Page 464 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Edward

"Eddie," she cries out my name. The sound goes straight to my cock, and I grow bigger, harder, more insistent. I need to pause. I need to give her time to adjust. I dig my shoes into the floor, tighten my thighs, and wait. Wait. Her pupils are dilated, and there’s only a circle of blue around the black. Her mascara has streaked down her cheeks, a dribble of saliva drips from her chin. The remnants of her dress are on the floor, and her left tit is out of her bra cup. Her color is high, and her hair is a cloud of spun gold with violet streaks about her shoulders. She looks used and messed up and yet, there’s an innocence to how she licks her lips, a stubbornness to how she refuses to break the connection of our gazes.

She’s stubborn, has a tenacity I’d have never guessed, and has the most gorgeous curves I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

She’s a goddess, a siren, a vixen—and an innocent.

How could I have gotten so lucky to have found her?

How could I have resisted her? How can I let her come any closer, when she’s already wriggled her way under my skin?

"You’re so fucking tight, so hot; your cunt is a work of beauty," I growl through gritted teeth.

She opens her mouth, but before she can speak, I pull out and thrust into her again.

Her entire body jolts, and she cries out.

I wait until her breathing slows again, until her eyes clear, and she, once more, holds my gaze.

I pinch her clit, and she shudders. I begin to rub that hard little knob, and she wriggles and writhes, but I hold her in place.

I strum her pussy lips and am rewarded with a gush of moisture between her legs.

I pull back slowly, stay poised at her opening, and this time, when I plunge forward, she throws her head back, showing me the length of her neck.

I begin to fuck her in earnest. In-out-in.

Each time I sink into her, she shudders and cries out.

Each time I pull out, she whines. Her little noises, her groans and whimpers drive me over the edge.

I rub her clit, and her eyes roll back in her head.

I tilt my hips, piston forward and into her, touching her deep—so deep inside, I almost come.

With a growl, I manage to hold back, then lean down and press my cheek against hers. "Open your eyes."

She cracks open her eyelids, and I look into her eyes as I slowly, inch by inch, bury myself inside her one last time.

I flick her clit and command, "Come," and she shatters.

A high-pitched whine emerges from her lips as she shudders.

Her knees give out, and I hold her up as her body twitches and jerks with her climax.

When she closes her eyelids and slumps, I pull out.

When I look down, I notice the blood on my cock. What the—?

I lift my hand, notice the stain on my fingers.

A virgin? Of course, she’s a virgin. She was told she was going to have an arranged marriage.

Most likely, she was instructed to keep herself unsullied.

And I sensed it. My subconscious sensed it, but I was too caught up in my own ghosts to acknowledge it.

I thought I felt some resistance when I took her but put it down to my size.

And she didn’t tell me. Why didn’t she tell me?

Maybe, because you had your cock down her throat, you bastard.

I hold her limp body close, manage to pull up my briefs and pants and zip up, then scoop up her limp body and walk over to the bath.

I lower her to her feet, balance her, and run a bath.

When it’s half-full, I shut off the water, divest her of her bra, then lower her into the tub.

I keep her upper body upright and run a washcloth over her face, her breasts, down between her legs.

My still hard cock strains against my pants.

My balls are so hard, they weigh a ton. I acknowledge the need, the blinding desire that still runs through my veins, and watch it as it infiltrates every pore of my body.

I’m good at punishing myself. It's the one thing I learned in my days as a priest that's stuck with me, and I’ve become an expert over the years.

Practice makes perfect, after all. When I raise my gaze to her face, I find her eyes are open.

"You didn’t come."

I tilt my head and continue with my ministrations, trying to keep my actions as clinical as possible—like that’s possible with her?

Especially not with the massive column between my thighs, and my balls, which are as hard as the iron I pump in the gym.

I finish up, throw the cloth aside, then reach down and lift the plunger.

The water begins to drain. I rise to my feet and hold out my hand.

She grips it and I pull her up, then grab a towel and drape it about her shoulders.

I wipe her down quickly, trying not to glance at the column of her neck, or her plump breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her belly, and the alluring mound below.

I wrap the towel around her, then lift her in my arms.

"I can walk," she protests.

I carry her to my bedroom, lower her to her feet, and pull back the covers. "Get in."

"This is your room," she points out.

When I don’t reply, she firms her lips. "I thought you said you didn’t want us to share a bed."

