Page 85 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Zara

"Do your worst, you twathole."

No sooner have the words left my lips than a white jolt of heat screams up my spine. I yell, "You spanked me, you…you…jerkass."

"You’re beginning to repeat your insults," he observes, right after which he brings his palm down on my other arsecheek.

I scream, wriggle about over his shoulder. He simply swings around, heads for the bedroom, then toward the bed.

"Let me go, Hunter. Right now."

"If that’s what you want." He throws me down on the bed, and before I’ve even completed my first bounce, he shoves off his sweatpants—no briefs—and follows me down.

He covers my body with his, digs his elbows into either side of my head, and presses his hips into mine so there’s no mistaking just how turned on he is.

The thick pole between his legs nestles into the valley between mine.

His weight pins me down, and he lowers his chest to mine, the carved planes digging into the softness of my breasts.

The heat of his body slams into mine, and it’s like I’m in a sauna.

Goosebumps pop on my skin. Moisture pools between my thighs.

He stays there, holding my gaze, not moving, simply allowing me to feel every inch of his hard body against mine.

Letting the rightness of us being together in this moment sink in.

My nipples peak, and my clit throbs. That emptiness in my belly unfurls and grows.

All of the cells in my body seem to open and ready themselves to be invaded by him.

He’s all around me, enveloping me. I’ve never felt this fragile, this intensely conscious of just how much bigger than me he is.

Our bodies seem to communicate without words. Our gazes lock. The thickness at my core grows even more prominent.

"Do you remember your safe word?"

His voice is hard; there’s a meanness to it that reaches that part of me deep inside I’ve never wanted to acknowledge.

The part that yearns for a male strong enough to overpower me.

A man who is as determined as me; someone intelligent enough to pit his wits against mine, quick-witted enough to trade words with me, dominant enough to command me, skilled enough to manipulate my body, and considerate enough to bring me to orgasm every single time—an area in which all of my previous lovers have failed.

"Zara, do you?" He peers into my eyes.

I nod.

"Say it aloud."

"I remember my safe word." My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. My mind seems to have detached from my body, floating somewhere above while I watch this entire scene unfold. I shouldn’t find it so hot—oh, god—but I do.

I push up my chest so my nipples stab into his unforgiving chest planes.

His lips twist. "Good girl."

I shudder. Pleasure sweeps through my veins, and I almost orgasm. And all because he praised me? Jesus, what’s he doing to me?

He pushes away from the bed and stabs his finger at me. "Stay right there."

I couldn’t move if I tried. The primitive part of my brain has acknowledged he’s the master.

And I’m his to do with as he wants… For now.

All of my senses are focused on him, on how his powerful thighs ripple as he stalks over to his bag in the corner and rummages around before turning to face me.

A few strips of silk dangle from his hand.

"What’s that?"

"Relax, Fire, I promise you’re going to enjoy this."

"That’s what you said when you fucked me in the arse… For our very first time together."

He reaches the bed then glares down at me. "Did it hurt?

"What do you think?" I scowl.

"That you screamed my name as you came so hard that you could barely move afterward. And now, you’re embarrassed about it."

"I’m not embarrassed about anything."

"Then why is your face so red?"

"It’s not—" I firm my lips. "Fine, I didn’t expect to enjoy it so much. Also, I definitely didn’t think that the first time we fucked you’d enter the wrong way."

He chuckles. "That’s a quaint way of referring to anal."

"I believe in social, political and economic equality of the genders; doesn’t mean I’m not well-mannered," I say primly.

"Seems to me you also believe in the anal quality of pleasure."

I laugh. I can’t help it. Here I am, trying to make him feel guilty for jumping right into having anal with me.

I’ve never allowed any of my partners to take that liberty with me.

Not even my longest relationship, which lasted all of three months.

And Hunter here, hunted me down and boldly went where no one had dared to before.

"Hold on a second." He scrutinizes my features. "Was that your first time?"

My cheeks heat. "What? Don’t be ridiculous."

"It was your first time with anal."

My face is so hot now, I’m sure there are flames leaping up from it. "Can we stop this discussion?"

"Is it because four letter words are an issue for you?" he asks slowly.

"Fuck, no." I tilt up my chin. "But I do have an issue with your having opened your innings with anal."

"Not to worry, baby. I’m a believer in marathons and five-day long cricket matches." He places a knee on the bed.

"Personally, I prefer working in short quick bursts.” I choke out.

"And I prefer to keep my stamina, when it comes to both the campaign trail and my sexual performance."

"Did you just compare politics to sex?" I gasp.

"There’s a similar high when you win over a particularly stubborn opponent in both, wouldn’t you say?"

