Page 394 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

I prowl into the empty VIP box and find her holding her phone up to her ear. She’s looking into the distance, a wrinkle between her eyebrows. Her lips are turned down, her shoulders hunched forward. Whatever the conversation is about, it’s not making her happy.

"I understand, but—" she begins, but must get cut off because I can hear the person on the other end say something. The words are not comprehensible, but the depth of the voice makes it clear it’s a man.

"I know we had a plan, but Dennis—" She squeezes her eyes shut and listens to him.

Anger twists my guts. I’m thankful I didn’t stop to shower but only stripped off my protective gear, pulled on my sweatshirt and changed into my trainers before getting here.

I knew there was a reason I had to hurry here after I saw her peeking through the glass panes.

Oh, she thought she’d hidden herself, but all it took was a curve of her shoulder, and I knew who it was.

"You’re right. We were together for almost a year, but you have to understand—"

I reach her, grab the phone from her and bark, "Keep away from her. She’s my fiancée, and if I catch you trying to reach her again, I’ll kill you when we fight." I disconnect the call and slide the phone into my pocket.

"That’s my phone."

"And you’re not going to get it back if you keep talking to your ex."

"The entire point of this fake relationship is so that I piss him off."

"Exactly. It’s not about you getting all warm and cozy with that doucheface."

"What’s it to you, anyway?" She throws up her hands, and the light bounces off of the diamonds on her ring. "Our relationship is fake. We established that earlier today. You have no rights over me. No rights."

"What did you say?" I glare at her, and the color pales from her cheeks.

She swallows, then tips her head back. "Your D-Dom voice doesn’t faze me."

"Oh?" I take a step forward, and she sidles back. I close the distance between us and crowd her until her back touches the glass wall. She stiffens.

"What are you doing?" she asks in a breathless voice.

"I’m going to punish you for your sass."

Her gaze widens, and her pupils dilate. The pulse at the base of her neck kicks up. "P-p-punish me? Why would you punish me?"

"Because you spoke with your ex. And I don’t share, Goldie. You’re my fiancée—"

"F-fake fiancée," she stutters.

"—and I intend to show you what that means."

I bend my knees and peer into her eyes. "Of course, you could make a run for it."

"What?"

"Run, Goldie, and if you manage to make it out of this room, I’ll back off."

"You’re crazy. We agreed we’d have boundaries in place."

"I changed my mind."

She stares at me like I’m crazy, which admittedly, I am—crazy with jealousy since I overheard her talking to her ex.

That churning feeling in my stomach spreads to my chest. My heart pounds into my ribcage.

Adrenaline laces my blood. It’s as if I’m back on the ice, in pursuit of the puck…

Only, in this case, there’s so much more at stake.

"You shouldn’t have threatened him; he might use that against you."

"Fuck him," I snap.

"You need to care more about your future."

"I care about you."

"What?"

"Fuck!" I squeeze my eyes shut, then shake my head to clear it. Not that it helps. When I look at her, she’s staring at me with a myriad of emotions in her eyes, the most obvious one of which is confusion. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I didn’t mean for that to come out.

Hell, I hadn’t even admitted it to myself yet, and here I am, saying it aloud.

It’s only after I heard myself speak… I realized I mean it, too.

And I don't want this. This was not part of the plan. "You’d better run, baby. If not, I’m going to take it as a sign that you’re giving in without a fight. "

She scowls. "Giving into what without a fight?"

"Fuck or flight, baby."

"Excuse me, did you snow clone fight or flight?"

His smirks before he decides to ignore me. "You have until I count to five."

"I can’t believe you’re doing this, you—"

"Five…" I reach for her.

She squeaks, "That’s cheating."

When it comes to you, I’ll do anything to make you mine.

She ducks and slips past me, only because I let her, of course.

I wait. Wait until she’s halfway across the floor, and only because it’s going to make the chase so much more satisfying.

Then, I set off. She hears me coming and increases her speed.

Her high-heeled pumps thump onto the floor.

She reaches the door and slides one foot out.

That’s when I reach her and clap my fingers around her neck, turning her to face me.

Her chest rises and falls; her eyes shine.

She opens her mouth, and I’m sure she’s going to scream.

Instead, she slaps me. The sound echoes around the empty room.

Her gaze widens until her eyes seem to fill her face.

I click my tongue. "You shouldn’t have done that, Goldie.” I release her long enough to bend and throw her over my shoulder.

This time, she yells, "What are you doing?"

I carry her over to the glass wall—pocketing a paper napkin from the bar counter on the way— and lower her to her feet.

She sidles back until her back is flush against the sheet of glass.

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes flashing those golden sparks that cut me to my knees.

She’s so goddamn gorgeous, so alive. She tries to stay in control, but she’s a fiery, sassy, ball of light that illuminates the dark corners of my life.

I kick her legs apart, and she raises her hand and slaps me again.

My cock extends, and my balls are instantly hard.

All that suppressed need from last night roars forward.

I lean in until the edge of my thigh rubs into her core.

She gasps, her breathing grows rougher, then she raises her hand again.

Before she can slap me a third time, I’ve grabbed her wrist and flipped her around, so her chest is pressed up against the glass.

Her cheek is smashed into the pane, her chest flattened against it, I twist her arm behind her back and step into her.

She gasps, and I know it’s because she can feel the evidence of my arousal between her arse-cheeks.

She looks at me from the corner of her eyes. "Let me go." Her voice is breathless, her features flushed… With anger? With excitement? Both, likely.

"Not until you pay for what you did."

"What did I do?"

"You made me admit my true feelings for you."

