Besotted (The Billionaire Banker Series)

by Le Carre, Georgia

‘Sit like a frog.’

  I reposition myself, opening my knees wide, pulling my feet close to his thighs and laying them flat on the bed. Then I place my palms on his body and straighten my own body. The penetration is too deep. With a small cry I push my palms down and fractionally lift myself off his body, but he shakes his head slowly.

  ‘Mine to do with as I please.’

  Biting my lip I relax my arms and let my body take the whole shaft, gasping at the sudden pain. For a while he makes me endure it, the sensation of being too full, the exquisite pain of having him too deep inside me.

  ‘Your pussy feels so fucking good I could stay inside you all night.’

  We stare at each other. My eyes must be full of wonder. His blaze with the excitement of dominating me, seeing me in that crouched position, my thighs wide open, his cock buried so deep inside my body I can barely bear it. I whimper, and he takes pity on me.

  ‘Lean forward,’ he growls softly.

  Immediately I obey, and the pain goes away. All that remains is the pure pleasure of being stretched and filled to the brim. He pushes my breasts inwards and pulling me towards him sucks hard at my nipple, first one then the other. I start to move against his shaft and we groan in unison. My clit rubs against his pubic bone. Back and forth. Back and forth, as far as his greedily sucking mouth will allow me to retreat to. Rubbing. Rubbing. Delicious friction. Our bodies become wet and slippery. It is beautiful.

  He waits for me to come before he allows himself to erupt inside me. I collapse on him and lay my cheek upon his chest. I can hear the fast, dull thudding of his heart, and feel his strong shaft still jerking inside me. I lift my head. His eyes are closed, his face is calm.

  ‘Are you sleepy?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’

  I use the ends of my hair to tickle his chin. ‘What’s your favorite word?’

  He opens his eyes. ‘Egg.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just like the sound of it.’

  ‘You’re one strange man.’

  He chuckles. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Lollipop.’

  ‘I’d like to change my word.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Lana.’

  I laugh. ‘That, Mr. Barrington, is the corniest thing you have ever said to me.’

  ‘No, really. Every time I say it, or hear it on someone else’s lips, it actually gives me a thrill.’

  I feel lazy and relaxed on top of him. ‘We know so little about each other, don’t we?’

  ‘I know everything I need to know about you. Everything else I’ll find out along the way.’

  ‘What is it you think you know about me?’

  ‘Well, for starters I know you’re brave.’

  I frown. ‘Brave? I’m not brave.’

  ‘You’re one of the bravest people I know.’

  ‘How am I brave?’

  ‘You left me. That’s brave.’

  ‘If you knew how frightened and confused I was when I left.’

  ‘That’s the definition of bravery, Lana. Doing something even though you are terrified of the consequences. And I am really proud of the way you handled my brother today, too.’

  ‘You are?’ I squeak, immeasurably pleased with the compliment.

  ‘When I was in the toilet I was so nervous about leaving you with him I was gripping the edges of the sink to keep from running back into the restaurant. But I knew I had to let you handle it, and I’m glad now that I did. If you can handle him you can handle all the rest in time.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘And if I’m not we’ll work it out together.’

  Thirteen

  Victoria Montgomery

  If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…

  I could walk through my garden forever,

  Alfred Tennyson

  This morning he calls me and tells me he is coming to see me. He sounds puzzlingly distant, but still, I sense that he is desperate to see me again. Finally. I never once—well, maybe once or twice—doubted that he would tire of that thieving bitch. I’ve always known—he will come back.

  I look at the clock. He’ll be here in less than an hour! Feeling almost dizzy with excitement and triumph, I slip into white underwear. The silk slides deliciously against my fevered skin. Blake loves a woman in white. The slut knew that, too. Her underwear drawers were full of white bits and pieces. My lips tighten of their own accord. I won’t think of her now. Why should I? I’ve won.

  I, too, can drive him crazy with need. I, too, can slowly strip and crawl on the floor towards him. I will unzip his trousers and take his thick manhood, throbbing with power and strength, deep into my throat. I will swallow what he gives me. He is my man. I will be Mrs. Blake Law Barrington. I will walk into restaurants and parties and people will see that I am the power behind the throne.