I widen my gaze. "And now you’re comparing me to a political rival?"

"You’re, by far, the most beautiful, most vital, most intelligent adversary I’ve ever taken on."

"So, we’ve covered cricket, politics, and sex in the space of a few sentences." Three things I am passionate about. "That’s a—"

"First," he says at the same time as me.

The air between us thickens and swirls with unsaid words. The kind you don’t dare blurt out for fear of where they might lead. And yet, you also can’t ignore it. When was the last time my pillow talk with a man covered such a large spectrum of interests?

"I don’t know of many women who’re familiar with cricketing analogies," he says as if he’s read my mind.

And it’s no surprise I am. Cricket is the one game that we watched as a family when I was growing up.

It’s the one time my father allowed my brother and me to slack off our studies—when there was a cricket match on the TV.

Also, my brother now plays cricket for England, something I don’t publicize much.

"My brother plays cricket for England," I say, then squeeze my eyes shut. Did I say that aloud? I said that. Not even my closest friends know about Cade.

It’s not that I have anything to hide. It’s more to do with the fact that, given the kind of job I do—being a fixer, that is—it’s simpler to keep my family out of the limelight.

Also, Cade attracts his share of attention, given the high-profile nature of his sponsorships.

So, it’s simpler not to draw the media’s attention to our relationship.

I’ve even managed to keep it off of my Wikipedia page.

And now, I shared it with this man. This man, who I’ve known for barely a few days…

Okay, more than that. But the sum total of time we’ve spent together amounts to a couple of days or less.

Although it will be more than that by the time this interlude is over.

"Zara, you okay?"

I nod, still keeping my eyes shut.

"What are you afraid of?"

I snap my eyelids open. "Who said anything about being afraid?"

"Why are you upset?"

"I prefer not to tell people about my family. It’s how I protect them."

"Understandable, given the nature of your job. But it doesn’t explain why you’re so pissed off with yourself."

"I’m not—" He tilts his head and I firm my lips. "You’re right, I am upset with myself.” I glance away then back at him. “That was my first time.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Your first time with anal sex?”

My cheeks heat further, if that were even possible. “Why don’t you yell it out so the neighbors can hear you?”

His lips kick up. “Our nearest neighbor is miles away. And you have nothing to be embarrassed about enjoying it, baby.” He scans my features. “Do you know how it makes me feel to find out that I had one of your firsts?”

Did I hear him correctly? It shouldn’t mean anything to me, what he just said, and yet my body insists otherwise.

My thighs quiver, and my knees threaten to turn to noodles.

My toes curl and I have to reach deep inside myself to find the strength to stay standing.

“H...how does it make you feel?” I finally manage.

“It makes me want to fuck you for days so you’ll not be able to walk straight. In fact—” He bends his knees and peers into my eyes. “I promise, before I’m done with you, you’re going to come at least ten more times."

"In the space of eighteen hours?" I scoff.

"Fine, so eighteen, then."

"An orgasm an hour?" I throw my head back and laugh. "Not even you can deliver on that."

"Make sure you keep count, baby."

He holds out his hand. I look at his outstretched palm, then at his face. "What are you going to do?"

"Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m going to do," he retorts.

"Can you give me a straight reply, for once?"

"Can you honestly say you don’t know what’s coming next?

" He glares at me, and the threat in his tone slithers down my spine. He’s right about one thing—there’s a special thrill in pushing him, in being bratty and getting him to act all dominant with me.

It fulfills that masochistic streak in me.

Hold on, masochistic? Did I just label myself as masochistic?

Did I just agree that I want him to be a sadist with me?

I’m not a prude when it comes to sex, honestly. But something inside of me stopped me from exploring S&M and everything it has to offer. And it wasn’t my strict upbringing, either.

My parents were very strict and did not allow me to date as long as I was under their roof.

What they didn’t know about was the boys I smuggled into my room when they were away at the shop.

My brother, too, had his share of girls parading through the house.

By mutual consent, we never spoke about it.

Then, when I was sixteen Olly was born, and all that stopped.

Once I left for university, I celebrated my freedom by hooking up with a variety of boys, and one of them was into S&M.

I made it very clear I wanted nothing to do with that.

And he never pushed the point, something that told me our relationship was going to be short-lived.

He’s the guy with whom my relationship lasted for three months.

I was the one to break up, as was normally the case.

All of the men I’ve been with have respected my wishes.

Not one of them pushed me to re-evaluate my boundaries, like Hunter has.

"What if I say I’d rather be surprised?"

"Do you want to be surprised, Fire?"

I hold his gaze, then place my hand in his.