One Night With My Billionaire Master

by Cynthia Sax

  Could we have a secret relationship, meeting daily without anyone knowing? My half-siblings, my father, others, would suspect, but they already do that. They’ve gossiped about us for months. We—

  A big hand lands on my ass and I squeak, my pussy clenching, the pain returning my focus to the man behind me, to my building desire. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “I know when you’re worrying about other things, pet.” Logan drops the cloth, pours shampoo into his palm. “When you’re ignoring your master.” He lathers my hair, the coconut scent tickling my nostrils, bubbles floating around us.

  I lean my head back, allowing him to care for me. My billionaire master massages my scalp, willingly serving his submissive.

  “Do all Doms wash their pets’ hair, sir?”

  “I’m not all Doms.” He positions me under the showerhead and threads his fingers through my hair, rinsing the shampoo. “And you’re not all pets. I like to wash your hair. You like having your hair washed. This works for us.”

  “It does, sir.” It works too well, tempting me to risk everything.

  Logan turns me until I face him. “It does.” He brushes a trickle of water from my forehead, his eyes soft. We gaze at each other for several moments, our naked bodies pressed together, his cock hard against my stomach.

  The air around us changes. Logan’s jaw juts, his shoulders straightening, his expression hardening. I drop my gaze, his demeanor demanding my subservience. “Sir?”

  “On your knees, pet. Hands behind your back.”

  I obey, the wet floor as unrelenting as he is, and I look up at him, waiting for his next set of instructions. He braces his feet apart, looming over me, his wide shoulders sheltering me from the shower spray. His erection juts proudly from a base of black private curls, a bead of pre-cum glistening on his tip.

  What would he taste like? I lick my lips.

  “I want that pretty pink tongue on my cock, pet.”

  I’ve finally earned this treat, been deemed worthy to touch him. Glowing with happiness, I lean forward, extend my tongue and tentatively swipe it over his shaft. He bobs.

  This reaction makes me more brazen. I lave him from base to cock head, savoring his unique taste and scent. His musk is stronger here, more male, more primal. I trace his rim. His fingers curl into tight fists.

  I flick my tongue over his slit. Oh, God. I moan. He’s delicious. I delve into his opening, seeking more of his flavor.

  “My eager pet,” he murmurs, sinking his fingers into my hair. “Suck me. Take me into your hot mouth.”

  I push my lips over his tip and he groans. “That’s it.” He moves forward, holding my head, forcing me to accommodate him. “Service your master.” He slides deeper and deeper. I gaze up at him, wishing to please him.

  His cock head taps the back of my throat before my lips touch his base. I whimper with disappointment. He’s too big.

  “You can do this, pet.” Logan tugs on my hair, tilting my head back. He nudges forward. I try not to gag, my throat convulsing around him. My chin presses against his balls.

  “You took all of me.” Admiration warms his voice. “You’re so damn perfect.”

  I smile around his cock, my cheeks aching, my eyes watering.

  He pulls back, allowing me to breathe, to think. “I’m going to fuck your sweet mouth now.” His eyes glitter. “While you finger yourself.”

  Oh, God. I quiver.

  He grips my hair tighter, sending prickles of pain across my scalp. “You’re not to come until I give you permission.”

  This rule remains constant. He controls my satisfaction and I love this, crave this. I nod, his cock preventing my reply.

  Logan smiles. “Good girl.” He withdraws to his tip. I maintain a steady suction, not allowing him to slip from my lips.

  Our gazes meet. He thrusts deep enough to tap the back of my throat. Fuck. His restraint is magnificent. I look up at my billionaire master with open admiration.

  He takes the lead in this intimate dance, plunging in and out, in and out of my mouth. I suck, lick, love his shaft, and, once I grow accustomed to his rhythm, I touch myself, stroking my pussy lips, toying with my clit, our movements synchronized.

  As my passion rises, so does his. Logan drives into me, using me hard, his balls swinging against my chin, his musk filling my nostrils. His grip is sure. He doesn’t allow me to retreat, clasping me to him, taking his pleasure from my willing form, freeing me to focus on my own bliss.