  I look at myself in the long mirror and don’t just feel reassured and satisfied, but highly pleased with the image that looks back. If there is a woman more desirable than me then I am yet to meet her. I am a class act all the way. That woman—I cannot even bear to say her name—is cheap. Even the best designer clothes cannot hide that fact. It lurks in her eyes, her big lips, her silly butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth expression.

  I dress simply in a mint green dress, its hem faultlessly grazing the tops of my knees. I encircle my throat with two rows of creamy pearls. Nothing elaborate. It wouldn’t be appropriate to display my triumph. Some decorum and subtlety is called for. And yet this dress knows how to ride up my thighs when I sit down. Maybe… He will slide his hand up the inside of my thigh and, moving aside my knickers, insert his strong fingers into me, one, two, maybe even three… Forcing them deeper and deeper, working them furiously, until I gasp. Until I come, drenching his hand.

  I imagine him pushing my dress up so it bunches around my waist. He will roughly tear away my knickers, open my long, slender legs wide, and while I arch my spine with uncontrollable lust, he will eat me out like a wild beast. And I will hold him by the hair until… I climax again.

  ‘You taste so much better than her,’ he will say to me.

  My legs are trembling and my knickers are wet. I push a finger into my own wet hole, and pulling it out put it into my mouth. This is me. That is what he will taste. Then a thought: You don’t have much time. I snap out of my fantasy. I must be the picture of calm loyalty.

  Quickly, I move to my dressing table.

  Nearly black mascara, smoky brown eyeshadow and luscious berry lipstick. I press my lips together, and let the color pigments spread. Nice. Very nice. I’ll just be soft and innocent. That always works. I dab perfume—potent and specially created for me—behind my ears, on the insides of my wrists and then a strip on the insides of my thighs. I do not change out of my wet knickers. I actually relish the thought of sitting next to him, wet. Maybe he will smell me.

  For an instant I consider changing into something more revealing.

  The soft peal of the doorbell stops me cold for a second. Too late. Mint green will have to do. I lay my palm on my stomach. I am as nervous as I was on our first date. What a night that was. We dined at Nobu and ended up at a party. How happy I was then. Everywhere we went people looked at us with envy. We were the golden couple.

  I take a deep, steadying breath and walk to the door. My footfalls are light and noiseless on the thick carpet. With each step I become calmer, more clear in my purpose. I open the door smiling softly, knowing I am looking my best, and my face is radiant with the pure love I have for him.

  ‘Hello Victoria,’ he says politely.

  His eyes. His eyes. So flat and cold. He has changed. He has changed. The rush from heaven to hell is dizzying. I am overwhelmed with grief as one is after a death. I take Blake’s hand and, bending one knee in a gesture of respect reserved only for the highest ranking leaders, kiss it.

  ‘Don’t,’ he grates harshly, yanking his hand away. ‘I am not my father.’

  Confused and slightly unstea
dy, I rise. How different he is.

  ‘Please come in.’ I let the door yawn wider and he steps through. I can do this. He stands awkwardly in my hallway. I turn away from him and close the door. My heart is breaking. Has that fucking bitch poisoned him against me?

  ‘Let’s have some tea,’ I say, turning to face him. My eyes are schooled, innocent, seemingly totally unaware of what he has been doing with the slut.

  He seems about to say something, changes his mind, and nods. I had raised my victory flag too early. I have not won yet. He does not want to be here. He does not want me. I keep my expression neutral, friendly. We go into the living room where a sumptuous tea is waiting. As we enter the living room, I see Maria, my housekeeper, slip out of the front door.

  I indicate the divan and we sit next to each other. Tia, my solid chocolate Persian, poses on her chair across from us. My eyes graze the thigh next to mine. Under the fine wool it is sculptured with hard muscles. I have seen the photographs. I grasp the teapot and pour tea into two cups. I know exactly how he likes his—black, two sugars.

