Page 83 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Zara

Maybe I should have asked him to use a condom.

But I don’t want him to use a condom. If this is the only night I get with him, I want to feel all of him.

With nothing separating us. So, I’ve never felt this way before, and that makes this entire situation dangerous, but…

It’s only one night. I’ll walk away tomorrow.

I’ll make sure our paths don’t cross—it will be difficult with all the friends we have in common, but that’s fine, I can manage it. I can.

That’s when he brackets me with those massive arms, and positions himself at my entrance. He holds my gaze, propels his hips forward and breaches me. I know he’s big, I’ve taken him in what is a smaller channel, not to mention, I just had him down my throat, but this…

Oh god, he feels so huge. So massive. So enormous.

So damn good. A groan wells up, and he closes his mouth over mine and swallows the sound.

He pulls back, then rams into me with such force the entire bed moves forward.

The headstand smashes into the wall, and something crashes to the ground. Then he begins to pound into me.

He still hasn’t released my mouth, and his gaze, locked with mine, is intense.

His blue-green eyes, now a startling color that resembles the stormy seas, bore into mine.

His shoulders are so huge, his body so large, so solid, the heat from his chest pins me in place, and it feels like I’m being consumed by him.

The next time he pulls out of me, he releases my mouth and stares between my eyes.

"You feel so fucking good, Fire. I’ll never get enough of you. "

I want to agree with him. I do. I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a groan.

One side of his lips kicks up. He wraps his hand over my hip, then lunges forward.

He tilts his hips and bottoms out inside me.

He touches a part of me deep inside. One that sets off a series of reverberations that zip up my spine.

My head spins. Sweat clings to my shoulders.

I dig my heels into his back, curl my fingers into the headboard.

"Hunter," I gasp. Not sure what else to say. What else can I say?

He seems to understand, though, for he lowers his head until his eyelashes brush mine. "Come with me, Zara." He thrusts into me once more, hitting that same spot. "Come right now."

I orgasm instantly. The climax slams into me, and I cry out. Sparks sweep across my vision, and as I black out, I hear his hoarse cry.

When I come to, I’m curled on his chest, his arms about me. His heart beats at an elevated rate against my cheek, and the heat from his body surrounds us like our own personal patch of beach in the sun.

I turn my face into his chest and lick up a bead of sweat.

"Did you just lick me?" he rumbles.

"I want to do more than lick you." I turn over to rest my chin on his chest. He folds his arms behind his neck and the movement makes his biceps bulge.

"For someone who spends most of his time in Parliament, defending your government’s policies, you sure are built."

"I also spend time on the road with my constituents. And I work out most mornings."

"Let me guess. Up at five a.m. to work out, while listening to the morning news—"

"Four-thirty a.m., and also, the stock markets," he corrects me.

"Then run five miles on your treadmill."

"Ten miles, and normally outside." He smirks.

"And you eat political arguments for breakfast."

"I’d rather eat you."

I blink. "You have a one-track mind."

"You and public service. Nothing else has intrigued me as much in my entire life."

"Hunter, don’t." I begin to pull away, but he flips me over and leans over me.

"Why is it that you don’t like to talk about us?"

"It’s only one night."

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean?" I scowl.

He jerks his head in the direction of the window. I turn to find the gray light of dawn filtering through the window. Also, it’s snowing, the flakes coming down so hard that it forms a sheet of white past the windowpane.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

I turn to find an expression of satisfaction on his face. "You knew this would happen. You knew we’d be snowed in today."

"I’d hoped for it, yes."

"So technically, our one night stand was never going to happen."

"Technically, today is a continuation of our one night stand, if you never leave the bed." His smirk widens.

"I think your logic is faulty."

"I think it’s time you stop thinking." He lowers his weight onto me, and the thick column between his legs nestles against my pussy.

"Oh." I swallow.

"Indeed." He leans down and kisses my nose.

"I wish you wouldn’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Go all tender and sweet."

"You don’t want me to be tender?" His eyebrows draw down.

"I’d rather you fuck me hard."

He tilts his head. "So you don’t have time to formulate your arguments on why we shouldn’t be together? So you can put the blame of your agreeing to be fucked by me on me?"

When he says that, it feels so wrong. Like I’m putting the onus of our being together like this on him, and somehow, it’s not fair to him.

But neither is the fact that I’m pulled so strongly toward him, and after how we fucked, I know it’s not going to be easy to forget about him.

Maybe impossible. So, I don’t deny what he says. But I don’t agree to it, either.

The seconds stretch, then he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You know what I think we should do?"

"What?"

"Have breakfast."

He places the breakfast tray on the bed between us.

He insisted I stay in bed and snooze while he cooked breakfast. I protested half-heartedly, but when he’d reminded me that it was a one night stand, which was valid only as long as I didn’t leave the bed, I agreed.

Also, I love sleeping in, and I never allow myself to do so.

All those years of my parents waking me up, along with my twin brother Cade, to study in the mornings because it was the best time to practice our math before we went to school, instilled a sense of discipline in me I’ve never been able to shake off.

Trapped in this room and this bed, with the storm raging outside, it feels like I’ve found a liminal space that doesn’t belong to my normal life.

A space and time where no rules apply. Besides, getting thoroughly fucked last night relaxed me to the extent that when I cuddled into his pillow and drew in his scent, it instantly made me close my eyes and drift off.

