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

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  The words sounded garbled and harsh to him, but she must have understood him. She gave him a brilliant smile and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Sliding off the cushion, she knelt on the floor beside him. Lightly, she tapped his knee. “Open wide, Angel.”

  Dull heat flooded his face but he did as she commanded. It felt ridiculous to sit sprawled with his legs spread wide. On display, he glanced around the room, watching everyone sit up, lean forward, their attention locked on him. Flames licked through his veins as she slowly opened his pants. She made it a show, the sound of the zipper loud in the silence. With a playful jerk, she popped open his fly. The head of his cock poked up the waistband of his boxers, twitching with every soft brush of her fingers against him.

  “My, my, what a big cock you have, Angel.” She smoothed her thumb over the glistening slit and he jerked upright, straining up off the cushion. “No, no, lie back, sweet boy. If you don’t lie back and still for me, I’ll stop.”

  Panting, he made himself lie back, sinking further into the cushion. She nudged his legs again, making him open wider, drawing his hips closer to the edge. The angle sent a new wave of vibrations against something inside him that made him quiver. A sound escaped his throat, a whimper.

  “Ah, very clever, Priestess.” Hammer chuckled, his low voice laced with dark humor that still managed to convey a hint of a threat. He was a big man, topping Jackson by a foot, with wide, impressive shoulders. It was hard to imagine him playing bottom for his partner, whatever Diana knew about the couple. “It sounds like you’ve given him a toy that’s keeping him humming along quite nicely.”

  “Indeed.” Bracing her hands on his lower stomach, she applied a little force, leaning down on him. It ground the toy inside him and he couldn’t stop the bucking of his hips, the involuntary thrust and tilt to both increase the delicious buzz and also relieve the tension humming through him. “I couldn’t help myself when I found out that this sweet ass is untouched.”

  “A virgin ass.” The Comte spoke for the first time, his voice a rich baritone so deep it seemed to increase the rumble throbbing inside Jackson. “Now this will be a fine show indeed. He’s never come before for an audience?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I’ve paddled him, but that’s it. This will be our first public demonstration. What do you think so far, Angel? Will this be our last show? Or will you let me do this again?”

  He rolled his head back and forth against the cushion, trying to still the jerky, involuntarily twitch of his hips. “You can do anything you want to me. Anytime. Anywhere.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She’d brought Jackson here to test him, to find out exactly where he landed on the voyeurism/exhibition scale. It should have been a light, fun, feel-good experience for them both. It wasn’t supposed to be so intense that it became downright scary.

  But on her knees, hovering over his straining cock, the intensity of her feelings for this man shook her to her core. His trust rocked the foundations of her heart and cracked the thick walls of the tower she’d built a long time ago to protect herself. She hadn’t given a man a blow job in years. Hadn’t wanted to. She’d learned her power a long time ago, and once she’d stepped into the Priestess role, she’d learned other ways to torment submissives. It wasn’t that she had bad memories from high school or anything like that. She’d just put that skill away. Maybe unconsciously, she’d been saving it for someone special.

  Someone like Jackson.

  Most men thought a woman sucking his cock was all about his desire, his pleasure. That a woman couldn’t possibly get much out of it other than a sore jaw and a crick in her neck. For the most part, her younger self would have agreed with that assumption. It’d been a tool she’d used to defeat her enemies, and in later years, her pride in compelling submissives to do her will. The toughest and most stubborn submissive broke down to a begging, sobbing mess after she edged him with her mouth awhile.

  Staring down at him, for the first time in a very long time, she simply wanted to taste him. Sure, she’d torment him slowly and deliciously…but she wanted to please him just as much. She wanted to make the top of his head explode with the force of his release. She wanted to make this an event he would never, ever forget for the rest of his life, regardless of whether they managed to work out a long-term relationship or not.

  Half lying across his lap, she lightly licked the delicate pink of his cock peeking out from beneath his boxers. A rough groan tore out of his chest and he shuddered beneath her. Lifting her head, she smacked her lips, making him shudder again. “You taste so good, Angel. Are you going to be able to hold all that come inside until I’m done with you?”

