The Billionaire's Ink Mistress: Billionaires in Bondage, Book 2

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  An offer was on the table. He tried to consider it from all angles, but there were too many unknowns. He had no idea what such a simple invitation could involve. It really came down to one thing, as she’d said. Did he trust her? It was one thing to take a sexy woman back to his hotel for a one-night stand, but something told him this would be significantly different. Momentous, even. It scared him shitless, honestly.

  The smart thing would be to decline, do some preliminary research and investigative work, including a detailed interrogation of his friend. But he hadn’t counted on the desperation burning in his body. He was starved for skin-on-skin contact. He hadn’t done anything but shake hands in longer than he could remember.

  Just the simple thought of lying beside this woman and feeling those long, gorgeous legs against his own made him nod his head.

  She flashed a wide, hungry smile that made his stomach clench uneasily around the delicious dinner.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Seven

  Waving goodbye to the other couple, Diana suppressed a smile at the look on Angel’s face. Disgruntled and wary, he was having second thoughts about the rest of the evening. Good. He ought to come into this with eyes wide open. In fact, she couldn’t wait to see how big and wide his eyes went before she got through with this little introduction.

  She led the way to her bright blue Mustang with white racing stripes and watched the way he reacted. He gave her a considering look as though she’d surprised him, and even though she slid behind the wheel, making it clear who was in control, he seemed more at ease.

  “I suppose this isn’t a girl car, but I swore as soon as I could afford it, I was buying myself a Mustang. I’ve had this baby nearly ten years now and he purrs just as sweet as he ever did.”

  She couldn’t help but squeal the tires a little pulling out onto the main street back into downtown St. Paul.

  Jackson took a tighter grip on the door handle. “I haven’t driven in so long that I doubt I still can.”

  “It’s like riding a bike. If you survive the night with me, you can drive to the airport tomorrow.” His eyes about popped out of his head, until he realized she was teasing. “So you have someone drive you to work every day?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He didn’t elaborate, which told her he probably never went home. “So you just sack out at work? That’s lame.”

  “I have a very comfortable leather couch in my office. I swear the thing’s more roomy and relaxing than my bed. I honestly can’t remember the last time I slept in it.”

  “That’s sad, Jackson.” She sharpened her voice and shot him a quick glare, as much as she could manage while driving. “You will take better care of yourself in the future. Rest and food are nonnegotiable.”

  “Or what?” He smiled but there was an edge in his voice, a glint in his eyes. “Are you going to punish me?”

  “Did Lilly tell you the name I’m known by in the BDSM circles?” She kept her voice light, hands relaxed and eyes straight ahead on the road.

  “No, I don’t believe so.”

  She lowered her voice, deep with rumbling power that had made her famous. “I’m the Priestess.”

  “Holy shit, how do you do that?”

  It’d been a long time since she indulged in power play. She focused her will, letting her personal energy rise to a suffocating heaviness. “I don’t have time for babysitting, dog training or pony breaking. That’s not my cuppa. If you’re wanting a mommy figure to show you what a bad boy you are, then I’m not the right Mistress for you.”

  “What do you do?”

  Pleased at the softer, more respectful tone in his voice, she relented some of the power threaded through her voice. “For me, I like putting on a good show. It’s the theatrics and demonstration of a really good scene that thrill me, which is exactly why Lilly called me for you. Because I’m known as the Priestess, I’ve done a lot of sacrificial reenactments, that sort of scene. They can be very powerful.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Angel. I’m more than glad to beat you within an inch of your life if you even think about using again. But I’m not going to play your long lost mommy and I don’t have the patience for pet play. I suck at pets. I can’t even keep plants alive.”

  “We have that in common, then. I’m never home long enough to even think about keeping something alive. Some days…” He sighed and looked out the window. She glanced over at him quickly, stunned at his beauty, his chiseled face highlighted in the streetlights. “I wonder how I keep myself alive.”

  Not good. If he had depression to deal with, he’d need professional help. More help than she could provide. Though she could at least get him thinking in the right direction toward taking care of himself. It made sense, though. A rich, successful guy like him risking addiction and all the trouble he could get into with amphetamines. He had to have some kind of underlying issue that he was hiding. “Why do you drive yourself so hard, Jackson? Why are you killing yourself like this? Because that’s what you’re doing.”

  He blew out another sigh and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for. I just don’t know.”

  She reached over and squeezed his hand, pleased when he threaded his fingers into hers and held on to her like a lifeline. “Then that’s my goal, Angel. I’m going to help you find out why. Then we can tackle the cause. Together.”

  Walking through the lobby of the posh Saint Paul Hotel with Diana on his arm made him smile. Tall, tanned and lithe, she drew every man’s gaze. Sure, maybe the blazing red hair was a little much, and a few older gentlemen raised an eyebrow at the plaid miniskirt—which looked incredibly mini with her long legs—and Goth boots, but she strode fearlessly across the marble floor like a glorious Amazon priestess headed for her altar. He could suddenly understand why she took that role at BDSM scenes too. The adoration of her subjects, mixed with the fear and respect of her power. It must have been a heady rush.

