Page 478 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Mira

"I can’t." He turns and stalks to the window again.

"Why not? Don’t you trust me?"

"It’s not that." He drags his fingers through his hair. "It’s not something I speak about to anyone."

"But I’m your wife." I move toward him.

"Just because I came inside you does not entitle you to know everything about me."

I stop so suddenly, I stumble, then manage to right myself. "That’s not fair," I whisper.

"I’m sorry," he says without turning around to face me. "I didn’t mean it that way."

"But you don’t think of me as your wife in the real sense, either."

"I already told you, you’re the only woman for me."

"But you won’t tell me about the incident?"

"I—" His shoulders rise and fall. " I can’t. I don’t talk to anyone about it."

"Maybe you should. Maybe you need to see a therapist about it and—"

"No. Absolutely not." His spine goes ramrod straight.

"It’s not a sign of weakness to speak to a therapist."

He doesn’t answer.

"Edward, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re not over it. You’re still dealing with the fallout of it. It’s colored your life so far. It’s what caused you to lose…her."

Not that I’m complaining, but I’m not going to mention that.

He turns his head so I can see him in profile. "You’re psychoanalyzing me?"

"Only because you don’t want to go to a professional. When she married your best friend, you swore off women. You didn’t sleep with anyone for two years. You were, technically, celibate. That’s… unusual."

"That didn’t stop me from watching others masturbate," he says in a harsh tone.

I flinch.

"That didn’t stop me from touching other women and making them come, either."

"You’re saying all this to hurt me. And I know you’re doing it because you’re hurting inside."

He turns to face me, and his features are, once more, schooled into that mask I’ve named his 'Priest face.' Not that I knew him when he was a priest, but I imagine that’s how he came across to his congregation. All stern and upright and erect a-n-d…

No, that did not make me think about his cock.

Not at all. This is not the time to have images of how his big, fat dick felt inside me.

How he squeezed my tits and slide his finger into that forbidden part of me.

How he made me come, and then how he allowed himself to orgasm inside me.

How it felt to receive hot streams of his cum.

Fish in the street, these are not the kinds of X-rated thoughts to have when we’re having a serious discussion.

Not to mention, when he’s all but admitted he doesn’t regard me as his wife in the truest sense of the word.

"And am I allowing myself to be distracted by salacious thoughts? Of course, not."

His gaze narrows. "You’re distracted by salacious thoughts? About us?"

"Of course, not." I redden.

"That’s what you said aloud."

"So?" I tip up my chin.

"So you were thinking about last night and how I wrung orgasms from your body?" There’s a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Fine." I throw up my hands, "I was thinking about how you made me come, and yes, I said that aloud. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re unable to tell me about the incident. It’s what made you who you are. It changed your life forever, and you can’t share it with me."

The light in his eyes banks, and his features harden.

He’s switched back to his hot priest persona.

How sad is it, that even though he can’t share his past with me, even though he prefers to keep so many of his thoughts and emotions to himself, even though his unfeeling demeanor is back, I find it sexy?

He’s hurting me, and I’m no less attracted to him.

Where’s my survival instinct when I need it?

"Don’t ask me to do that. It’s something I’d prefer to forget, to move on.” He scowls.

"And have you? Either forgotten it, or moved on from it?"

His jaw tics.

I look between his eyes, “You can’t bury what happened and pretend everything is fine when it’s not. You can’t move forward until you resolve the issues associated with what happened."

"And have you moved on from the fact that your father traded your future for his company?" He sneers.

“You know, I haven’t.” I glance away then back at him. "The difference is, I've talked about it and shared my feelings with you. I didn't try to keep anything a secret.”

“Not all of us can be so perfect.” He curls his lip. “Not all of us can go around wearing our heart on our sleeve and sharing our emotions with the world.”

I stiffen. “Not all of us are unfeeling jerk-holes.”

He raises a shoulder. "Never pretended otherwise."

I rub at my temple. "I know you’re lashing out at me because you’re hurting."

"I’m simply stating a fact. As for my hurting, you don’t have to worry; I have ways to manage the fallout from it."

My heart leaps into my throat. The blood thuds at my temples. "What do you mean?"

"I have good coping mechanisms. It’s how I’ve survived this far, after all."

"You’re talking about the BDSM club?" I swallow.

He inclines his head. "You don’t have a problem if I go without you, do you?"

