Page 59 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Hunter

"You’re kidding me... aren’t you?" Twin spots of color burn high on her cheeks. Her features wear an expression of surprise and shock, but her pupils are dilated, the black bleeding out until only a thin circle of gold can be seen around the circumference. Her chest rises and falls. She’s flushed and angry, and also, turned on.

I didn’t think it was possible to shock her, but clearly, I have.

Which is what I’d hoped for, of course. Except, I hadn’t thought I’d be able to achieve it.

Since the moment I first laid eyes on Zara Chopra, she’s fascinated me and also surprised me.

Truth be told, I’m not even sure I like her.

For one, she’s curvy, with the kind of hourglass figure I didn’t think I found alluring, until her.

My previous girlfriends have been slimmer; mostly models and actresses, or those who’ve earned a living through their looks.

Zara, on the other hand, has striking features and is clearly more than a pretty face.

In fact, she’s the exact opposite of the kind of woman I normally date.

Not only have we fought each time we’ve met, but she’s also made it clear the dislike is mutual.

Which I admit, is a blow to my ego. I’ve never met a woman who has been able to resist me.

Until her. Perhaps, that’s why I made that offer to her.

Perhaps, the fact that we don’t see eye-to-eye makes her the kind of challenge I relish.

I didn’t bring her here with the intention of doing so, but when she sat opposite me and seemed unmoved by my presence, I had to test her.

I wanted to catch her off guard—which I did.

And perhaps, also, myself. For until I heard my own words, I didn’t realize just how much I mean it.

How much I want to bend her over this table right now and explore what it means to have her writhing under me, impaled on my cock, as I bring her to orgasm over and over again.

"Do I look like the kind of man who’d say anything I don’t mean?"

"You’re a politician," she scoffs.

"And you aren’t?"

She firms her lips. "I’m a fixer, I solve problems. I am not the one who makes them, I leave that to you politicians."

"Spoken like a true salesperson."

She blows out a breath. "I didn’t come here to be insulted."

"That wasn’t an insult. Salespeople are some of the most persuasive, some of the cleverest people I’ve met."

"You’ll forgive me if I don’t agree with you. You ask me to dinner, then tell me you had me investigated, then order my favorite drink and" —she glances down at her plate, then back at me— "my favorite food."

"So, I did my homework." I raise my shoulder.

"Then" —she raises her forefinger— "you tell me you want to fuck me."

"I said we should fuck each other."

"No, thank you."

I lean forward in my seat. "You scared you’ll like it too much?"

"I’m not going to answer that. I’m not falling for that again."

I survey her still-flushed features. "You are worried that you might be spoiled for anyone else after our encounter."

"Your ego knows no bounds."

"And your ego would never settle for anyone with balls smaller than mine."

She stares at me, then throws her head back and laughs. It’s a full-bellied laugh that comes from the depths of her being. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her mouth is open. It’s not a pretty laugh; it’s a wicked, full-of-life laugh. It’s the laugh of a woman who knows how to enjoy life.

"Let’s enjoy ourselves, Zara. One night. You and me. Let’s find out why it is, that even though we can’t stand each other, we also gravitate toward each other."

She lowers her head and fixes me with those glowing, tawny eyes of hers.

The candlelight dances over her skin, highlighting her high cheekbones, her upturned nose, her stubborn chin.

She’s going to be a handful. She’ll never give in without a fight.

She’ll resist me every step of the way, and fuck, if I don’t find that thought exciting.

Nobody has piqued my interest, or drawn my hackles, or made me want to both spank her and kiss her at the same time, as this woman has.

"What do you say? Twelve hours. Until the sun comes up, we explore why it is that we’re so drawn to each other, even as we also hate the other’s guts."

One side of her lips kicks up. She reaches for her champagne and takes a sip. "Very clever. You think by outlining all of the reasons this is going to make our relationship exciting, you’ll tempt me?"

"So, you agree that we’re going to have a relationship?"

A crease appears between her eyebrows. "That was a figure of speech."

"Or a Freudian slip."

"Or a slip of the tongue." She trails her finger around the rim of her champagne glass, and my balls tighten. Goddamn! Now she’s teasing me, while she still continues to deny the attraction. Every little action of hers is calculated to tease me. She has the way of a seductress, a siren song on her lips, and the look of a huntress in her eyes. She’s unharnessed, unbridled, a wildling come to turn my world upside-down.

An untamed vixen who’ll steal my heart and my soul, and whose name will be stamped into every cell of my body.

The hair on the back of my neck rises. Something like a forewarning ripples up my spine. Get away from her. Leave. Get out as soon as you can, before things get too complicated.

A-n-d the very fact that I have that thought, that for the first time in my life, I, Hunter Whittington, am thinking of leaving the battlefield without even trying to engage with my opponent, gives me pause.

I’m not a coward. It takes balls to embark on a career in the public eye.

It takes nerves of steel to decide to run for the highest office in this country.

It takes courage of conviction and a special kind of crazy to embark on the journey I have.

And I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t love a challenge.

If I didn’t relish the opportunity to win a confrontation.

If I didn’t enjoy finding my way through obstacles.

All of which she seems to personify. I drag my finger across my lower lip.

"I’d love to slip my tongue inside you," I murmur.

Her gaze widens. A pulse throbs to life at the base of her neck. She bites down on her lower lip, and I feel the tug all the way to the base of my cock.

I tighten my grip about my own glass of champagne. "You liked that, didn’t you?"

She huffs. "I expected better than a cliché from you."

"Clichés exist because they’re true."

"And I thought you were capable of more original thinking?"

"You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now."

She holds my gaze boldly. "Why don’t you tell me?"

I release the hold on my flute, then lean forward and slide her glass from her grasp. I turn it to where the mark of her lips graces the rim and take a sip of the sparkling wine. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Her lips part, then she raises one brow. "Try me."

"I want to touch your curves and fondle the dips in your body. I want to hold you and kiss you and bite you and suck on you. I want to lick you, taste you, sink my fingers inside you. I want to take you to the edge over and over again, until your blood is coursing with pheromones; until you’re so high from the experience, you’ll be spoiled for anyone else; until all you can think of is me, all you can taste is me; until your every breath belongs to me; until" —I place my hand over hers— "I bring you to your knees and have you begging me to show you every depraved thing I can do to you; until I bring every secret, perverted dream of yours to life; until you’re begging me to show you just how far I can push you; until you surprise even yourself. "

Her breath hitches.

"I want to arouse you to the point you have no other thoughts but how it will be to have my cock buried in your pussy, my fingers in your arse, my tongue in your mouth, and how I’ll take you to the edge until you beg me to come and even then, I won’t let you—"

"Unless?" she breathes.

"Unless you submit to me."