  I pump my pussy with my fingers, matching his tempo, admiring the flex of his thigh muscles, the ripple of tanned skin over tight abs, the indents over his hipbones. He’s a powerful man, and he’s mine. I want him permanently.

  Permanently. God. I swallow and he groans, twisting his fingers in my hair. I want more than one night. I slap my tongue against the underside of his cock, rub the heel of my hand over my clit. I want a future with my billionaire.

  A warmth swells over me. I care for him, too much, and I can’t walk away from him any more than I can escape my slut status. My jaw aches. My arms and legs shake.

  He grunts, the cords on his neck lifting, his stark face twisted with passion. This is how much he wants me, how much I please him, this knowledge feeding my desire.

  Worries about tomorrow evaporate. Staving off my orgasm occupies all of my energy. I’ll show him I’m strong, worthy of sucking his cock, of being his pet.

  My pussy constricts more and more around my fingers, increasing the delectable friction, the delicious torment. Logan’s movements become equally frenzied, my controlled man losing his grip on reality.

  I cross the line from pleasurable torment to pure agony. He digs his fingers into my scalp, his big body vibrating before me.

  We’re torturing each other. My Dom won’t admit defeat but I can. I can ask for the release we both want. I meet his gaze, widening my eyes, silently pleading for permission.

  “Perfect,” he huffs, acknowledging my request. “Come for me, pet.” Logan thrusts hard. “Come now.”

  I slap my clit and break, my mind shattering, my pussy clenching my fingers, my lips closing tight around his cock. My billionaire roars, pushing deeper into my mouth, bathing my abused throat with his hot cum, rewarding me with his essence.

  As my world spins around me, I swallow and swallow and swallow, coaxing every last drop from his tip, draining him dry. He shudders once, twice.

  “Holy fuck,” Logan murmurs, sounding dazed. His legs buckle and he falls, his knees smacking against the tile, his cock slipping from my mouth.

  That must hurt. I wince. He draws me into his fit physique, covers my lips with his, not caring that I taste of him, that his cum coats my tongue.

  Moments pass. We kiss, caress, and Logan’s fingers spread over my back as though he seeks to touch as much of me as possible. The heaving of his chest levels off. My breathing slows and the room stops revolving. Rational thought returns.

  I trust this man. I trust him to keep our relationship private, to not give my half-siblings the proof they need to destroy me. He’ll protect me, care for me.

  My decision made, I tilt my head back and whisper, “I’d like one more night.”

  My billionaire’s eyes glow, his face soft with an emotion that’s too tender to be lust. “Thank you, pet.”

  Chapter Four

  We prepare for the day, sharing the space. Logan shaves while I put on my makeup and fix my hair. Our shoulders bump. Our hands brush. He takes every opportunity to touch me and I love it, reveling in the contact.

  I dress in a black bra and panty set, black heels, and a sky blue Chanel suit, the entire outfit purchased for me by my billionaire. Logan dons a matching tie, navy blue suit and crisp white shirt. We look like a couple, and this pleases me.

  He cooks scrambled eggs while I prepare toast, his kitchen large and spacious, equipped with the best of everything. Although I know he must have staff, no one intrudes on our private time together.

  We eat and talk, sharing more than I su
spect either of us has shared with anyone else. Logan tells me about some of his deals, asking for my insights, and listens intently as I answer, viewing me as his equal, as a husband might treat a wife.

  I want a lifetime of this, and I don’t know how to obtain it, the thought of spending the day or any time apart from him, depressing me. Why did he have to be my father’s enemy, and why did I have to be my mother’s daughter?

  “No one will know, Arianna.” Logan folds his fingers around mine, his grip warm and sure. He thinks I’m fretting about today, not knowing I’m more concerned about our future. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “This will be difficult to hide. It’s almost noon.” I walk with him through his sprawling mansion, noting the ageless antiques and classic artwork. He likes things that last, that represent quality, as I do. “Everyone will wonder where I’ve been.” I don’t want to lie, not about us.

  “You had an early morning meeting with a generous new donor.” He slides his right hand inside his suit jacket, extracts a check from his pocket, and hands it to me, his fingers grazing mine.