  “I’ll die trying.”

  She let her hair and the soft heat of her breath increase the torment, brushing her cheek against the silk covering him. She kissed the trembling skin of his belly, lightly nipping the tender skin above his waistband. Using only her lips, she nibbled the head of his cock, and then nudged the material down slightly with her tongue.

  His hands twisted in the rope, probably making his skin raw, fingers opening and closing back into fists. His neck strained, his back bowing off the cushion. His breathing was loud, ragged, urging her to put them both out of their misery. Finally, she fisted both hands in his boxers and jerked with all her strength. His hips lifted on a deep cry and then the silk tore with a wicked ripping sound that made everyone in the room sigh.

  “There’s nothing like the sound of tearing silk,” Comte murmured.

  Hammer chuckled. “That’s why I refuse to wear anything else.”

  She leaned back, making sure she wasn’t blocking anyone’s view. “What do you think of my Angel?”

  “He’s gorgeous,” the other Domme said in a reverent voice. Diana didn’t know her name, only that she was a friend of Hammer’s. The other Dominants murmured in agreement. “Quite spectacular. You’d best get him collared soon, Priestess. You wouldn’t want a crafty Mistress to slip in and claim that beautiful cock as her own.”

  “Yes,” Jackson rasped.

  Diana jerked her gaze up to his face. His eyes blazed, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips were puffy and red where he’d bitten back sounds of his need.

  “Collar me, Priestess.”

  She had to concentrate on breathing, deep and slow in a measured rhythm so her control didn’t slip. The last thing she wanted was to fall apart in front of arguably two of the most well-known Masters in the country. Holding his gaze, she opened her mouth and slid down over his straining cock. He held her gaze as long as possible, his eyes so bright, his mouth falling open on a shaking sigh of bliss. When she tightened her lips, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back on the cushions.

  Taking him deeply into her mouth, she gripped him like a glove. His thighs shook and he pushed up, unable to stop himself from driving deeper. She pulled back, letting his cock slide out of her mouth with an audible pop. She smacked her lips and licked across the broad head. His cock bobbed and bumped against her lips, as if fighting to find its way inside her. But she tilted her head and ran nibbling, soft kisses down the shaft. She reached into his pants and cupped his balls, tightening her fingers around that delicate skin in a subtle threat.

  She worked his balls, tugging on them firmly, rolling them together in her hand. Some men got a little squeamish when she turned her attention to their dangly bits, their scrotums drawing up tight to try and protect them. Jackson groaned and opened his thighs even more, almost sliding off the cushion in his efforts to give her as much of his body as she wanted to take. Holding his balls in her fist, she leaned back down and took just the tip of his cock into her mouth. She worked the ridges with her lips, circling her tongue at the same time. His breathing came faster, his chest heaving with effort. A hint of teeth made him cry out, his back arching up and then slamming him back down.

  Breathing hard herself, she lifted her head and simply l
ooked at him. Sprawled out on the cushions, his hair mussed, his expensive suit torn apart to bare his cock to the room. His fine silk boxers shredded open. His balls clutched in her hand. He was at his most vulnerable, completely at her mercy. He trembled and shook, fighting back the orgasm threatening to tear out of him. She hadn’t given him permission to come and he tried valiantly to hold himself back.

  When he finally calmed enough to open his eyes, he looked up at her, completely defenseless. Eyes big, dark, and totally open. No holding back. No hesitation. He didn’t have to say a word because his body screamed the truth. Yours, only yours, do with me what you will.

  She’d never seen anything more beautiful in her entire life.

  Lowering her head, she took him back into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head. She could taste the saltiness, feeling the shuddering tension building, swelling, aching to boil up out of him. His breath hissed out, his jaws tight, his knuckles white with strain.

  She pulled back enough to let her hair caress him. “Let me taste you, Angel. No holding back this time. Show them how much you want me.”