Gio

"Also, you slapped me." He continues as if he hasn’t dropped the biggest truth bomb on me. He cares for me? He truly cares for me? And he said it aloud, just like that? And what am I supposed to say? I care for you, too? I do, but I’m not sure if I want to.

I’m not ready to be in a relationship yet, am I?

And this was supposed to be a farce, a fake relationship.

The thing is, I’m not ready to tell him about the myriad of thoughts buzzing around in my head, so like the coward I am, I ignore what he said earlier.

"You deserved it," I manage to gasp out.

"And you deserve this." He takes a step back, kicks my legs out further, and before I can protest, he brings his palm down on my butt.

The sound is loud in the empty space. The shock slices through me, and for a second, my head is clear.

For a second, every pore in my body is open and my senses are focused.

All other sounds recede; all other thoughts dissolve.

Everything around me fades away. Everything except the feel of his big hand massaging my throbbing backside.

Through the fabric of my skirt, he rubs the pulsating ache into my skin.

It sinks straight to my core where it sits, heavy, thick, swelling my clit, setting off tiny vibrations of lust in my core.

Then, he spanks my other ass cheek, and I cry out.

Everything comes back into focus as he slaps me, alternating cheeks.

One, two, three, four, five… He stops. The sound fades away, I can hear his harsh breathing, feel his chest rise and fall, sense the heat that ricochets off his body like he’s a living furnace.

The force of his personality is a heavy, dominant presence that presses down on me and pins me to the glass wall.

"Rick," I wheeze, "Please."

He bends in close enough for his hot breath to sear my cheek.

I flinch, and at the same time, my pussy clenches down on nothing.

Damn, but I’d do anything to feel his cock between my legs…

and his fingers squeezing my breast…and his lips whispering down my cheek before he bites down on the curve of my shoulder and— He licks up the corner of my mouth, and I moan and shudder and press the fingers of my free hand into the glass for support.

"Tell me what you want, Goldie," he murmurs in a low, hard voice that sets off a fresh burst of trembling down my spine.

You, I need you. Your tender words and your harsh touch, your ability to maneuver my body into any position you like, your masculine scent, your hard lips, the gentle rustle of your eyelashes over my skin, the confident touch that turns me into a melting icicle of desire, your capacity to understand exactly what I want, when even I don’t know what it is I’m looking for.

I open my mouth to say that, but all that comes out is a whimper.

And he seems to understand what I want, for he pulls up my skirt, then tears off my panties.

I cry out, then draw in a sharp breath when he cups my core.

"Who does this pussy belong to?" he snaps.

Oh, my god, did I hear that right? And why do I find that so hot?

"Tell me, Goldie, who does this clit belong to?" He circles the swollen nub, and my eyes roll back in my head. I lean my head back against his chest and shuffle my legs further apart. Cool air sighs up my thighs. It brushes up against where he brushes the slit between my legs. A shudder grips me.

“Want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

I nod.

"Then answer the question. Who does this melting slit, these pussy lips, that hot, tight cunt-hole of yours, who does it belong to, Goldie? Tell me, right now."

"You," I gasp, "it belongs to you."

"Good girl. How’s the blood flow?”

“What?” I groan.

“Your period, Goldie, are you still on your period?”

“I am, but the flow is much lighter today.”

“And the pain?”

“Almost non-existent.”

“In which case, we can dispense with this.” He pulls a paper napkin from his pocket, and in one move, slides out the tampon, wraps it up in the tissue, and tosses it aside.

“What are you—” I gasp because he’s replaced it with two of his fingers in my channel.

My period may be almost over, but my channel is over-sensitized. A trembling vibrates out from where he begins to weave his fingers in and out of me, in and out.

He drags his whiskered chin up my cheek, then stuffs a third finger inside my melting channel.

"Oh my god," I cry out as he stretches me, and curves his thick digits hitting that spot deep inside. A trembling starts deep inside, and as if on cue, a man drives a Zamboni out onto the rink. The vehicle makes its way across the ice, smoothing it out while ripples of sensation undulate out from where he’s finger fucking me.

He twists his fingers inside me, and I throw back my head, and moan, "ohgod, ohgod, ohgod. "

"You mean 'oh Rick,' don’t you?" I hear the smirk in his voice and try to dredge up a semblance of anger, but I’m too focused on how he’s shoved his fingers down the front of my blouse and is squeezing my nipple, how he’s grinding the heel of his hand into my clit, how he’s stroking my inner walls with the blunt tip of his fingers, how his big body feels like a wall against which I’m rubbing myself.

How the climax begins to swell up my insides, up my spine, and I close my eyes and brace for it…

That’s when he pulls his fingers from me and steps back.

The orgasm trembles for a second, then begins to recede.

What the—? Below me, the Zamboni driver continues his progress, leaving a smooth sheet of ice behind.

Which is the opposite of how I feel. Waves of pleasure lap at my subconscious, hinting at the release I’ve yet to experience.

My knees wobble, and he grips my shoulder and steadies me.

I scowl at him over my shoulder. "Why did you stop? "

"Why do you think I stopped?"

"Can’t you answer a question without posing one back?"

He pretends to think then shakes his head. "What do you think?" I can hear the smirk in his voice, and it’s like a little bomb going off in my brain. I spin around, raise my hand, but when he glares at it, I pause, then curl my fingers into a fist and lower it to my side.

"What are you getting at? Why didn’t you let me come?" I whine.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then bends his knees and peers into my eyes. "Because you’re a brat, and you need to learn you don’t direct the proceedings when we fuck. And by the way,"—his lips firm—"you will not come until I give you permission."