“No.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve come to get you back.”
Part Three: Beguiling The Billionaire
My heart was a timpani thrumming in the hollow of my chest, and I gaped at him as he moved deeper into my private space. He seemed so out of place in my old apartment: he was this beautiful, refined thing in a crummy, run-down place that just wasn’t good enough for him.
“This isn’t gonna work,” I weakly protested. “I can’t –”
“Why?” He interrupted, his brows arched high over his sherry-colored eyes. “Why can’t this work?”
“Because!” I threw my hands out to the side. “Because I have never in my life felt so cheap as I did today.” I deflated when the truth of it came out, sinking onto the sofa and curling into myself, resting my elbows on my knees. “I don’t want to work at the club. I don’t want to have all these… complicated feelings about you when I don’t know where I stand, and I don’t ever, ever want one of your friends to hand me a wad of bills like I’m some… whore.”
“Fiona…”
“No,” I waved my hand in front of my face, trying to clear the haze out of my mind. “No, I’m sorry. I know you offered me a chance to really change my life, and I’ve got a good little chunk of savings from the work I did at the club, but I won’t play these games with you. I won’t fall asleep in your arms one night and fuck your frat brothers the next, I can’t.”
He blinked, his lips parted as though he were going to speak, but he hesitated. “I didn’t realize,” he began, casting his gaze to the floorboards beneath his feet. “I thought…” he laughed abruptly, and lifted his eyes to lock them on my face. “I thought I was crazy. I thought I was the only one who developed these… feelings. And that it was just a job for you.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” I demanded, bewildered. “How could you think it was just a job? What kind of crazy shit do you think I get up to?”
He chuckled wryly, arching his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I… have a warped perspective, I guess. For Emma it was just a job: we were together for months, and I told her I was… I told her I had feelings for her, and she sort of looked at me like I was a puppy dog, and said, ‘Oh, honey. I’m queer.’” We grinned at one another and he fell into an easy lean against the wall. “For her, it was the money, the lifestyle. And that’s fine, that was the deal. I was the one that changed the rules. So, with you…” He ran his tongue over his lips and peered at me through the thick forest of his lashes. “I tried, I really did try. But ultimately, I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.”
I drew in a sharp breath even as my heart fluttered up into my throat.
“What are you thinking…?” he asked, all boyish charm. I was beguiled by this crack in his steady confidence, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m thinking,” I began, taking my time, sighing heavy and long. “That I couldn’t help it either.”
“Help what?”
“Falling in love with you.”
He grinned, dimples blooming on either side of his mouth. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall, never taking his eyes off of me. There was something desperate, hungry in them and it took every ounce of strength in my body not to run to him, then. “I love you,” I said. “But I’m not going back to work at the club for you.”
He eyed me levelly. “Take off your clothes.”
“Michael –”
“Now.”
I tugged my tee shirt up over my head and tossed it aside, wishing that I’d worn lingerie instead of the plain white cotton bra and panties that awaited him as I continued to disrobe. I unbuttoned my jeans and shimmied out of them – not exactly an erotic striptease, but I was doing as he asked. I stood in front of him in my underwear and socks, and he crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest and waited.
Sighing, I plucked the socks from my feet, and undid the clasp of my bra, letting it fall away to reveal my ample breasts and pert, pink nipples. I played at exasperation, but I would do almost anything he asked of me: he loved me. And in saying so, he’d made me his. Damn him.
I took a little more time with the panties, hooking my thumbs around the elastic and pulling them slowly down over the curves of my thighs before letting them drop in a puddle at my feet. I stood nude before him, my long, black hair spilling over my bare shoulders. I angled my green eyes on his face, and basked in the warmth of his smile.
“Good girl. Now, get on your hands and knees.” I hesitated for the length of a heartbeat, but I wanted to do what he told me to do. I wanted to obey him. And so I did. Dropping down onto the hardwood floors, I pressed my palms flat and gazed up at him.
“Turn around,” he said, and so I did, showing him the pale curve of my backside. “Press your cheek to the floor and spread your thighs.” I bent forward and rested my head against the polished hardwood, scooting my legs apart to give him a full view of my bare sex. The cool air against my exposed nethers felt delightful, and I relished having his eyes on me.
“Reach up with both hands and part the lips of your pussy.” I got myself situated and reached up around my thighs to spread myself wide open for him; I longed for him to touch me.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You will stay this way until I return.”
Return? Where was he going? But I didn’t dare sit up to ask him. Instead I remained still as I heard his footsteps retreat to my front door, which I then heard open and close again. I was alone in my apartment, my face against the floor, and my pussy spread wide to anyone who came in.
I couldn’t help but imagine him fucking me, and I grew hot and wet just thinking about it. It seemed unfair, how utterly he possessed me, and how easy it was for him to leave me there in my wanting. And wasn’t that always how it had been with us? He walked into my life, decided that I was a thing he wanted, and drew me into his world. I had followed, obedient as a poodle, and just when I’d cultivated the strength to walk away, there he was, right on my heels. And it was so easy for him to have me, because I let him. But he loved me – and that was worth everything.
