Page 42 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Liam

She’s so close, her entire body vibrates with the need for release. Sweat beads her chest, her breasts are swollen, her skin is flushed, and she strains at the bindings.

I pause with the head of my cock at her entrance. She’s more open than she’s ever been under me. More vulnerable than she’s ever allowed herself to be. She’s panting, her breath coming in heavy gasps. She writhes under me, trying to chase the intrusion that is my shaft.

I hold myself without moving. Grit my teeth to stop myself from plunging inside and taking what’s mine.

I need this to be so good for her, she won’t want to leave me.

I need this to be the most intense orgasm she’s ever had.

I need this to be the kind of experience that will join her with me, so she’ll always remember what it feels like to be truly mine.

I pull back, and she groans, "Liam, don’t tease me."

"Believe me, baby, that’s the last thing on my mind."

I sit back on my heels and remove the restraints from about her ankles, then reach between us and grasp the E-Stem electrode that I used to tease her back channel. I work it out of her slowly.

She shivers and makes mewling noises that drive me out of my head with desire.

I replace it with my fingers. She moans, tips up her chin, then tilts her hips so my fingers slip deeper inside her. A groan emerges from her mouth and her lips part.

I reach up and pull off the blindfold, then bend and kiss first one closed eyelid, then the other. She opens her eyes, and I snag her gaze with mine.

I position myself between her thighs, and in lunge forward and impale her.

She opens her mouth, but no noise emerges.

Her pupils are blown, the skin stretched across her cheekbones.

I reach up and undo the ropes from about her wrists.

Instantly, she winds them about my shoulders.

I slide my hand under her upper thigh, urging her to lock her legs about my waist, then I begin to move.

I thrust into her slowly, watching as her features contort with pleasure.

I plunge into her, grind my pelvic bone into her clit, and she cries out.

Her pussy clamps on my dick, she throws back her head and she’s so close to the edge, so close. I slow down and she groans.

"Liam, please, please, let me come." Her voice is merely a thread.

I plunge inside her and she tightens her legs around me.

I push the hair off of her forehead, then kiss her deeply with my eyes open.

She kisses me back, and it’s like we are one body, one mind, one soul.

I’ve never been this close to a person before.

My heart thunders in my chest. Sweat beads my shoulders.

Every part of me hurts, and yet, has never been this awake before.

I hold her gaze as I begin to move. I piston my hips, and bury myself inside her to the hilt.

She digs her heels into my back and holds me captive.

I bottom out inside her, and the ball of pressure at the base of my spine tightens.

I pull back, draw in a deep breath, and this time, when I plunge forward, my entire body shudders. Vibrations grip me and shudder through her. One melded together organism.

"Come with me, right now."

She cries out as she shatters. I lower my head to the curve of her shoulder and bite down as I follow her over the edge.

My orgasm seems to go on and on, and I empty myself inside her.

Flecks of black dot my vision, my entire body is one ache, one cry, one pure length of satisfaction as I lean more of my weight into her.

"I’m too heavy for you." I try to move but she doesn’t let go.

She shakes her head, holds me close and I stay there as the sweat dries on both of our bodies.

When I finally turn on my back and pull her into my chest, she curls into me, her breathing already deep.

I pull the cover-up over our bodies and allow my eyelids to shut. When I open them again, she’s gone.

Goddamn, how could I have slept so deeply that I didn’t realize she crept out of bed? I’m a light sleeper, and the slightest sound usually awakens me. Thanks to the time I was taken and held captive, I always sleep with my system tuned into any sign of danger.

Yes, it’s PTSD, and I did try to see a therapist, but when she seemed more inclined to proposition me than offer me suggestions on how to manage my trauma, I walked out of her office in a huff and decided not to see another.

Who knew? The only therapy I needed was fucking a woman I care about.

A woman I enjoy holding, kissing, and making love to.

A woman whose presence calms me, whose scent arouses me, whose skin is softer than silk, whose curves are made to melt against mine, who’s clever enough to pit her wits against me, who can stand up to me, whose laughter has become the soundtrack of my life in such a short time.