  The check is made out to my family’s charity, the donation amount six figures. “Robert Reyes.” I read the account owner information. “Does this man exist?”

  Logan smiles. “Yes, he exists. He’s a very good friend of mine.”

  He opens a door. The sun shines through the tall maple trees. The morning breeze is tinged with the scent of freshly cut grass. The scarred man stands beside a taxi.

  “Rob is looking forward to meeting you,” my billionaire adds.

  Logan has told his friends about me. My chest warms. “Can the check be cashed?”

  “It’s a real donation.” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling. “The check won’t bounce.”

  His friend must be wealthy also. “Thank you.” I place the check in the purse Logan also provided, the man having thought of everything.

  “Keep your head down until you’re told it’s okay.” He nods at the scarred man. “You’ll be picked up tonight after your father’s infamous dinner.”

  Every Saturday, my father hosts a formal dinner at his estate. Only family members and his closest allies are invited, the guest list closely scrutinized, security tight. Even Logan can’t crash this coveted event.

  I wish he could. The evening will be spent deflecting my half-siblings’ snide remarks, ignoring the gossip and the curious gazes. I turn, face Logan, fighting the urge to cling to him, yearning to stay with him, within his protective arms.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” I remind myself.

  “You will.” He smiles at me. “While we’re apart, I want you to wear these.” He takes the diamond nipple clamps out of his pocket, the precious gemstones reflecting the sunlight. “Open your suit jacket, pet.”

  We’re not alone. I glance over my shoulder at the scarred man, his employee, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. He stares straight ahead, giving no indication he’s heard Logan.

  My gaze returns to my master and my pussy moistens. He has that darkly serious expression on his angular face that I love, his eyes hard, his jaw set. Questioning his orders will earn me a punishment but, worst of all, it will disappoint him.

  I don’t want to do that. Ever. I unbutton my suit jacket, revealing my black bra, and I stand semi-dressed on my billionaire’s front steps, waiting for his approval. If one of his men looks out the windows of the house or strolls along the grounds, he’ll see me, witness my deviant behavior.

  “You’re such a good girl.” Logan’s praise makes this risk worthwhile. He clips the clamps to the bra’s underwire. “These will remind you who owns your orgasms.” He glides his fingertips over my silk-covered breasts and taps the clamps, causing them to sparkle.

  “I would never forget, sir.” My voice is husky with emotion.

  “You won’t have time to forget,” he says gruffly, closing my suit jacket. “It’ll be only a few short hours until I see you again. You’ll work. I’ll work.” He slowly buttons the garment, caring for me, his pet. “Then we’ll play all night long.”

  “We will, sir.” I foresee a sleep-deprived future.

  “I’ll think of you, Arianna.” Logan strokes his fingers along my cheeks, his touch whisper-light. “I want you to think of me.”

  He dips his head and presses his lips to mine. Before I can open to him, he pulls away from me, his kiss frustratingly brief.

  “Go.” He looks over my shoulder, unable to meet my gaze.

  He wants me to stay, I realize. This parting is as difficult for him as it is for me.

  A good sub wouldn’t test her master’s restraint. I force myself to move, to enter the taxi, my mind in a daze, consumed with thoughts of Logan.

  “Head down, miss,” his man reminds me as he closes the door.

  I lay on the seat. The vehicle is immaculately clean, smells and looks new, not a single crease marring the leather cushions. The ride is quiet and smooth, almost luxurious, unlike that of any taxi I’ve ever been in.

  I wiggle on the leather, touched by Logan’s thoughtfulness, amazed by his planning. Passersby can’t see me. I’m hidden. They’ll believe the backseat unoccupied, that the driver dropped someone off at his house, that no one left his estate this morning.

  This taxi gives me even more physical proof that Logan cares for me. No one goes to these lengths for a fast fuck.

  If he puts this level of planning into all of our encounters, we might remain undetected. A wild, reckless hope flutters to life inside me. I might be able to have it all—my billionaire, my father’s acceptance, and the job I enjoy.

