Page 34 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Isla

His thick, hard cock swings free, and I close my mouth around it. So it’s cheating. And I’m distracting him. Sue me. I grip his thighs and take him down my throat.

"Isla," he growls. The Kindle slips from his hand and hits the floor. He’s so big, so wide, he fills my mouth and pushes down on my tongue.

I swallow, and he groans. I tip up my head and the head of his shaft hits the back of my throat.

Instantly, I gag. His thigh muscles ripple.

A groan rips from him. The next second, he holds my hair away from my face, then slides his hand around to the nape of my neck.

I glance up to find he has his gaze fixed on me.

Without breaking the connection, I take him in as far as I can, then pull back. His cock balances between my lips. I move forward, and he slips down my gullet. He releases my hair, only to plant one hand on the books above; the other he wraps around my throat.

"Fuck." His chest rises and falls. "I’ll never get enough of feeling you swallow my cock." His grip tightens. I pull back, then move forward and this time he meets me with a thrust of his own. Tears squeeze out of the corners of my eyes. Saliva drools from my mouth. He holds me in place with his grasp around my neck as he fucks my mouth. In-out-in. His silver-gray eyes deepen in color until they seem almost amber. Once more they take on the color of our surroundings. I can see myself in them. See my need to bring a flush to his cheeks. His jaw is tight, and a nerve throbs at his temple. Heat vibrates off of his body, turning the air between us into an inferno. Sweat beads his shoulders, and I become conscious of the moisture sliding down my back. We’re part of the same organism, one continuous thought of lust and passion and sexual desire the kind I’ve never faced before.

Will never face again. Then, just like that, he pulls out.

He releases his hold on my neck, only to bend and haul me up to my feet. He fastens his mouth on mine and kisses me deeply. I can taste him, and smell the sea mixed with his deeper muskier scent.

"I can taste myself on you, do you know how crazy that makes me?”

He shoves my swimsuit aside, fastens his hands under my butt and lifts me up.

I wrap my legs around him, and in one smooth move, he’s inside me.

My breath heaves. My gaze widens. I’m wet enough for him to penetrate easily, and yet, he’s so wide, I’m spread around his girth.

He holds me there, giving me time to adjust. A beat, another.

He looks into my eyes and must sense the pain of his intrusion is fading, for he propels his hips forward and sinks inside all the way.

I gasp, and my breath catches. He’s so deep, it’s like I can feel him in my throat. I open my mouth, but no words come out.

"Hold on, baby."

I cling to his shoulders, and he begins to move.

He drives into me with single-minded focus.

His gaze locks on mine. His palm clamps around the nape of my neck.

He tunnels into me like it’s the very last thing he’s going to do before he dies.

Aren’t there animals who go on a mating spree and then are so overcome by exhaustion that they die?

Not that I’m comparing him to an animal.

Though he is a beast. My beast. A brute who’s shagging me with such ferocity that I’m sure he’s going to fuck my soul out of me. "Liam—" I gasp out. "Liam."

He peels back his lips, pulls out of me until his shaft is balanced at the opening of my pussy.

Then, he thrusts forward and impales me.

I orgasm instantly. One moment, I’m looking at him; the next, I’m falling through space.

Sparks explode behind my eyes, and I’m sure I’ve died a little.

La petite mort, indeed. That’s how intense the sensations coursing through me are.

I can’t feel my limbs. I’m a shard of light racing through space, over continents, under the sea and up again. Then, just as suddenly, I’m back in my body. My breasts feel heavy, but my chest is light. I cling to him with my knees locked around his waist.

And still, he drills into me. His shoulders are drenched in sweat; his breath comes in pants.

Bam-bam-bam, his heart thunders in his chest, mirroring the racing, overheated sentiment of mine.

The aftershocks course through me as he continues to power into my pussy.

His hips flex, the curve of his butt slick with sweat.

My biceps hurt, and my triceps protest. I can’t hold onto him any longer.

I can’t. I’m held up by the force of his monster cock and his energizer bunny impersonation in how he fucks me, with that back-forth-back action that seems to go on and on and on.

From somewhere deep inside, I call upon the last dregs of my energy.

I clamp my inner muscles around his dick.

A growl wells up from his throat. His shaft swells further, getting impossibly massive.

He tunnels into me with such force, his balls slap against my arse.

The shelf I’m balanced against shakes. Books tumble down over us, around us, and just as I’m sure he’s going to drill right through me…

With a hoarse cry, he empties himself inside me.

His entire body shudders. He pushes his forehead into mine.

His breath sears my cheek, the heat from his body a furnace pinning me in place.

That, and his dick, which still pulses inside of me like it has a life of its own.

His shoulders flex, and his chest planes ripple.

The left over energy from our fucking pulses through him, and by extension, through me.

He leans more of his weight into me. Another book jumps off the shelf above us and hits the ground with a crack.

He draws a deep breath, then pulls back. The sucking sound of his sweat drenched flesh separating from mine is loud in the space.

