try to pull my foot away, but of course, I can’t because I’m tied down.

He looks at me from under his heavy eyelashes, then flicks out his tongue into the space between my toes.

My scalp tingles. My leg muscles spasm. More moisture slides out from between my pussy lips. His nostrils flare. His gaze lowers to my core, and he stares at my throbbing center. The more he looks at it, the wetter I grow. I’m sure the bedspread below bears a wet spot from my cum.

"You’re so pink, so pretty. Your cunt can’t wait to welcome me inside you, baby."

"So, what are you waiting for?" I cry out.

His lips quirk. Asshole chooses to smile at my discomfort. He moves to my other foot, and before I can protest, he’s sucked on my big toe again.

OMG, it’s sooo arousing. My back arches. I can feel the sucking motion in my center, on my nipples, even on my tongue. It’s as if all my erogenous centers are connected to where he flicks his tongue out and licks down the outline of my foot. "So, you have a foot fetish?"

"Only if it’s your foot." He straightens to his full height, and instantly, my gaze is captured by his thick cock that juts out from between his massive thighs.

It seems bigger and thicker than the last time.

A vein stands out in relief on the underside, and precum drools from the crown.

He squeezes the base, and I shudder, then lick my lips.

"Do you want me to feed you my cock, Little Dove?"

I instantly nod.

"That’s too bad."

"Eh?"

"You haven’t earned it yet."

"What do you mean? What do I have to do?" I pant.

He walks, once more, to the bedside table. This time he pulls out the drawer, snatches something up, then throws his leg over my thighs to kneel over me on the bed.

When he holds out his open palm, my gaze widens. "What are you going to use that for?"