Page 413 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

She leaps toward the door, and I give her a head start. Five, four, three, two… I jump forward. Before she can reach the door, I plant myself against it.

She skids to a halt, chest heaving, hair undone and framing her face. "Let me go," she pants.

I tap my fingers against my thighs.

"I don’t know what your game is, Rick, but it’s not funny anymore."

It’s not supposed to be. But I know your darkest secrets, baby. I know your filthy dreams. I’ve read the scenes you’ve underlined in your spicy books, and I’m here to make them come alive. One-by-one. I roll my shoulders, and she swallows.

I move toward her, and she yelps, then turns and races away.

I follow at a leisurely pace, knowing she can’t escape.

I won’t let her escape. Not until I’ve made her come one last time.

I may not be able to give her everlasting love.

But bringing her most secret fantasies to life, I can do.

Pleasuring her so she can enjoy the heights of ecstasy only I can take her to? That I can do for her.

She looks at me over her shoulder, then zig-zag’s across the room. When she realizes she can’t evade me, she turns, grabs one of her heels and throws it at me, and misses. The next one she lobs at me, I don’t duck. It hits my forehead and bounces off.

"Oh my god," she gasps. "Rick, I—"

I close the distance toward her, grab her under the backs of her thighs, lift her, and plant her against the glass wall. The momentum pulls her hair free of its bun and the golden strands pour about her face.

Her features are flushed. The color on her cheeks is fucking gorgeous. Her skirt is bunched around her waist, and she stares at me with lust and a touch of fear, which ratchets my desire up to fever pitch. I reach down and tear off her panties. She cries out.

I shove the piece of silk inside my pocket, and she swallows.

Her gaze grows heavy with lust. Then she gasps when I shove my hand down my pants.

I wince as I yank off the codpiece and toss it aside, then pull out my cock and position myself at her entrance.

I stare into her sun kissed eyes waiting…

waiting for her to indicate it’s okay. I hold her gaze and lean in until only a hair’s breadth of space separates us.

She swallows, and her pupils dilate. Then she leans in and presses her lips to where they’re painted on my mask. I feel her scented breath, can imagine the honeyed taste of her lips. She throws her arms about my neck and whispers, "Fuck me, Stone."

Before the words are out of her mouth, I kick my hips forward.

I bury myself to the hilt, and she cries out against my mask-covered face.

She locks her ankles about my hips as I stuff myself inside her again and again and again.

I tilt my hips, balance her at the right angle.

The next time I thrust into her, I hit that spot only I know about, and she cries out.

She throws her head back, and her inner muscles clamp down on my cock as she orgasms. It’s so fucking hot, so perfect, with a roar of possession I empty myself inside her.

When she begins to slump, I pull her close, then reach up and tear off my mask.

I push my forehead against hers, then swallow. "Goldie? We need to talk."

She shakes her head, her throat moving as she swallows. "I prefer fucking to talking any day."

"Once we talk, you might not want me to fuck you again."

She stiffens, then leans back enough to glance up into my face.

"Diana?" she whispers.

"Diana." I pull out of her and miss her warmth, the clasp of her pussy around my shaft, the feel of her curves pressed against mine. I press a kiss to her forehead, then lower her to the ground. When I know she’s steady, I tuck myself inside. I grab some napkins and clean her up. Then, I pull out a fresh pair of panties for her from my other pocket, and once she’s stepped into them, I straighten her clothes.

“I should be surprised you carried a pair of my panties on you while you were on the ice, but somehow, I’m not,” she murmurs.

“When it comes to you, I know I won't be able to control myself, so I’m prepared.” I ball up the napkins and flick them into a basket. I brush her hair behind her ear, then bend and pick up her hair-tie which fell off earlier and offer it to her.

I watch as she puts up her hair with practiced ease, then lowers her arms to her sides. “Your sister… Did I ever meet her?"

I take a step back, then another. I need to put distance between us. I also want to hold her while having this conversation, but that would be wrong. That wouldn’t be fair to my little sister.

I firm my shoulders, then meet her gaze. "She moved to L.A. to try to make it in Hollywood. I knew she was struggling, but I didn’t realize how much until later. My sister had a complex personality. She could be obsessive when she set her mind on something."

"Like you?" she asks in a wry voice.

"Yeah—" I half smile. "We are, were similar in our ability to focus. She told me she’d found her muse. She’d written a screenplay with a famous celebrity in mind. He was perfect for it. She was going to arrange to meet him and when he read the screenplay, she knew he’d want to make the movie.

I didn’t hear from her for weeks after that.

Then I was away on an NHL tour. When I returned, I found my sister had committed suicide. "

She gasps, "I’m so sorry, Rick."

"She’d tried to meet the Hollywood star who had inspired her story. She'd tried to send him the script through his manager. When that didn’t work, she broke into his house. She was captured by the security cameras, and the cops got to her first."

Her forehead furrows. "Why are you telling me this? Did I know her?"

"You were the assistant to the manager she tried to contact."

She shakes her head. "Do you know how many calls I’d get every day from hopefuls who wanted to get through to my boss? It was my job to be the gatekeeper.”