I had nearly decided to abandon this game entirely when I heard him come back in. He’d been gone twenty minutes or so, and I heard him drop something that sounded like a full canvas duffle bag on the floor by the hall. He didn’t speak to me; I didn’t speak to him. I closed my eyes and focused on the sounds he was making: the click of his heeled dress shoes against the wood; the faint humming noise he made as he unzipped his bag, the steady cadence of his breathing. I heard him open a bottle of something and squirt it onto his hands, which he then rubbed together. And my eyes flew open when I felt him press the tip of something against the puckered entrance to my anus.
“Relax,” he whispered, and I did, as he squirted a little more lube directly onto my body and pressed the plug with gentle pulses deeper and deeper into me until it clicked into place. I felt some of the excess lubricant drip down my slit as he approached and secured two leather cuffs about my wrists, connected with an inch or two of chain. He helped me up onto my feet then and hooked a finger under my chin to tilt my face up toward his. He kissed me, hard but tender, and I could feel the evidence of his arousal beneath the fabric of his pants as I pressed my naked body against him. Pulling away, he reached up to secure a leather collar around my throat, a silver ring dangling from its center. It was tight but not constrictive; I loved how it felt, like wearing a very expensive piece of jewelry.
He sat on my ratty old couch then, something beautiful against a derelict backdrop, and reached up to tug at the ring of my collar. I came forward, bent, bowed until I was over his knees. He held the small bit of chain that connected my restrained wrists with one hand and rubbed the upturned flesh of my bottom with the other. He spanked both cheeks several times, and I squirmed underneath his arm.
“Do you like when I spank you?” he asked, his hand coming firmly down upon the pink flesh of my ass.
“Yes,” I murmured, because I did. I didn
’t know why, but I did. I loved the attention, the sting, the fact that he was so close to my pussy but not touching me there, just a tease, just a promise of what was to come. But mostly I loved the feel of his erection against my belly as me spanked me.
“Good.” He was rock hard and straining against his trousers and my flesh tingled each time he made contact. He smacked my ass with growing intensity, falling into a steady rhythm that put me in a sort of trance, until the only thing I could think about was the sensation he was giving me.
I began to writhe in discomfort as we transitioned from a pleasant sting and into raw pain. I sucked in a sharp exhale through my teeth, and he stilled his hand, sliding his fingertips down the slope of my backside, past the plug, and into my dripping wet slit. He probed the entrance of my sex with one finger, then two, pushing into me with ease because of how wet I’d become during the spanking. I moaned as he fucked with me with his long, deft fingers and dreamed of his cock in their stead. After a moment he pulled out of me and began to rub my pulsing, pink clitoris, and it wasn’t long before I felt my climax begin to grow. I felt my body tense with the promise of release, but he felt it too and pulled his hand away.
“You will come when I tell you to come,” he said, his voice husky with desire. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.” Letting go of my restrained wrists, he shifted me so that I was kneeling on the floor in front of him and stuck his fingers in my mouth so that I could lick my juices off of them. I sucked them hungrily, frustrated that my hands were behind my back, because I wanted to reach up and free his cock from the confines of his pants.
Soon enough, he obliged and undid his zipper and button and his erection sprang free. I leaned forward, immediately taking it into my mouth humming my contentment at having thus been filled. I heard him groan, could sense the tension in his body as I took more and more of him into my mouth.
“You’ll come back, won’t you?” he asked, his hand on the back of my head, the head of his cock hitting the back of my throat. “You will: you so clearly love to be mine.”
I pulled away, and peered up at him. “No,” I said. “I won’t come back.” He reached down and curled his fingers around my throat, hoisting me upright on my knees and tugging me forward until our mouths met in a deep, hungry kiss.
“You have to,” he said, a pleading tone in his voice. “You have to come back to me.” I kissed him again with a fury, but jerked my head back and shook it vigorously.
“There are a lot of things that I will do simply because you ask me to do them,” I said, leaning forward to press a kiss to the head of his cock. “But this isn’t one of them.”
“Please,” he whispered, and I stood up before straddling him with one knee on either side of his legs on the couch cushions. I gyrated my hips back and forth so that my slick, wet cunt rubbed up and down the length of his shaft without him actually entering me. He groaned and leaned forward, placing a flurry of kisses on the soft flesh of my neck.
“Do you belong to me?” He asked and I lifted myself up just slightly, relishing the feel of the tip of his erection at the entrance of my sex. I lowered myself down so that he filled me utterly. It was like coming home.
“Yes,” I said on the wings of an exhale. “Yes, I belong to you.” He clasped my hips and pushed deeply into me.
“And I belong to you,” he said, sliding down on the couch just slightly so that he could thrust his hips forward. He reached around with one hand and clasped my restrained wrists. We fell into an easy rhythm, and I lost myself in the movements of our bodies. “We are each other’s.”
After a few more violent thrusts, he lifted me in his arms as he rose to his feet, and carried me to the bedroom. Still inside me, he unhooked the chain that bound my wrists together and laid me down on the bed. Pulling out, he fastened the restraints to the wrought iron bed frame so that I was held in place with my arms up over my head. He situated me so that my knees were bent and my thighs were spread wide, opening to him like the bloom of a flower. He admired me as he finally disrobed, tossing his dress shirt and trousers unceremoniously onto the chair by the door.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
“Desperately.”