  Despite her words, he still tried to contain himself. Tendons stood out on his throat, his shoulders bunching beneath the white linen. But he couldn’t deny her.

  She clamped her mouth firmly around him and he let out a wordless roar. Hot come filled her mouth, but she didn’t let go, sucking him as hard and tight as she could, giving him no quarter. He bucked so hard he almost dislodged her, the gown too slippery for her to keep her balance. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and held on, riding him through the spasms shaking his body.

  Even when his cock softened, she kept him in her mouth, pushing down to hold as much of him as possible inside her. She didn’t want it to end, this connection. She’d meant to rock his world, but she was the one keeping her eyes closed so he wouldn’t see the shimmer betraying her emotion. I can’t lose you, Jackson. I can’t bear it.

  Hammer and Comte came to her assistance, one man cutting Jackson’s bonds and the other offering tissues for cleanup. On her knees, she was still draped across his thigh, unwilling to get up yet. As soon as he could move his arms, Jackson reached down to stroke her hair, his hands tugging on her to come back up beside him.

  “I’m supposed to be on my knees for you,” he whispered hoarsely, searching her face.

  Smiling, she cupped his cheek. “You were, metaphorically. Thank you, Angel. That was beautiful.”

  Solemnly, he tipped his forehead down to hers. “My pleasure, Your Majesty, is yours alone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The ride back into downtown was quiet, but not strained. She didn’t push him to talk about what had happened, which he greatly appreciated. He wasn’t sure if he could talk about it, without humiliating himself. Not out of shame, but fear he’d scare her to death by dropping to his knees, burying his face against her stomach and sobbing for her to never ever leave.

  Yet she would leave. She’d be on a plane tomorrow, headed back to her life. Leaving him to his.

  She’d asked to see his condo rather than go back to the hotel, even though she’d left her overnight bag there. Hopefully he had toiletries and such. He honestly couldn’t remember. He was more at home in his office than the condo. Maybe he should take her there instead.

  She gave him a sideways look when he stopped at the guard desk and asked for his key. He’d started leaving a spare with the desk, just because he never carried keys. He didn’t drive. He was at the office so much there wasn’t much of a need to lock his desk. So on the rare occasions he had come “home”, he’d been locked out because he’d forgotten his key in his desk anyway. Luckily the guard recognized him, even though it’d been days since he’d been by.

  They took an elevator up to the top floor. He tried to make small talk, growing more nervous as they got closer to his door. “This area was pretty run down a decade ago. One of my clients bought the property for a steal, tore everything down to the ground, and started over fresh. All concrete, steel and glass, supposedly the most modern and spacious condominiums in town, claiming, literally, a million-dollar view of the lake.”

  He unlocked the door and let her go in ahead of him. Moonlight shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the room enough that she could easily make her way to the windows. “You paid a million dollars for this?”

  “Of course not, though that’s how much he sold similar units for to everyone else.” He stood beside her, looking out at the twinkling lights of Lake Shore Drive. “It was a fantastic investment. I’ve easily doubled my money since I bought in.”

  She turned to face him, a seriousness on her face that he couldn’t decipher. “I’m hungry.”

  His stomach did a nervous flip-flop. He had absolutely no idea what food might be in the cupboards. Hopefully Louisa, his cleaning lady, had done some shopping. He turned on the lights, leaving Diana to explore while he dug around in the fridge. Louisa had done a fantastic job, stocking the fridge with several cheeses, salami and olives, so he could make an antipasto plate. Maybe she’d had some psychic sixth sense that he might have a guest, because a fresh loaf of crusty Italian bread waited on the counter.

  “I don’t have any scotch here,” he called to her, watching as she roamed around the living room. “But I do have a bottle of Glenlivet in my office. I can run out if you don’t want a glass of wine.”

  She worked her way over to the bar and sat down, watching him work. “Wine’s fine.”

  He had to open several drawers before he found a corkscrew. “Red or white?”