"You did your job well. When she realized there was no hope of getting through to you, she stalked the star’s social media and ended up breaking into his house. She was hoping to meet him and get him to read her script. Instead—"

"The celebrity was Declan Beauchamp…" She draws in a sharp breath. "I remember now. I was his PR manager’s assistant at that time. Declan was away on a film-shoot. I'm the one who found her at his place and called the cops."

"She tried to apologize, to tell you what she’d done was wrong, that she’d never stalk Declan again, that it had been a temporary loss of reasoning on her part.

She begged you not to call the cops because it would kill any possibility of a career for her in that town.

All she wanted was for you to read the script. "

She reaches for my hand, but I shake her off.

"You didn’t listen to her. You turned your back on her."

"Rick, you have to understand. I was scared. I thought she was dangerous."

"My sister was harmless."

"Your sister broke into a well-known celebrity’s home."

"If you’d heard her out, she might be still alive."

The blood drains from her features, leaving her so pale, so vulnerable, I almost reach for her again, but stop myself.

This is about Diana. All of this is for Diana.

It’s the least I can do for her. I couldn’t be there for my sister when she needed me most. This is the minimum I can do for her.

I can punish the woman who put an end to her career and to her life.

"I was scared, Rick. I came across an intruder, and I did what anyone else in my position would have. I ran out of there, shut the door on her and called the cops."

"Your position was that of Declan’s PR manager.”

“I was the PR manager’s assistant then. I became his manager later. You have to understand, I was young and inexperienced.”

I raise my hand. “She begged you to listen to her, she tried to hand over the script to you."

Gio hunches her shoulders. "I was freaking out. Even if she didn’t look dangerous, it’s not like stalkers wear signs on their foreheads announcing who they are."

The plea in her eyes strikes me to my core.

She can’t be held responsible for what my sister did, can she?

No one is responsible for another’s actions, and yet…

If she had spared a few seconds to listen to her, if she’d accepted the script from Diana, if she’d been a little more sympathetic, wouldn’t my sister still be alive?

I firm my jaw and thrust out my chest. "She tried to call you afterward. She tried for weeks on end."

She takes a step in my direction, and when I move back, her face falls. "I’m sorry for your loss, truly. But you have to know the impossible situation I was in. There are a lot of people who would try to reach my clients, and if they weren't known, they wouldn’t get through the checks in place."

I hold up my hand. "Thirty seconds of your time. That’s all that was needed to make a difference. If you’d listened to her, she’d still be alive."

"Rick, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that my actions inadvertently led to your sister dying. But if she hadn’t broken into his house, I wouldn’t have found her, and it wouldn’t have led to the string of events that happened."

A visceral sensation grips my body. The hair on the nape of my neck rises. Every logical thought in my head insists she's right. Have I been wrong blaming her all this time? Was I mistaken for harboring a need for revenge all this time?

"You can’t blame me for her death, Rick, you can’t."

I want to believe her, I do. Everything would be so much easier if I could.

Everything would be… too easy. Too straightforward.

And if anything seems too simple, it probably is.

The line dividing right and wrong cuts through my heart, and who’s going to risk cutting out their own heart?

I’m paraphrasing some philosopher, no doubt, but what-fucking-ever.

I’ve come too far to walk away without the satisfaction of seeing her as crushed as I was when I found out about my sister.

"You may not have meant to, but your actions caused her to lose hope in the future. With a criminal record, there was no way she was going to get hired in Hollywood. I lost my sister and I hold you responsible."

“You're being unreasonable,” she cries.

“Am I?”

She scrutinizes my features, and whatever she sees there must bring home the depth of the anger I hold toward her. She draws in a sharp breath, and something shifts in her expression.

“Wait, did you know I was Declan’s PR manager when you took on the role of his bodyguard? Is that why you always seemed pissed off with me and barely spoke to me then?”

I don’t answer, but whatever she sees in my eyes makes her gasp.

“It is, isn’t it? So why didn’t you confront me then?

Why did you wait until I moved to London—hold on, did you manipulate things so I would move here and take on the PR for the Ice Kings so you could get me in a more vulnerable position?

” She scans my features. “Did you arrange things so I’d have to share the room with you? ”

When I stay silent, she rubs at her temples.

Her features are pale, the hollows under her cheekbones pronounced.

My chest hurts. A pressure builds between my eyeballs.

If it weren’t impossible, I’d say I'm feeling her pain as my own. But that’s not possible.

She means nothing to me, nothing. All of this was a plan to get my revenge. Right?

So why do I want to go to her and gather her close and apologize for the pain I’m causing her? Why am I this close to abandoning my scheme for retribution and falling to my knees in front of her and telling her I have feelings for her and—I curl my fingers into fists.

No, I can’t do that. Not now. Not when I’m this close to getting retribution for Diana. I owe that much to my sister. I raise my hand toward her, then stop. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. Not if I want to be loyal to Diana’s memory. And if it means I get hurt in the process, so be it.

“You did maneuver events so we’d share a room.

” She nods slowly. “But what I don’t understand is how you ensured I’d move to London?

You couldn’t have known I’d be cheated on.

That I’d want to leave L.A. and move here because of that?

” She bites the inside of my cheek and whispers, “Could you?” Her eyes glitter with unshed tears.

She swallows, and when she speaks, her voice is hoarse, "Was everything you told me a lie? "