Once he was naked, he came forward and pressed a line of kisses to my inner thigh. His tongue lapped at my clitoris in quick little circles. He sucked at it as well and I moaned delightedly, feeling the tight spring of my orgasm begin to coil. But he stopped, and climbed up the length of my body. He kissed me so I could taste myself on his lips, then grinned at me. “Don’t come until I tell you to,” he all but growled, and thrust his cock inside of me once more. “I want to feel it.”
He held himself aloft above me as he fucked me, pressing himself forward so that his erection rubbed against my g-spot. “Please,” I moaned. “Please let me come.”
“Not yet.”
I tried to focus on the outside world, but he has whittled my consciousness down to a singular point: the deep connection between us. I could think of nothing but the feeling of him between my legs. He quickened his pace, the intermingling of our noises echoing against the exposed brick walls. His thrusts came hard and fast. “Harder,” I begged. “Please, fuck me harder.” And he obliged, sucking in air through his teeth as he plowed into me, faster and faster, so that our flesh stung where it smacked together.
“Come for me, Fiona,” he said, bucking his hips. “Come for me now.”
And I did as he bid, the explosion of my release in perfect synch with his as he shot his spunk deep inside of me with one final wail. He collapsed atop me and I longed to embrace him, but could do nothing but lay there with my arms above my head, panting as my orgasm subsided.
I felt him go soft inside of me, and he finally pulled out, our juices spilling out of me and onto the bedspread. He reached down between us and brushed his fingertips into the come that leaked out of me, scooping some up and bringing it to my mouth. I licked it up, and grinned.
“Marry me.”
I started, jerking so ferociously that the chains clattered against the wrought iron frame of the bed.
“What?”
“I want to marry you, Fiona,” he said. “I love you. It’s as simple as that.”
I blinked owlishly, stunned, and frustrated that I couldn’t move, what with the restraints and the weight of him on top of me.
“You don’t have to say yes right away,” he murmured. “But don’t say no. Not yet.” He kissed me, his tongue toying playfully with mine. “Be my slave,” he whispered, and pecked a trail of kisses along the line of my jaw, down my neck and over the slope of my breast. “And let me be yours.” He suckled at my nipple, biting gently and I squirmed beneath him, my arousal growing once more.
“What do you say? Will you think about it?”
I allowed my eyes to come to a close as I envisioned a life that felt just like this, and I felt myself smiling as much as I felt him playing with my nipple. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I’ll think about it.”
Smiling, he rose to his feet and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Good,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few hours to have you again.”
He dressed quickly and left me there, chained to the bed. With a plug in my ass, a collar around my throat, and my hands attached to the headboard, I was the object of his desire, his come dripping down my slit. And I loved waiting there for him, the imaginings of what he would do to me enough to keep me warm in his absence.
And this is what my life could be, the two of us, desperate for one another. It certainly was tempting. He certainly was tempting. But what if he’d asked me to marry him simply out of convenience? He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted, no matter the cost.
I shifted on the mattress, tugging slightly at the leather restraints around my wrists, but it was an effort in futility. I had an impulse to curl up and hide myself, but I wanted him to see me with my legs spread and my back arched so my breasts were
pushed forward when he came back. I wanted to show him I was ready for him. So I scooted myself over so that I was in the middle of the mattress, and shimmied up slightly so that I could bend my elbows. I bent my knees as well, and splayed my thighs so that my glistening, pink sex was fully bared. I waited for a while, my nipples hard in the cool air of the dim bedroom.
And I fell asleep.
I dreamed of him going down on me, licking at my clit and sucking out his own come. I dreamed of him pinching my nipples, rolling them between his thumb and index finger, and I dreamed of him sliding his rock hard member into me. But it wasn’t a dream, was it? Because I was brought groggily back to consciousness by the feel of him inside of me. He’d rolled me over onto my side, my arms still pinioned, and entered me from behind. My legs were together, knees bent, and he had one arm slung over me, his hand kneading my breast as he pumped into me.
“Michael...” I murmured, and he kissed the nape of my neck, sliding his hand down from my breast, over my belly and between my velvet folds so that he could rub my clit while he fucked me. I opened my legs to make room for his hand while each thrust pushed at the anal plug and I was overcome by the sensation.
“I couldn’t wait,” he groaned. “You looked so beautiful when I came back, and I couldn’t wait.”
I turned my face toward his as much as I could and he lifted his head up to kiss me. “I’m your fuck toy,” I said, my voice husky. “I’m yours to do with as you please.”
These words sent him over the edge and he let out two sharp grunts and came inside of me, gripping my thigh as he did so. Breathing heavily in my ear, he reached up and freed my arms from their restraints. I instinctively brought my hands down, and he curled the fingers of one hand around my wrist. “Some day,” he whispered, “You won’t need the restraints. You will simply keep your hands up there because that is where I want them.”
Bound for Him: (A Billionaire BDSM Boxed Set - 9 Stories) the Bacchanalia Collection Page 8