Whose mere presence makes me breathless to touch her, and who I can’t bear to be separated from, not for a minute longer.

I swing my legs over the bed and stand up.

I reach for my wedding ring and notice hers is still there.

Strange. Maybe she forgot to take it with her when she left the room?

A cold sensation slithers down my spine.

I slip on my wedding band, pull on my clothes, then pocket her ring and walk out.

I head up the stairs to her bedroom, but she’s not there.

I head to the closet and the clothes are still there.

So is her suitcase. I can’t find her handbag, though.

I stalk to the bathroom and find her cosmetics are still on the counter. This makes no sense at all.

A cold sensation leaches into my veins. Icicles invade my blood.

I race up the corridor to the first guest room on this floor, then the other.

I’m not surprised to find she’s not there.

She can’t have left. Her clothes—the clothes I bought her—are still here.

Her ring is still here. But her bag is missing.

I head back to her room and to the closet.

Pull open the drawers to find half of them are empty.

Her underclothes—the ones I’d had delivered from her apartment—are gone.

The other side contains the lingerie I bought for her.

I open the other drawer. Once again, the night clothes I bought for her are still here.

But the ones she brought with her are gone.

The band around my chest tightens. My ribcage squeezes so tightly my lungs burn. I spin around and survey the contents of the closet. The suitcase is here because it’s the one I bought for her. But the smaller traveling bag which belonged to her is gone. I missed that the first time.

I dash out of the closet and sprint down the steps. When I tear into the kitchen, my housekeeper turns to me.

"Where is she?"

"You mean your wife?"

"Who else could I be talking about?" I growl.

"She left early this morning."

My guts churn. "She left, and you didn’t think of telling me?"

"She’s your wife, sir, I wouldn’t dream of stopping her."

"Fuck!"

I turn to leave when. "Mr. Kincaid, it’s not my place to say this—"

"Then don’t," I bite out.

In the silence that follows, I squeeze the bridge of my nose.

"I’m sorry," I finally say through gritted teeth.

I hear her sharp inhale, then, "That’s the first time you’ve apologized to me, sir."

I spin around to face her. "It’s the first time for a lot of things for me, apparently," I say bitterly.

She nods and doesn’t seem surprised by my vehemence.

"What is it then?"

She blinks. "She wasn’t happy, sir. Since she moved in here, she’s been on her own."

"I’ve been busy."

"She’s your wife, as you said, sir. And newly married, and a little lost in this house."

"Are you saying it’s my fault she left?"

"Of course not, sir. It wouldn’t be my place to say that, sir."

"And yet, you did."

"I’m merely saying, she may have left because she’s lonely, but these things happen in the early days of marriage. It’s a period of adjustment for the both of you."

"You don’t say."

The side of her mouth kicks up. "You’re a resourceful man, sir. I’m sure you’ll be able to convince her to return."

Even a week ago, I’d have agreed. Now, I’m not sure about my influence when it comes to her. Oh, as long as we’re in bed, I know I can bend her will to do as I want, and I know she enjoys it, too. But outside of it? I’m not sure about anything anymore.

"Thanks," I murmur. I’m about to leave when I turn to ask, "What’s your name again?"

"Malory, sir."

"Keep up the good work, Malory."

Her jaw drops. I scowl. Have I really not thanked her before or asked her name before this?

Honestly, I haven’t felt the need for either.

But I’m realizing if I want to find a way to get her back, I need to start with figuring out how to rejoin the human race.

It’s a necessary evil, but my gut says I need all the help I can get to get her back, starting with the aid of my own staff.

I walk out of the kitchen, pull out my phone, and swipe to the app. When I click it, it opens to reveal a blue dot in South London.

If she thinks I’d let her leave without knowing where she is every second, she’s so wrong. Since my kidnapping, one thing I’ve made sure of is to always know where my near and dear ones are. It’s why I retained Karina Beauchamp’s services.

I’m about to head to the car when my phone rings.