"We’re not going to share a bed."

"But—"

"Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?"

She glances away. "I…thought you knew."

I rub the back of my neck. "If I had been thinking straight, I might have guessed and gone slowly." I shake my head. "Get in the bed, Belle."

"First, tell me why you didn’t come."

I blink. The mouth on her. The very sexy, hot hole that was my undoing.

That is, until I was ensconced in her pussy.

This woman isn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with me.

Unlike my employees. It’s refreshing and invigorating and—I will not think about how much I want her right now.

I reach over and tug on the towel so it slides off of her.

"Oh!" Her cheeks turn pink. A flush creeps up her chest. Her embarrassment fuels the lust in my veins. My cock throbs, a burning sensation extending out from my groin. She glances down at my crotch and swallows. "You’re still hard."

"And you’re not yet in bed."

She scowls, then slides in under the cover. I pull it up until she’s covered all the way to her neck, then sit down next to her on the bed. "Are you sore?"

Her flush deepens. "A little."

"I wish I’d known this was your first time. If I had—"

"You wouldn’t have made love to me?"

"I wouldn’t have fucked you," I agree.

Her face falls, and a hot sensation stabs at my chest. I’m too attuned to her. Too sensitive to her needs. Too responsive to her change in emotions. She glances away, and when she looks back at me, her gaze is haunted. "Is it fucking if you didn’t come in me?"

I shrug.

"The only reason you made lo—penetrated me is because you needed to consummate the marriage."

I incline my head.

"And you married me because you want G-Pa to confirm your position as the CEO."

"You knew this already, Belle," I murmur.

She bites the inside of her cheek. "Knowing it and living it are two very different things."

"Are you having second thoughts?"

Why am I asking her this? It's not as if I'm going to let her go. Especially now.

My fingers tingle. I want to reach over and push back the hair from her face.

I want to crawl into bed with her, turn her over and pull her into me.

I want to spoon her, watch her as she falls asleep, then wake her up by crawling in between her legs and eating her out until she comes again…

I want…what I can’t have—the kind of intimacy that comes from having confidence in another.

That emotional oneness that means you never have to second guess yourself when you’re with them.

I want her sweetness to soothe my hard edges, her innocence to throw me a rope so I can climb out of the dark place I’ve descended into, her sunshiny nature to illuminate the blackness I’ve held close.

I’m changing, and it’s all because of her.

I want to push her away, yet I find myself circling back to her, always.

I want to teach her how it could be to open herself up and offer herself to me.

I want her to know the satisfaction of putting her trust in me.

Of allowing me to wring every last drop of desire from her body, of fulfilling every wish of her soul.

The ecstasy she’d feel giving herself to me, comfortable in the belief she can stop me anytime.

The exhilaration that comes with letting me push her boundaries, believing in me enough to put her faith in me.

Faith. I'm asking her for the one thing I've lost. I no longer believe in the greater good.

I'm no longer sure there's a higher power.

I'm no longer convinced of the purpose that guided me for most of my life.

I'm a stone sinking slowly in a river of depravity. I lost my moorings and found her, and it threatens every principle I’ve sworn to live my life by since her.

I cannot…will not let this woman turn my life upside down. But I also cannot bear to see her hurt.

"Belle? Do you regret marrying me?

"Would it matter?"

"I’m not going to let you walk away…"

She scoffs. "I didn’t think you would."

"I’m also not sorry I took your virginity."

Her jaw drops.

"Nor for the pain I caused you."

She gasps. "Christ-on-a-bus, don’t hold anything back, will ya?"

"It’s best you find out what kind of a man I am."

"A hurt, broken, emotionally unavailable, sadistic dominant?" She scoffs.

I look at her with interest. "You’re beginning to understand me."

"I liked you better when I merely thought of you as recovering from a broken heart."

"That’s a very romantic picture of me; afraid the truth is not so black and white."

"Oh, you’re nothing but shades of grey." She peers up at me, and her blue eyes are clear and bright, the gaze of someone who doesn’t have to carry around the burdens of a lifetime.

"And black." I set my jaw. "There are parts of me you don’t want to come in contact with."

"The very fact you’re warning me off, tells me more about you."

I smooth the covers under her chin. "And what will you do when you’re disappointed? What will you do when you realize you’d have been better off if you’d never met me?"