"LadyBird." He bends enough so his face is on the same level as mine. "You okay?" His voice sounds as raw as I feel.

I turn away, not wanting to meet his gaze. If I do, there’s no telling what he’ll read in my eyes.

"Isla?" His voice is more urgent. "Answer me, baby. Did I hurt you? I got carried away a bit."

I shake my head. "I’m okay," I finally whisper.

"I didn’t hurt you, did I?"

"You did. But in a good way."

He drags his nose up my jaw and slides a strand of my hair aside. "You sure?"

I nod.

"So why aren’t you looking at me?"

"Because…" I bite the inside of my cheek. "Because, I don’t want you to see how shaken I am by what just happened." Despite my best efforts, my voice cracks.

"Isla, baby. It’s okay. You can fall apart in my arms, and I won’t judge you."

And that’s what makes it even more difficult for me to confide in you. I don’t want to let you down. I don’t want to let myself down. I don’t want the world to think you’ve married someone like me when you can do so much better.

A-n-d there it is. The reason I haven’t been able to tell him about myself. It’s not about him judging me. It’s about the world telling me I’m no good for him. And I’d believe it because, deep inside, that’s what I believe myself. Tears leak from my eyes, and I start to shake.

"Isla, baby—" He pulls me even closer. I bury my face in his neck and breathe him in, trying to push away all these thoughts of unworthiness that are strangling me from the inside.

He’s been through so much. In comparison, honestly, I got off lighter.

Yet, I’m the one who seems to be reeling from the scars I’m carrying inside.

Is it a guy thing? Are they better at compartmentalizing?

I mean, Liam can be an asshole, but he’s also proven himself as someone who genuinely cares for me.

I know. This relationship between us started off as a farce, and he still expects a child out of our union, but other than that…

He’s surprised me at every turn with his thoughtfulness, his ability to read my mind, and how intuitively he seems to guess what I want.

Like right now, when he rocks me in his arms and rubs circles over my back.

I loosen my hold on him and begin to slide down, but he props me up with his palms under my butt.

He brushes against the bookshelf, and two more books fall off the shelf.

"Shit," he swears, then turns, and without pulling out of me, walks over to the settee. He sits down with me straddling him. He pushes my face into his shoulder, continues to rub circles down my back. That only makes me cry harder, my labored breaths rasping in and out. Damn, I’m so tired of feeling sorry for myself, and yet, I can’t stop myself from letting the tears flow down my cheeks.

"Baby, stop. Please. Seeing you cry is killing me."

I sniffle, but can’t stop my crying.

"Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else."

"Eh?"

"Indulge me," he murmurs.

Is this his way of getting me accustomed to the idea of telling him what’s on my mind? It’s not a bad tactic, actually. I chew on the inside of my cheek. "I already told you how I loved The Wedding Planner and Jennifer Lopez’s character in it?"

He nods.

"Well I didn’t only watch RomComs. I also loved Donnie Darko, and Lost in Translation and 8-Mile."

He whistles. "Wouldn’t have expected that."

"Because Donnie Darko is too dark, Lost in Translation is too whimsical, and 8-Mile is too grungy?"

"That, too." He chuckles.

"Where do you think the name Tiny comes from?"

I sense him looking down at me. "That’s why you called him Tiny? After Eminem’s character in 8-Mile?"

"Yep. His Lose Yourself is the anthem of my life in a way, you know?"

"So you’re not only a talented organizer of things who knows how to get things done, you’re also a poet at heart?"

"More like an angsty, rebellious teen who never grew up." I laugh.

"It’s good to channel your inner angsty teen. It propels you forward toward what you truly desire."

I look up then. "Is that what you do?"

"Channel my inner angsty teen?" His features grow hard. His eyes take on a faraway look, and I know he’s gone back to that space as a teenager when he was taken and held. He sighs and his expression grows thoughtful. "Maybe a part of me never left that room where I was held. Perhaps, deep inside, I’ll always be that helpless boy trying hard not to lose his mind to the panic that had set in. Trying to be grown up, but realizing I was still a child. Trying to put on a brave face, even to myself. Telling myself if I didn’t break, everything would be okay. "

"And did you break?" I ask in a low voice.

"Not then. It might have been better if I had. I might have found catharsis then. I’ve never stopped fighting since that day. Never stopped trying to prove myself to myself since."

Like me. I’m trying to prove to myself that I can move on and still be me, despite a part of me being not what it once was.

"If I could control myself, I could control everything else around me. At least, that’s what I thought, you know?"

"You have no idea how much I do," I murmur.

"That’s what I love about you. Even when we’re at odds, it feels like there’s a tacit understanding between us."

He used the L word. Is he aware he used the L word? Maybe it doesn’t mean anything that he did. Maybe it was just a figure of speech. Also, we don’t know each other well enough for him to use that particular word. I push the thought of my head.

"What now?"

"Now? I feed you.”