  ‘Milk?’ I ask.

  ‘Black.’

  ‘Sugar?’

  ‘Two please.’

  He watches me as I drop two sugar cubes into his tea. I hold it out to him. I am dying to touch the shapely, masculine fingers, but I don’t. He takes the saucer by its lip, far away from my fingers. I raise my eyes towards him and take a small sip of my tea—milk, no sugar.

  ‘I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man.’ I smile sadly at him. I don’t have to pretend sorrow. The death of his father is a great, great blow to me. He was an ally, a very powerful ally. A friend I could trust with my back. One who shared the same goal. But he is gone now.

  ‘Thank you.’ His voice is far away.

  ‘And now you are the head of the Barrington fortune.’

  He frowns. It makes him look commanding.

  I reach for a gold-rimmed plate of fruitcake. Since he was a boy he never could resist fruitcake. I had these specially ordered from my father’s chef. ‘Would you like a slice?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I watch him bite into it. He is perfect. From the bold, hard slash of his mouth to the taut cheekbones to his naturally bronze coloring, to the dark hair, he is perfect. He is my heart. He is mine. The thought is fiercely possessive and feels right. I must have him or I will die.

  I reach under the white muslin for a scone. It is still warm. I butter it, spread a thin layer of jam, bring it to my mouth, and realize I will be sick if it passes my lips. But he is watching me with the narrowed eyes of a predator. Narrowed and assessing. What is he thinking? I have photos of him when he is with that ridiculous woman, when his eyes are caressing and infinitely tender. I take a small bite, chew until I can no longer bear it in my mouth, and swallow. A mouthful of tea makes it go down.

  ‘Look, I might as well come clean right away. I’ve fallen in love with Lana,’ he announces abruptly.

  Fourteen

  I think my eyes widen. From the moment I met his cold, dead eyes at the front door I had been expecting such a declaration, but my reaction was involuntary. Simply couldn’t help it. Hearing the harshness of his words. No ‘Sorry I wasted your fucking time. Sorry I led you on a merry dance all these years. Sorry I irreparably shattered your heart into a thousand sharp shards.’ Nothing. Just that arrow right into my heart. A sick fury rises inside me. The fury of being denied, deprived. When I was two I didn’t throw myself on the ground in a tantrum, I used to run to the servants and kick and punch them hard. Until the fury was appeased and abated. I cannot show him that rage. I lower my eyes quickly.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ he says.

  His voice is gentle, but when I look up at him, his eyes are watchful, utterly, utterly unrepentant and full of the realization of how foolish the idea of marrying me was. How could he ever have thought he could marry me and play house?

  ‘She doesn’t understand our ways. She won’t have the stomach to do the necessary things.’

  A veil comes over his eyes. ‘I don’t want her to do any of those things. I want to keep her out of all that. We will be a normal family.’

  ‘But you have taken the vow.’

  ‘The only vow I have taken is silence. And I won’t break that.’

  ‘From the path thou shall not stray.’

  ‘I already have.’

  I frown. ‘You’d give up ultimate power for her?’

  He smiles sadly. ‘Oh, Victoria. How little you know me. I was not even going to ask you to do those things. I don’t want the power. I detest what we are doing. I went along because I didn’t know any better. Let the others fight it out for the ultimate power. The only reason I remain is because leaving is not an option.’

  I reach out a hand and touch his sleeve and… He recoils. Imperceptibly, but it is there. An inhuman claw inside my chest squeezes tighter and tighter until I feel I almost cannot breathe at all. So this also is love, I reflect with wonder. No one can imagine just how poisonous is the hate in my heart for that beastly woman who stole my man.

  Lana fucking Bloom.

  She had no right. I rock with helpless pain.

  Instantly, he reaches for my hand. It is satiny soft, but icy and quite lifeless.

  ‘Are you all right?’ His voice seems muffled, as if he is talking to me while I am under water.

  I nod. I must gather myself. I can still turn this around. I take a deep breath, stop rocking, and, dry-eyed, turn to look at him.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he repeats.