"And if I did?" I set my jaw. "I’m your wife. We’re married. And you’re telling me you’re going to a BDSM club without me?"

"And since I’ve broken my 'vow of abstinence'"—he makes air-quotes with his fingers—"there’s nothing to hold me back, is there?"

Anger squeezes my guts, and the band around my chest tightens.

I try to draw in a breath, but my lungs burn.

How dare he taunt me with that? How dare he treat me with such little consideration?

How dare he break my heart? I will not stand for it.

I allowed my family to walk all over me.

I kept my father’s best interests at heart, but that doesn't mean I intend to put up with his bullshit.

"Was I a dutiful daughter? Yes, I was. Did I want to be a dutiful wife?

Yes, I did. But you know what? Fuck that. "

His gaze widens. I realize it’s the first time he’s heard me swear aloud.

Well, watch out, buster, there’s more where that came from.

I refuse to take this insult lying down.

I refuse to allow my ego to take a beating.

I refuse to hand over my power to anyone else.

"So, you’re going to the BDSM club, hmm? "

"That’s what I said." He yawns, then pulls back the sleeve of his expensive jacket and glances at his $10,000 dollar watch.

"Look at the time. I need to get going. As for you, you need to get back to your desk. You need to cancel the rest of my appointments for today. I’m going to be busy with other things. " One side of his lips curls.

Fish-on-a-stick, if he thinks I am going to stand aside and let him leave, he is so wrong. I shrug out of my jacket, and it falls to the ground.

"What are you doing?" He frowns.

In answer I reach behind, unhook my skirt, then shimmy it down my thighs.

I kick it aside, then look up to find his gaze is fixed on my legs.

Color smears his cheeks. A nerve throbs at his temple.

He seems entranced by my little strip-tease.

Not the finest or most coordinated, I admit, but that hasn’t stopped him from curling his fingers at his sides into fists.

"Belle," he says in that deep, hard voice of his. There’s a thread of anger, a threat running through it. A shiver squeezes my legs. My nipples tighten. Do I know what I’m doing?

Of course, not. But my instinct says I’m on the right track.

Am I pissed off with him for saying he’ll go to the BDSM club?

You betcha. And am I going to teach him not to throw that in my face again?

What do ya think? I grip the hem of my blouse, pull it over my head, and when I lower my arms, I gasp, for he’s standing in front of me.

"You…sure move like your namesake."

His gaze is fixated on my chest. I’m wearing a bra, but it’s see through. Which means, he can see my nipples stand to attention through the sheer fabric. He licks his lips.

"Don’t you want to ask who I’m talking about? No matter, I’ll tell you. It’s Edward from Twilight, the vampire who glows in the sun. He moves really fast, like you did."

"Thought you were a Jacobite?" His voice is low and hard, and the promises hidden in there slingshot a trembling to my core.

"I… I think I’m converted." My fingers twitch, and the blouse slithers to the floor.

A muscle works at his jawline. His features are rock hard. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but when I glance at his crotch, the massive tent there gives me an idea. I’ve felt his cock inside me, but honest to god, the watermelon he’s sporting makes me take a step back.

He slowly raises his gaze to my face. "You shouldn’t have done that."

"I’m just getting started." I reach behind me, unhook my bra, then I toss it at him. He swoops up his arm and catches it. The cool air sweeps over my naked breasts. That’s the only reason I’m sporting goosebumps on my chest. It has nothing to do with how his gaze is fixed on my tits.

Or how my nipples are diamond hard, or how my panties are so damp, I could probably wring moisture from them, or how those sparks, which are never far from the surface when he’s around, have flared to full-blown flames.

"Belle," his voice is thick. The skin over his knuckles is stretched white. He seems to be holding onto his control by a thread, and fish-in-a-kettle, it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

That this gorgeous, handsome, emotionally-wounded man who’s practiced self-control most of his adult life is so close to going into a tailspin, thanks to my striptease, surges a rush of power through my veins.

I slide my fingers into the waistband of my panties.

His chest rises and falls. I begin to slide them down, not taking my gaze off of him.

I’m rewarded by his shoulders swelling, pushing at the fabric of the jacket he’s wearing, so I’m sure it’s going to pop at the seams. I relish the movement of his throat as he swallows.

The way his chest rises and falls, how he stares at my core, waiting for it to be revealed, as I slowly slide my panties down my hips, my thighs, my legs.

I step out of them, and his entire body goes still.

That’s when I straighten and toss them at his face.