Page 327 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Knight

The bouquet begins to slip from her fingers. I jump up from the chair and close the distance to her in time to catch it before it touches the floor. I straighten, then look from it to her. "It’s customary for the bride to toss the bouquet over her shoulder to a group of single women."

"It’s customary for the groom to accept a ring from his bride at the wedding,” she retorts.

"I hate any kind of metal next to my body." I frown.

"Is that why you don’t wear your dog tags?"

I stiffen; every muscle in my body tenses. She notices my reaction and holds up her hand. "Sorry I asked."

She goes to brush past me, but I step in her way. "It’s also customary for a bride to carry a bouquet of flowers." I glance pointedly at the bunch of blue feathers.

"Like it is for the groom to stay with his bride through the reception. And to cut a cake and have a first dance, and to kiss the bride after the vows are exchanged."

"Lay back down," I snap.

"Excuse me?"

"On the bed, my new blushing bride."

"So you can consummate the marriage? No, thank you."

She tries to push past me, but I don’t budge.

"What do you want, Knight?" she asks in a tired voice. "Isn’t it enough you diminished me in my own eyes? Do you want to rub in the fact that you own me and my time and my choices? Is that what this is about?"

A strange sensation squeezes my chest. I don’t dare examine it too closely. If I did, I might have to call it remorse. And that’s something I haven’t experienced in a while… Not in a situation not connected to my team and what I let happen to them. And—

Goddamn it, but I was in the wrong. She's still wearing her wedding dress as if to remind me. And I need to make it up to her in the one way I know I can. The one way I know will make her forget everything that happened yesterday. The only way in which I can communicate to her without fear of hurting her—except in the way she yearns for, only she doesn’t know it yet.

"You wanted a kiss. I’m giving you a kiss."

"I changed my mind."

"Too late."

She huffs. "I’m a woman. I’m allowed to change my mind."

"Not this time."

She firms her jaw, and that look of defiance on her features is such a fucking turn on. Everything about her makes me want to find a way to subdue her, to handle her body and mark her skin and squeeze her curves and imprint my dick inside her pussy all over again.

"Lay. Back. Little Dove,"—I draw in a breath—"please."

She blinks, then complies. Is it because I used my Dom tone or because I said please? Doesn’t matter. What’s important is that she sits down on the bed and slides back a little, then eases herself back.

I flip the hem of her wedding dress up and around her waist, then groan when I spot the garter on her thigh. She wore it for me. Of course, she did. And now, I’m going to use it.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she squeaks.

"You wanted a kiss; I’m giving you a kiss."

I step between her thighs, forcing them further apart, and this time, a shudder runs up her body. "M-my lips are up here."

"Not the only lips on your body." I bend, then tear off her panties, and she yelps. She tries to squeeze her legs together, but I’m in the way. And fuck, if I don’t pat myself on the back mentally.

I pinch a feather from her bouquet, then toss it to the side.

I plant a hand next to her head and fold over her, making sure not to touch her anywhere.

In this position, my face is above hers, my breath raising the hair on her temples.

I place the tip of the feather in between her eyebrows, and she swallows.

I drag it down her nose, her trembling mouth, over the pulse that beats at the base of her throat, across the sheer lace between her gorgeous breasts and a moan spills from her lips.

I trail the feather over the lace-covered fabric that’s bunched around her hips, then pause at the soft flesh above her melting lower lips.

Her thigh muscles twitch, and I draw the feather over her pussy.

She gasps. I ease the garter down her leg, and when I lean over her, she stares up with dilated pupils. "Open your mouth."

She instantly complies, and I stuff her garter between her lips. Her gaze widens, and the pulse at the base of her neck speeds up until its beat echoes the drumming of my heart.

I slide back down and kneel between her thighs.

"Place your feet on the edge of the bed," I order. Once more, she does as she’s told without hesitation. The result? I’m presented with a tastefully presented pussy framed by her gorgeous, fleshy thighs. "You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?"

She moans, or I assume she does, for the sound is stifled.

"Such a pretty cunt you have. When I’m done with it, you won't be able to pee without feeling me inside of you for the next week."

Her back arches, and her hips twitch.

"You like it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you, baby? Such a willing little slut you are. Can’t wait to feel my dick stuffed inside your little hole, hmm?"

She writhes under my scrutiny. A fat drop of cum slides out from between her pussy lips. I bend and lick it up. Instantly, she pushes her pelvis up, chasing the feel of my tongue. I laugh. The sound is mean, and she trembles.

And when I trace the feather over her swollen clit, she digs her fingers into the sheets on either side of her and pants so loudly, I can hear her, despite the gag stuffed in her mouth.

I continue to whisper the feather down her leg, around her ankle, and across her soles.

Her toes curl, she tries to wriggle away, and I grip her other thigh with my free hand to hold her in place.

"You ticklish, Little Dove?"

I glance up in time to see her shake her head vigorously.

"You lying to me, hmm?"

She swallows, then shakes her head again.

"Let’s test that theory, shall we." I transfer the feather to my other hand, and once more, drag it down the sole of her foot.

She tries to pull her leg back, but I curl my fingers around her ankle.

I draw the feather over her toes, then across the ball of her foot.

She makes a choked sound and tries to writhe away, but I hold her in place.

I continue to glide the feather across the arch of her foot, and she brings up her other foot and places it on my shoulder.

I look up at her, and her big, wide eyes have a beseeching expression in them.

"Want me to make it stop?"

She nods.

"Want me to make you come?"

She nods again.

"Want me to fuck your ass?”

She begins to nod, then frowns.

"Maybe not today, hmm?"

Her frown deepens.

I release her foot, only to lock my hand under her knee and push her leg up so she’s exposed more to my gaze. I stroke the feather down the valley between her lips, down her slit, to the rosette between her arse-cheeks.

Blood rushes to her cheeks; splotches of pink cling to her chest. The look in her eyes turns desperate. Her hips jerk, a single bead of sweat slides down her cleavage. That’s when I toss the feather aside and lower my head between her legs.