Page 89 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Zara

My heart somersaults into my throat. I push away from the table so fast, my chair crashes to the floor, and even then, his fingers brush against my bathrobe.

I scream, then jump and race toward the door.

Footsteps sound behind me, and I know he’s on my heels.

How can he move that quickly? He warned me he was going to chase me, but I didn’t take him seriously.

I thought he was joking… I underestimated him.

Surely, this is some kind of a twisted game for him—one which I don't intend to lose. I increase my speed and reach the doorway. Almost there, almost… If I can only get out of the kitchen and get to the bedroom, I can shut the door behind me, and then— Something latches onto the belt I tied around my bathrobe. I yell and pull away, leaving the bathrobe behind. Cool air touches my skin. Shit, shit, shit. And now, I’m naked, to boot.

Footsteps thud behind me, and my pulse raps against my temples.

Sweat pools under my armpits. My knees tremble, but I keep going.

I reach the bedroom and thrust one foot over the doorway when his fingers lock around my upper arm.

I yell and try to wriggle away. The next second, the world turns upside down.

Huh? Where the hell am I? What the—? My hair flows down my ears—or is it up?

I don’t know. I’m upside-down. Down is up and up is down—and over my face—not under.

That would make me inside-out. And why the hell am I having these nonsensical thoughts?

What is wrong with me? Clearly, I’m delirious.

I stare at his backside—his very spectacular arse hidden by those sweatpants.

"The fuck! What are you doing?"

"I caught you, fair and square, Fire. Now you’re mine." His voice rumbles from somewhere above me; the vibrations travel down his back, and my chest, which is pressed up against his spine. I wriggle and writhe. He places his arm across the back of my thighs.

"Let me go, Hunter," I snap.

"Not a chance, baby." He strides away from the bedroom and through to the kitchen. He approaches the dining table with the overturned chair next to it and comes to a halt.

"What are you doing?"

"I haven’t had my dessert yet."

"Excuse me?" I squeeze my thighs together. He can’t mean… Surely, not. "Hunter, don’t you dare," I yell.

"Don’t challenge me, darlin’." He lowers me down onto the table. I spring up at once, but he presses his palm into the center of my chest. "I love it when you stand up to me. And when you defy me, it fucking turns me on, you know that?"

I glance at the tent in his crotch and then up at him. "I can tell." I push into his palm and he steps forward until his knees brush against mine.

"Part your legs for me."

"No."

His eyes gleam. "Fuck, if that doesn’t turn me on even more."

"You’re a psychopath, you know that?" I snarl.

He tilts his head as if considering my statement. "Only when it comes to you. Although right now, what I am is really fucking horny. Also, I think the word you were looking for is sadist."

I swallow. That part of me that yearns to have him handle my body as he sees fit, that hidden side of me that can’t wait for him to do to me as he wishes, that submissive woman inside who wants to open her thighs for his tongue, his fingers, his cock—ideally, each and every one of those parts, in different holes of my body, at the same time— rises to the fore.

He must sense it, for he bends his knees and peers into my eyes.

"Open. Your. Thighs."

I widen the gap between my legs.

"Good girl."

He plants himself in the space between my thighs, and my core clenches.

He reaches past me and his neck brushes against my nose.

I draw in a breath—only because I have to breathe—and my lungs fill with Hunter.

My head spins. I hear the sounds of the dishes being pushed to the side, then he pushes down on my chest. I lay back until the back of my head meets the table.

"Jesus, look at you." His voice is harsh, the tone gravelly, as he rakes his gaze from my face to my stomach to the space between my legs. "Fuck, you’re aroused, aren’t you, baby?"

"I’m not."

He laughs, then shoves two fingers inside me. I groan as my core clenches down on his fingers. He pulls out his glistening fingers, then brings them to my lips. "Suck it off."

I scowl at him.

"Now," he commands.

And I don’t want to do it; I don’t. But that feminine core of me, the one that yearns to be his, the one that’s riding me hard, takes over.

I open my mouth, and he places his fingers on my tongue.

I lock my lips about his digits, and he slides them out.

I pop my lips together, taste myself and… and him.

"How do you taste?"

"Like you."

His eyes darken until they seem like the depths of the sea. I can see it clearly. I’m going to dive in, and when I surface, I’ll be changed. My stomach knots. My chest hurts. Am I really going to go through with this? "Hunter, I—"

"Shh, baby, let me take care of you."

He looks into my eyes, and in his, I see lust and need and something else.

Something more intense. That emotion he’s been hinting at over the last day.

That…sensation that’s bound us together from the moment I laid eyes on him.

The connection I’ve been trying to deny, knowing it’s going to take root in me.

The one that’s already tying me to him. No matter how much I deny it, he’s crawled under my skin, and when I leave here, I’m going to feel empty.

I’m going to miss him... But for now, I have him, and I intend to make the most of the time we have.

I force my muscles to relax, one by one, not taking my gaze from his.

He nods, as if he senses my submission and accepts it as his right. Then he reaches behind and pulls off his T-shirt displaying those perfect chest planes. He throws it aside, and before I can say anything else, he leans over, scoops up the pudding, and smears it across my chest.