  I fix a bright smile on my lips. ‘Of course.’

  ‘You deserve to find someone who will love you. We didn’t love each other. We were marrying for all the wrong reasons. I know that now,’ he says with breathtaking masculine selfishness.

  Yes, you found your slut and now you just want to push me away. I recall again how I had decided to offer myself to him when he called me this morning. To show him how good we’d be together.

  I nod. ‘You are right. This is probably for the best. We would probably have ended up in the divorce courts.’ I smile again. Conciliatory.

  He reciprocates with a smile of his own. He thinks it is all over. Just like that he can wash his hands of me.

  ‘You have a son?’

  Twin lights blossom in his eyes. If he takes out his wallet and shows me a picture of their blasted baby, I swear, I will scream, but he doesn’t.

  ‘He’s the joy of my life,’ he says simply.

  In those few words I see a world I can never have. In my head a voice is sneering, ‘Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.’ Of their own accord my delicate fingers start drumming dangerously on the glass-topped coffee table. I see his eyes shift to my hand. I jerk it away and clasp it in my other hand. I need to do something quickly. He is fixing to leave. I swallow hard at the lump in my throat and stare at the glass surface. How insidiously smooth and unyielding it is. My vision takes in the edge of the plate with the uneaten scone, the butter knife… It is sheer madness, I could even put my eye out, but in a split second I make my decision.

  I let my body pitch forward as if my bones have suddenly melted. The smooth hard glass, the knife’s gleaming blade, and sharp edge of the table rise up to meet my face. Anybody else would have halted their fall, saved themselves, given in to the instinct to protect themselves. I didn’t.

  And what a good thing that I was brave.

  I risked gouging out my eye and won. Just inches away from the pointed end of the knife, hard hands catch me by the arms. I am bodily lifted and held close to his body, the scent of him assailing my senses. God, I love this man so much. I keep my eyes closed, my body limp and floppy. My dress has ridden up my thighs.

  ‘Victoria,’ Blake calls urgently, but I allow my neck to droop over his arms, so my throat is bared to him and he can savor the vulnerability of my lifeless limbs in his arms. Let him feel masculine and strong and protective. The position
is awkward and he stands lifting me up with him. It is unexpectedly and deliciously romantic, and I feel like one of those women on the jacket covers of the voluptuous romances my mother reads.

  I wish he could hold me like this forever, but he lays me back on the divan. However, he is so gentle about it that I suddenly realize he must love me. He doesn’t know it, but it is I who am the one he truly loves. He must just use her for sex. It is me that he loves. Always me. He pulls my dress down over my thighs. What a gentleman. He could have taken advantage of me. Peeked at my sex. Or even had sex with my inert body.

  That is a great fantasy of mine.

  That I would lie on a table as if in a swoon and a total stranger, someone dark and dangerous, someone like Blake, would come and roughly thrust my thighs open, and fuck my plump little sex mercilessly, painfully. I would feel everything, but I would be unable to make a single sound of protest as his enormous organ would split me remorselessly.

  But as the man realizes how hungry and wet I am for him, he understands that I crave the thorough use of my body. Then he becomes sublimely cruel. My own silence deafens me. I weep silently as he does terrible things to me. Until I am hardly human. Afterwards, he will leave even before I wake up.

  Sometimes I would even fantasize that a group of men come, all colors and scents, to use my body while I am lying there. None of them would use condoms. They would use every orifice. They would speak of me as if I was nothing but a piece of meat.

  Blake is sliding his hands away from under the backs of my knees and my neck and I sense him standing. Seconds later my head is lifted and a cushion placed under it. I hear him striding towards the bathroom. He returns with a cold face towel that he lays on my forehead. I moan softly and allow my eyelids to flutter slightly. He calls my name. I open my eyes and allow them to roll a little.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask weakly.

  ‘You fainted.’

  I attempt to rise to my elbows, then pretend as if the effort is making me dizzy. My head sways unsteadily.

  ‘Take it easy. Lie back down.’

  I let myself fall back with a sigh. I look up at him. He is frowning.