  Hopefully I can be the Priestess’s willing sacrifice.

  Because he was willing. More than willing. Even though he had no clue what she was going to demand of him once the door to his room shut.

  She waited silently while he opened the door and held it for her to go ahead of him. Donovan had outdone himself with the grand old suite tastefully decorated in an old-world elegance of cream, gold and deep burgundy. It wouldn’t surprise Jackson to learn that presidents had stayed in this room.

  “Do you want a drink?” His voice sounded strange and overly loud in the room. “I can have a bottle of wine sent up.”

  “I’m not much for wine myself.” She sat down in one of the classic wingback chairs and looked at him. He couldn’t read her body language. She was relaxed, but alert, expectant, but not demanding. She smiled at his intensity and continued, “I prefer a good shot of scotch but I’d rather we both be clear and levelheaded for this. Wouldn’t you?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and reached up to adjust his tie before remembering he wore a sweater. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t worn a suit. “If you say so.”

  “You’re adorable when you’re nervous.” She chuckled softly and settled back in her chair. “But I’ll put you out of your misery. Let’s set out the rules for this evening.”

  Straightening, he focused on her. Should he sit down? Or remain standing? She was a Mistress after all. Maybe she expected him to kneel at her feet. The thought almost made him laugh. He couldn’t picture it. He couldn’t see himself doing anything so subservient. Did Donovan kneel for Lilly? Again, he almost laughed out loud…until he pictured it in his mind.

  And suddenly he thought maybe Donovan was on to something.

  “You’ve never been to a club, never done a scene, never played with a woman like me before. So let me get a few things straight right away. Once we begin, I ru
le this room. I rule you. I expect your full attention and respect. If I tell you to do something, I don’t want questions or hesitation, unless my orders don’t make sense. I expect you to obey me. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  She gave him one firm nod.

  That didn’t sound too bad, really. He wasn’t like some of those sexist pricks who couldn’t deal with a female judge. He’d certainly take orders from his mother without hesitation, though she wasn’t so much about giving orders because she trusted him to know what needed to be done without her having to spell it out. Though he didn’t see how playing a mindless little robot for Diana would be a turn on.

  “Do you have any limits I need to know about, other than your problem with speed?”

  He opened his mouth to retort that he didn’t have a problem at all—he had things perfectly in control, thank you very much. But common sense made him shut his mouth. Mouthing off to the Mistress was probably a very bad idea.

  “I said I was going to whip you for every pill in your possession. Does that bother you?”

  He tried not to grin but the idea amused him more than anything.

  “So I see.” She smiled back. “You don’t quite believe I can do anything too drastic that you in all your manly glory won’t be able to endure. Good. You’ve set the bar for what I need to accomplish tonight. Do you know what a safeword is?”

  “Other than a word that’s safe, no, which I’m assuming isn’t exactly correct.”

  “I rule you, as I said, but you have the power. If things get too intense or I ask you to do something you don’t want or can’t do, you give me the safeword and we stop. Later, we’ll talk about why you needed me to stop, but I won’t ask questions right away or get angry or demand why you needed me to stop. You give me the power as Mistress to do whatever I want…until you give me the safeword to stop. Make sense?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s the first word that pops into your head?”

  Maybe it was the way she’d explained how the word worked, but the first thing he thought of was, “Overruled.”

  She laughed. “Good word. Okay, so if you need me to stop, you tell me ‘overruled’ and everything ends. Got it?”

  “Sure.”

  Her face changed. Her jaws firmed, her eyes burned with intensity, and all light conversation suddenly disappeared. He automatically straightened, waiting for her first order.

  “What are you doing to do?”

  “Obey you.” He thought about saying Mistress, but decided to say, “Priestess,” instead.

  “Good boy, Angel.” Her mouth quirked briefly. “So it begins. Now take off your clothes. Everything. I want to see what I’m playing with tonight.”

  Chapter Eight

  You could learn a lot about a man by watching the way he undressed. Jackson didn’t immediately strip out of his clothes as quickly as possible, which might demonstrate too much eagerness. Nor did he pause or wait for her to give the order again, a ploy to immediately irritate her. Instead, he was methodical and careful. He toed off his dress shoes, picked them up, and placed them nicely inside the closet. Diana caught a glimpse of a suit still in plastic, but no other clothes besides the ones he was wearing. Nor did he have a suitcase. He truly hadn’t expected to stay more than a few hours, let alone the weekend.

  He pulled the sweater over his head, folded it, and laid it on the top shelf. So he must know that hangers made sweaters lose their shape. Something most of the men she’d known in the past wouldn’t have cared about. His upper body was toned and lean. Maybe too lean. Without his slick suit and bulky sweater, she could see how he’d worn his body down to practically nothing. When Mama had been in her prime, she’d have fattened him up in a matter of days with good home cooking. He was fit but not overly muscular. His firm probably had a penthouse fitness area full of bicycles and treadmills. She could practically see him jogging on a treadmill while on the phone arguing with a client, hardly out of breath.