  “Either, as long as it’s not sweet and bubbly.”

  He checked the labels in the well-stocked wine fridge, not sure which to pick. He couldn’t remember trying any of them. Finally he just pulled one out and hoped for the best.

  “You really don’t live here.”

  It wasn’t a question, but he shook his head anyway. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I slept here.”

  “Or ate. Or opened a bottle of wine. I’m surprised you had any edible food in the house.”

  “Louisa takes good care of me. If I’m ever here while she’s cleaning, she lectures me about eating. For the first few months, she’d leave a casserole in the fridge for me to eat, but I never did. She finally quit trying. She’ll be ecstatic to actually have a few dishes to wash on Monday.”

  “Did you furnish the place yourself?”

  He looked around at the artwork and furniture. “No. None of this is mine. I mean, I paid the bill, but I hired an interior designer to decorate the place after I bought it.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  He poured two glasses of wine, hoping his hand didn’t betray him by trembling. “But it’s not me. It’s not…real.”

  She smiled and reached over to take his hand. He clutched her fingers, trying to keep his face blank and empty of emotion, even though his stomach ached, like a mighty fist twisted his guts. “It’s beautiful and obviously expensive, but there’s nothing of you here.”

  Her thumb rubbed gently across the back of his hand and he lost it. He tried not to blubber like a baby, but he was terribly afraid he failed.

  He’d failed so badly. At everything. This expensive condo and his impeccable record at the firm and his large bank accounts, all worthless. He’d focused so intensely on winning the management position for Ellen that he’d lost track of everything, especially himself. He’d succumbed to drugs. Again. Worked himself to exhaustion. Again. To win.

  In the end, he was just like his father. The man he hated the most.

  He buried his face against his arm, clutching her hand like a lifeline. She came around the bar and held him, stroking his back, whispering words he couldn’t understand. Or maybe she hummed. Her low, resonant voice flowed over him, soothing and gentle.

  He wasn’t sure how long he cried, but her hand and voice never
ceased. He rubbed his face on his sleeve and took a deep, shuddering breath, gathering his courage to lift his head and face her.

  He shouldn’t have worried, because as soon as he looked up, she pulled him against her, cradling his head on breast. “I’m so proud of you, Jackson. What you did tonight was no easy or small thing. Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s common to break down after an intense scene, sometimes even days later. Come to bed and let me hold you.”

  Numbly, he let her lead him to his bedroom. She undressed him, her hands gentle as she pressed kisses to his chest and throat. In bed, she drew him against her and pillowed his head on her chest, her hand stroking slowly through his hair. Her skin felt like silk against his, lush and curvy but so strong. So much stronger than I’ll ever be.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” she whispered. “Something no one else knows. Something important, that defines who you are today.”

  He flattened his palm over her stomach, picturing the way the flowers and skulls curled around her side and up her ribs. He could almost feel them under his fingers.

  She wanted to know about him. The real him. The loser he tried so hard to bury and forget. It was only appropriate to tell her about his father, then. “Dad raised me, while Ellen worked at the firm to get her name on the door. I grew up playing baseball, and I was actually pretty good. I hadn’t even graduated from high school yet and I had scouts asking about me.”

  “I’ve never dated a baseball player before.”

  “Dad was a hard man to please. He believed in me wholeheartedly, but he rode me all the time. Baseball wasn’t my hobby or my sport. It was my job. He was training a major leaguer from the beginning and he never let me forget it.”

  “Was he a baseball player too?”

  “Yeah, though he never made it out of the minor league. I guess I was his second chance at the big league. I’ve always been competitive, but he took competition to a whole other level. I had to win. Losing wasn’t acceptable. He hadn’t raised a loser, only a winner, and I couldn’t ever forget it. As I got closer to college, he started teaching me some of his less savory tactics. Everyone needed an edge, and he knew some creative supplements and tricks to get a better turn on the pitch. Of course most people called that cheating. Dad called it winning.