  The driver’s partition slides open. “It’s all clear, miss,” the scarred man relays. “Here is your passcard.” He passes the piece of plastic to me.

  A horrible photo of me is plastered across the surface. “How did you get it?” I straighten, clipping the passcard to my suit jacket.

  “It’s a copy, miss,” he replies, as though this explains everything.

  It doesn’t, but I accept his vague comment because I don’t truly want to know the specifics. I like having the illusion of safety. I like believing not everyone can walk into one of my father’s secured office buildings.

  “Have you worked for Mr. Ross long?” I ask, wanting to know about Logan’s man.

  “Nine years full-time. Two years part-time before that.”

  “He trusts you.”

  “He wouldn’t allow me near you if he didn’t trust me, miss.” The man meets my gaze through the rearview mirror. “He knows I’d protect you with my life.”

  My eyes widen. “I’m a stranger.”

  “You’re Mr. Ross’s girl.” He turns the taxi into a side street. “You’ve earned his loyalty, which means you have mine too. He doesn’t give his trust to just anyone.”

  “I’m not just anyone,” I muse, staring out the window at the tall glass-and-steel buildings, the tiny slivers of green lawns, the people window-shopping and walking their tiny dogs. “And I’m no longer alone.”

  I’m protected, safe, loved.

  Shit. Loved. I love my billionaire. I suspect I’ve loved him for days, months, perhaps since the first moment I saw him.

  My fingers splay over my suit jacket, the suit jacket Logan gave me. No one can know about this gift, about last night, about how I feel. This has to be my secret.

  * * *

  I’m dropped off outside St. James Communications’ main doors. It would be strange for a taxi driver to accompany me into the building, I suppose. And Logan must need his man for other tasks.

  I won’t be alone. A couple of cars are parked in the company lot. There’s always someone in the building, even on a Saturday. Media never sleeps.

  Tonight, I won’t sleep either. A wild, crazy joy zings through me. I’ll spend the night in Logan’s arms.

  I wave my passcard over the security box. The light turns green. I step through the doors and someone hisses at me. Even this can’t penetrate my bliss. I’m high on good loving, ready to take on the wor
ld, to tackle the zillions of decisions waiting for me.

  The hissing grows louder. I look around the white marble lobby, searching for the source of the noise. Benoit, my friend and co-worker, beckons from a dimly-lit hallway.

  Why is he lurking there? I hurry toward him. That’s the hallway to the accounting department. They don’t normally work on the weekends.

  “Walk with me.” Benoit pivots with a flounce and strides along the narrow space. “Speak softly and, for God’s sake, wipe that I-just-got-fucked-silly smile off your face.”

  My face heats. Is it that obvious? “I received a big donation this morning.”

  “Everyone has seen the video.” Benoit rolls his eyes. “We know how big Ross’s donation is.”

  “What are you talking about?” I skid to a stop, my heels squeaking on the floor. “What video? What does everyone know?”

  Nothing, they know nothing. I wrangle my panic under control. Logan was thorough and careful, thinking of every possible detail. He gave me his vow and I trust him. I love him. No one is aware of where or how I spent last night.

  “Everyone knows you banged Ross.” Benoit destroys my newly-restored calm with five simple words. “If you wanted to keep it a secret, you shouldn’t have made a sex tape, and you certainly shouldn’t have posted it on the internet, emailing it to half the world.”

  “What?” I whisper.

  “I’ve been sent the link at least fifteen times,” my friend grumbles. “Because that’s what I want to see—my boss and best friend bent over, naked, being fucked from behind by a billionaire.”

  Bent over. Oh, God. I sway. Someone filmed us in the gardens. They know. Everyone has seen me naked, my ass in the air, diamond nipple clamps attached to my bare breasts. They have proof that I’m a slut like my mom and I had sex with my father’s enemy, that I betrayed him.

  But how could anyone film us? It was dark. We would have noticed lights. Logan’s men were guarding the grounds. The cameras couldn’t have captured much. “Show me the video.”

  “Mais oui, let’s watch your sex tape together.” Sarcasm smears Benoit’s words. “Because this situation isn’t awkward enough.”