Page 391 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

My cock is hard, my balls are hard, and my thighs are…

hard. All of the muscles in my body are—you guessed it—fucking hard.

This is torture. Touching her, massaging her body, kneading her muscles so the pain leaks out of her tissues.

And I know I’m succeeding in easing the pain from her body; she's more relaxed than I've ever seen her.

Her breathing is deep. Her chest rises and falls and her tits…

Her gorgeous tits gleam as a result of the oil I’m stroking into them.

Her nipples are pink and juicy, and my mouth waters to take a taste, but I will not.

This, right now, is about her comfort, her relaxation, relieving her soreness.

I whisper my thumbs across her nipples, and the pulse at the base of her throat speeds up.

She parts her lips, and the scent of her arousal intensifies.

My fingers tremble, and my heart rate speeds up.

I slide my hands under her breasts and weigh them.

This time, she moans, and the sound is so fucking erotic.

It’s a call to the primitive side of me to bury myself inside her.

To mate her. To claim her. To make her mine.

She is mine. There’s no doubt in my mind, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her happy.

And that means, not making love to her now.

That means, finding a way to squeeze out the last dregs of discomfort from her flesh so she can drift into sleep.

I bend and blow my breath over her nipple; she whines. I trace my fingers around her nipples again, then down the center of her stomach. Her ribcage stands out under her skin. I pause.

She’s so thin. Isn’t she eating properly?

Whenever I make food for her, she finishes everything on her plate.

She even finished the dessert at dinner with Grams. So why does she feel so fragile?

And it’s not because her build is tiny. Maybe her metabolism is such that she burns off everything?

Maybe. But maybe, I should keep an eye on her.

I trace the space between each rib, and she shudders.

"Rick," she murmurs. Her voice is sleepy, and lust drips from each syllable. My dick instantly hardens further. I manage to swat away my desire and drag my mind back from the need-filled space it’s ventured into.

This is about her, remember? About her. Only about her.

I trail my fingers toward the waistband of her panties, then under it.

"Take 'em off," she slurs.

I want to. You have no idea how much I want to. But if I do, I won’t be able to hold myself back, and I don’t want that, Not for tonight. Instead, I dip my head and press my lips to her lower belly. She moans again, and my pulse rate goes through the roof.

Shit, when I started to massage her, I didn’t mean for it to go down this route.

And I’m not going to fuck her. But she’s turned on, and if I can make her come, it’s bound to relax her even more and draw out any remaining pain from her body.

Only challenge: I’m going to have to do it without touching her pussy.

I know if I do I’ll lose the last vestiges of my self-control.

I slide my hands up to cup her breasts, then drag the scruff of my chin around the outside of her waistband.

This time, a full body shudder grips her.

I nibble little kisses to her lower belly, then pass my nose into the apex of her thighs.

"Rick, please." She thrusts up her pelvis. No matter, she’s still wearing her panties. It doesn’t stop the heady scent of her arousal from saturating the air.

The sound of her panting reaches me and drains any remaining blood to my groin.

I drag my nose up her fabric covered pussy lips, then caress her nipples again.

She arches her back, pushing her lower body up, chasing her release.

I continue to very gently brush my fingertips back and forth over her nipples, and again, then drag my whisker-covered chin over her fabric covered core.

"Oh Rick," she whimpers. Her hips quiver, and her thighs clench. She gasps, and I know she’s close.

I release her breasts, only to bring my hands down and under her butt.

I squeeze the rounded flesh, and a low cry emerges from her lips.

I rise up and over her, and still massaging her rounded arse, I place my lips over hers.

I share her breath, fill my lungs with her fragrance, then blow lightly up her cheek.

"Come for me, Goldie," I whisper, and with a silent tremor, the orgasm rolls over her.

She opens her mouth in a soundless cry, and I place my lips over hers.

Not kissing her, simply absorbing her wordless pleasure.

As her body twitches with the aftershocks, I allow myself to press a kiss to her forehead, then I roll over and position her again on her side. "Sleep, baby."

Her breathing deepens. Her eyelids are shut, and with a final twitch, she stills.

I slide the kimono out from under her, and she doesn’t stir.

Then, draw the sheet over both of us and spoon her.

Despite the hardness between my legs and that agonizing need to empty my balls, I wrap my arm about her, place my hand over her lower belly where she was hurting and drift off to sleep.

When I open my eyes next, I’m alone. I touch her pillow and find it’s cold.

How did she wake up and get out of bed without rousing me?

I’m a light sleeper, at the best of times.

And since the accident that took my parents from me, I’ve yet to manage a good night’s sleep.

Apparently, the cure for my insomnia is being curled around the body of my fiancée. I mean, my fake fiancée.

I sit up, glance around the empty room, and a knot of apprehension squeezes my belly.

Or is that a result of my morning wood? I roll out of bed, stand, then groan when the throbbing heaviness between my thighs makes itself known.

Fucking dick, doesn’t know when it needs to keep down and out of the way.

If there's time, I’ll go to the bathroom and jerk off before heading downstairs.

I snatch up my phone, then groan when I realize it’s dead.

In my hurry to spoon her and hold her last night, not to mention the temptation that was her body, I forgot to charge my phone.

Fucking fuck. Judging by the early morning light slanting through the windows, I’ve overslept.

And I’m the team captain. I cannot afford to be late for practice.

No time to change, I grab my kit, pull on a sweatshirt, step into my sneakers and run down the stairs.

The scent of coffee beckons me from the kitchen.

That and the sound of her voice, interspersed with male laughter.

What the fuck? Who the hell is in there with her and at this time of the morning?

I speed up until I’m almost running, and when I burst into the kitchen, come to a stop.

She’s standing with her hand on Finn’s arm. And he’s looking deeply into her eyes.

I move forward. "Get away from her."