  Stepping out of his trousers, he carefully lined up the seams and hung them beside his suit. The blue silk of his boxers almost matched the vibrant color of his eyes. Silk didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her, though, were the scars around his knee. They were old and faded but still visible. She hadn’t noticed a limp, but he’d injured himself quite some time ago. She couldn’t see him getting hurt as a lawyer.

  “What are the scars from?”

  Startled, he looked down at his knee as if he’d truly forgotten. “I played baseball when I was in high school and early college. It was a long time ago.”

  “You must have been pretty good if you were playing in college.”

  He shrugged and stripped off his dress socks. It almost made her chuckle when he carefully placed each one in its corresponding shoe. He’d get a real shock when he saw the condition of her closet. “Once upon a time, yeah. Coach said I could go pro.”

  “But the injury sidelined you?”

  “Yes and no.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and she decided not to push for answers when he turned to face her, his hands pushing the waistband of his boxers down. He sucked in a breath, obviously not used to the glide of silk on an erection. She made a mental note to torment him with her panties as soon as possible. He looked into her face as if seeking approval, so she licked her lips. “Very nice, Angel. I can tell you haven’t used that lovely weapon in a long time. You’re already leaking pre-come.”

  He jerked and looked down at himself as if stunned. “I think I’m going to embarrass myself very quickly tonight.” He paused a moment, his gaze flickering back up to hers to gauge her reaction. She hadn’t told him not to speak, so she didn’t correct him. “I guess I should be glad I can still get it up.”

  “Don’t you worry about that, Angel,” she purred. “I think I can get you up just about as many times as I want. And I plan to keep you hard most of the night.”

  Doubt creased his forehead but she smothered her laughter. This was going to be so much fun. He really had no idea what was in store.

  “If you’re done primping, Angel…” He shot her a disgruntled look. “Then grab the bag I set by the door. I have some surprises in there just for you.”

  He whirled around and saw the satchel she’d grabbed as they were getting out of the Mustang. He’d been so wrapped up in what was coming that he hadn’t even noticed the bag. As she’d asked, he brought the bag and held it out to her.

  “I like to see my submissive on his knees before me.”

  With a smirk of amusement, he did as she asked. The look in his eyes said whatever floats your boat, but she could tell he didn’t really put any value into the act himself. Yet.

  “Good boy, Angel.” His amusement deepened. He still thought most of this was one grand joke. Time to wake him up a little. She opened the bag and pulled out a paddle. Over a foot long, it was wide enough to give him a good, hard spanking he wouldn’t soon forget. If he wasn’t into pain, he might even learn the value of a safeword before she was done, depending on how many pills he’d kept. “Go get every single pill you have in your possession.”

  He climbed to his feet, went into the bathroom, and came out with a single medicine bottle. Eyes narrowed and lips tight to show how much she hated the fact that he’d used any drug, she snatched the bottle of out of his hand and popped open the lid.

  “I’d say there’s about twenty in there,” he said. “I’d really planned to give them up right after the holidays. That would have been enough to keep me going another few weeks.”

  She studied his face to see if he was deliberately lying, but he seemed entirely sincere. “Don’t bullshit me, Jackson.”

  His eyes flared with surprise. “What?”

  “If you’re not sleeping, not eating and working practically nonstop as you described, then there’s no way in hell that twenty more pills would have kept you going un
til Thanksgiving. That’s nearly three weeks away. So you’re only going to take one pill a day? That’s enough to keep you going at full tilt for twenty-four hours?”

  He swallowed hard and averted his face, his cheeks darkening. Not with embarrassment, but shame.

  “How many pills were you taking a day? Two? Three?”

  “Two.” He had to clear his throat. “For breakfast. Then usually another at night to keep me going as long as possible.”

  She hardened her voice whip-sharp. “You’ve been lying to yourself about how bad it really is.”

  He nodded, still avoiding her gaze, but that wasn’t good enough.

  “Say it aloud. I’m a liar and an addict. Say it!”

  “I’m a liar. I’m an addict.” His mouth twisted like he’d tasted something rotten. “Priestess.”

  “Damned straight. When you get home, you’ll seek out a counselor to help you with this addiction. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  Satisfied, she tapped the paddle in her palm, letting the whack on her flesh bring his attention back to her. “You said you were using three pills a day and there are three weeks until Thanksgiving. Since you lied about your usage, I’m going to give you sixty-three swats with this trusty paddle. Good, hard swats. If you’re not crying or coming by the end, I don’t deserve to be called the Priestess any longer.”

  Chapter Nine

  In the span of thirty minutes, he’d been stripped, humiliated and called both a liar and an addict. Words he absolutely hated. Yet she was right. He’d been lying to himself for too long. Maybe her promised swats would finally thump the truth into his thick skull.

  Diana stood and headed toward the bathroom but he didn’t rise. For one thing, she hadn’t told him to get up, and he was starting to get into this role-playing thing. It was nice not to have to think much for a change. To simply sit back and let someone else dictate how things were going to go. His mind was still buzzing with what ifs and whys, but he could feel a noticeable difference in the amount of stress that usually hammered him constantly day and night. Plus she might actually want to use the toilet. Or, if he was extremely lucky, maybe she’d strip down a little and show him some skin.