I awoke when he placed the breakfast tray in the center of the bed.

Now, I sit up, tuck the sheets under my arms, and eye the monstrosity of a breakfast. On the tray is a plate piled with two eggs over easy, bacon, baked beans, sausages, hash browns, and toast. There’s butter in a bowl on the side, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee.

"That’s a lot for one person," I murmur.

"It’s for both of us."

He slides onto the bed. At some point, he pulled on a pair of gray sweats.

But that glorious chest is shirtless. A-n-d I’ll never get used to seeing that ripped torso, those eight pack abs, that trim waist with the trail of hair that arrows down to that very distinctive part of him.

The one that I had my fingers around not very long ago.

The one I had taken down my throat, and felt thicken and fill my mouth—and earned me that compliment from him.

"Men are suckers for blow jobs, huh?"

"You mean, you don’t like it when I go down on you?" He smirks.

My belly clenches. What is it about this man talking dirty that touches something primal inside me? Still, I manage to meet his gaze without blushing, "Feel free to eat me out anytime.” I reach for a piece of toast, but he gets there first.

"Let me." He butters the toast, holds it out, and I crunch down on it. Then he feeds me some of the baked beans, followed by hash browns, and finally, the crunchy bacon.

"Mmm.” I lick my lips. “You can cook, apparently."

"Surprised that the entitled, poshhole can get his hands dirty?"

This time, I can’t stop myself from blushing. "Poshhole, I like that." I reach for my cup of coffee, and once more, he gets there first.

"Now, now, no cheating, Fire." He raises the cup of coffee to my lips.

I sip from it, and his eyes flare. He brings the cup to his mouth and sips from the same spot I did.

When did the action of drinking from a cup become so pornographic?

He places the cup down, then feeds me more of the hash browns. "You like your potatoes, eh?"

"What’s not to like? It’s my fave vegetable. I can have it in any form. Fries and crisps are my downfall."

He feeds me more of the hash browns, and the shredded potato pieces melt in my mouth. I’ve had hash browns before, and let me tell you, that’s gourmet level cooking right there.

"Did you study cooking?"

"That obvious, huh?" He cuts up a piece of the sausage and offers it to me. I chew on it, and once more, the intense green of chives, with the bite of peppercorns, combines with the chewy texture of the meat and fills my mouth.

"I’m not a great cook, to be honest. But this food could come from a very fine restaurant." I lick my lips.

His gaze is fixed to my mouth, and he feeds me more of the sausage. "I could spend all day watching you eat."

I redden. I’m good with accepting compliments; I really am. So why is it that these remarks from him make me blush?

"I briefly entertained the thought of becoming a chef." He picks up a piece of the sausage and chews on it.

"You? A chef?"

"That’s how I met James," he adds.

"You mean James Hamilton, the chef?"

He nods. "I even went to culinary school with him. But then, my father had a heart attack. I came home to find him weak and almost at death’s door. He told me his one wish was for me to follow in his footsteps."

"And you did," I point out.

"I always knew I was going to go into public service eventually; the cooking was a hobby I enjoyed.

I loved experimenting with ingredients almost as much as I enjoy putting the right people together to create a group that will draw on the strengths of the individuals and make the combined team much more than the sum of the parts. "

He glances up, then tilts his head. "That’s a very thoughtful look you have there."

"My father was very demanding of me and my brother.

He never treated me as a girl, actually.

He always told me, anything my brother could do, I could do better.

I found the weight of his expectations both crushing and exhilarating.

And maybe, I felt more compelled to rise to the challenge.

Maybe I felt I had to deliver on his dreams for me. "

"Hence, you became a lawyer?"

"I did." I tuck the sheet firmly under my arms. "And then, I started my own PR firm."

"A gamble, maybe?"

"No more than you going into public life."

"I’ll be the first to admit that following in the footsteps of my father, and his father before that, opened doors for me that otherwise might have remained closed.

It also invited comparisons with my father and grandfather, which I was prepared for.

I took it as a compliment that people contrasted my style to theirs.

I knew I had to focus on my strengths, that with time my style would shine through, and I’d develop my own approach, my own modus operandi. "

"Your own brand appeal," I murmur.

"Indeed. As have you, Councilor. You’re one heck of a ballsy, fearless negotiator, who’ll go to any lengths to ensure your client is protected. You have single-handedly steered tough journalists into writing stories from the angles that benefit your principals."

"Why, thank you," I dip my head. "And you have a strong brand, Minister. Not only are you charismatic, but your confidence comes across as a self-assuredness which is very attractive."

"Is it now?" He smirks.

"Clearly, it’s going to swell your already oversized head, but since I’ve opened this particular line of thought, I may as well tell you that you also speak sense. Which is more than I can say of many of your colleagues."

He laughs—a full belly laugh that wells up from deep inside, rumbles up his chest, and brightens his features.

With his tousled hair and days-old growth on his jaw, not to mention, those gray sweatpants and bare chest, he could well be a sex god.

Correction, he is a sex god, who not only has the equipment but also delivers on the promise.

He lowers his chin and watches me with a speculative look.

"You haven’t eaten much breakfast." I gesture to the half-full plate.

"That’s because I’m saving my appetite for something else."