Page 467 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Mira

His voice is hard with that mean edge that propels a zing of sensations up my spine. When I hesitate, he lowers his arms to his sides.

"Come. Here. Belle."

I set my jaw, “And if I don’t?”

“You know you want to,” his tone softens. “You know you want me.”

I don’t. I don’t.

“You do.” He states the fact without malice.

The expression on his face is confident, but his gaze is tortured.

It’s as if he senses the struggle going on inside me and recognizes it, and maybe that’s what makes me place one foot in front of the other.

When I come to a stop in front of him, his eyes flash.

"Say my name," he demands.

The rasp in his voice makes my insides melt. My breath stutters. My scalp itches. He’s not touching me, but the way he rakes his gaze over my features, down the thrust of my breasts, to the space between my legs, he might as well be.

Then he sinks down to his knees, and I cry out. In seconds he’s shoved my skirt up around my hips, leaned in, and pushed his face between my legs. My knees buckle; my head spins. He inhales a deep breath, and every pore in my body seems to breathe fire.

"What are you doing?" I say breathlessly.

"Smelling my wife’s cunt," he snaps, "you have a problem with that?"

"N-noooooo!" The word is pulled from my mouth, for he’s clamped his teeth around my clit and tugged. Shockwaves bolt up my spine. My fingers tremble. My heart rams into my chest and I’m sure it’s going break out of my ribcage.

He slides his big hands around my butt cheeks and fits me snugly over his mouth.

Then he begins to lick me through the fabric of my panties.

The combination of the smooth silk combined with the lapping sensation of his tongue is sheer torture.

I dig my fingers into his hair and tug. "Edward, please Ed. "

He makes a growling sound at the back of his throat, then slides his palm down the back of one thigh. He applies pressure and I raise my thigh. There’s a ripping sound and he throws my leg over his shoulder.

"Fish on a turbocharger," I cry out.

There’s a huffing sound, then he looks up at me. "Your swearing is very creative, but you don’t want to use the Lord’s name in front of me."

I glance down and the sight of his head between my thighs propels another burst of goosebumps over my skin. "Sorry." I swallow, trying to get my thoughts together. "I didn’t realize it offended you. Especially since you’re a former-priest—"

"You’re mistaken."

"I am?"

"I don’t believe in Him anymore."

O-k-a-y. "What do you believe in then?" The question is out before I can stop myself. His jaw hardens.

"I believe in myself."

"And love?" I know the answer, and yet I have to ask. Stupid, stupid. Why did I have to open my big mouth? My worst fears are confirmed when his features close further.

"It’s not for me."

I try to pull away, but he holds me in place.

"Don’t be angry. You knew the score before we got married. You knew I wasn’t cut out for a relationship. You knew we weren’t going to sleep together."

"So I’m good enough for you to penetrate me—"

"It’s not going to happen again."

"—but I’m not good enough for you to make a sperm donation?"

His jaw tightens. "This what you want to be discussing now when I have my head up your skirt?"

"You started it, Buster."

"And I’m finishing it." With that, he shoves my panties aside and stabs his tongue inside me. My eyes roll back in my head. I hold onto him as he begins to thrust his tongue in and out of me. In-and-out, in imitation of how he penetrated me with his cock. It’s not as thick or as long as his cock, of course…

And, as if he’s reading my mind, he swipes his tongue up my pussy-lips and curls it around my swollen clit, and at the same time, he stuffs three fingers inside me.

I whimper, and it spurs him on. He moves his fingers in and out of me, continues to worry my clit.

Then he adds a fourth finger a-n-d… I was mistaken.

I love his cock, but the combination of his fingers and his tongue is so very wicked.

He laps up my core, curls his fingers inside me, and the orgasm rams through me.

It sweeps up my thighs, folds around my center, then zooms up my spine.

It explodes somewhere at the back of my eyes, and I forget how to breathe.

Then, I hear a keening sound and realize it’s me crying out.

The ecstasy fades away to be replaced by a glowing warmth.

I’m aware of him rising to his feet. He scoops me up in his arms, walks around the desk and sits down with me in his lap.

He holds me close, and I cuddle into him.

I breathe in the familiar scent of woodsmoke shot through with that sharp tang, the way the air smells before a storm, which is so uniquely him. "Eddie," I whisper.

He tightens his arms around me. I push my ear into his chest and the bang-bang-bang of his heart gives away his state of arousal. That, and the length of concrete digging into the space between my naked asscheeks.

"My panties—" The word comes out as 'pahntiieesh,' and I realize I’m slurring.

"Shh, don’t worry. I have some spare ones here for you."

"Hmm, okay." I cuddle closer, then snap open my eyes. "You have spare panties for me in your office."

He doesn’t reply, and I interpret that correctly as an affirmative answer.

I glance up and meet those amber eyes of his. "Why do you have spare panties for me in your office?"

He tilts his head.

I sigh. "Did you know I was going to come in here, and that you were going to—"

"Make a mess in my lap?"

"What?" I wriggle this way, then that enough to catch a glimpse of the damp spot on the front of his pants. Heat flushes my cheeks. "I didn’t mean to—"

"I’ll wear it as a badge of pride."

I blush deeper, and the hard column underneath me extends further. "You still haven’t come."

"I haven’t come in two years."