Bound by Him: A Billionaire's Club Story

by Red Garnier

  “You.”

  “Why do you flaunt them around, when they’re mine?”

  Her breathing escalated when he unzipped her dress from behind, then urged it down her shoulders until it gathered at her waist. He surveyed the exposed swells, his body humming with the need to possess them, possess her. He licked one tight pink nipple, tortured it and laved it with the tip of his tongue, until she shuddered on his lap. He lowered his head to the other, and repeated it, drawing her into his mouth, his lips pulling, suctioning, her nipple poking back into his tongue. “Why do you flaunt yourself around, when you’re mine?” he insisted.

  She tilted her face back so it fell against his shoulder, giving him access to drift his mouth up her neck, his hands continuing to assault her sensitized breasts. “Because you . . . gave me up. You wanted more oil fields, more money.”

  He framed her face in one hand and kept her still as he took her lips in a kiss that had them both moaning from the damp pleasure of it. “You’re worth more to me than that. You. I’d do anything for you. To protect you. To be with you. Anything. Never, ever, forget that, Whitney.”

  *****

  The shaking wouldn’t stop. Whitney didn’t know why she’d been making Andrew jealous, she only knew she’d felt too emotional today. He was back, and she was acting rebellious, getting his attention, wanting an excuse to lash at him, hit him again, force him to confess why he’d done this to her.

  But she’d wanted to weep when he almost broke Conrad’s arm. Why was she putting other people in danger? Did she even expect that Andrew would ever act so . . . proprietary? Maybe the old Andrew might have been more civil, but this one . . .

  My God.

  He was bad.

  And you have it bad for him . . .

  Her loins tightened with heat as they entered his apartment, where Whitney quickly disappeared into his closet, slipped into one of his shirts, and went to bed. She knew what was coming. God help her, she wanted it, her skin getting hotter and hotter at the prospect. She wanted him to take and overpower her and show her he loved her with the same intensity as he had before. She wanted him to force her to admit that she belonged to him . . . that he was not an affair . . . that he was the most real thing she had ever had in her life . . . the only man for her . . .

  Her heart pounded in anticipation as she slid under the covers, then she spotted his figure by the window. He stood tall and naked, gazing out at the flickering city lights, his muscled back drool-worthy, his buttocks round and muscular, so perfectly formed, her hands throbbed to grip him.

  This was the last time she’d do this, she told herself.

  This was the last time she’d sleep with him, his last chance to explain things to her.

  He turned when the sheets rustled and spotted her in his bed. “Take that shirt off. I want you naked.”

  A wanton ripple clenched around her vagina walls in response to his powerful voice, his smoldering eyes, the command in his words.

  She unbuttoned the shirt, her hands clammy as she slid it off her shoulders, then she tossed it aside and rebelliously kicked off the sheets, letting him look at her like she was looking at him. If possible, his member twitched even taller, the gold of his piercing glinting menacingly from his raised shaft. He started for the bed like a golden lion, and the ring dangled with every bob of his cock.

  “Did you enjoy playing with me? Teasing me?”

  Her mouth watered, her nipples hardened, her sex instantly lubricated. She’d never thought it possible to still want him so badly. After everything. Maybe even more.

  “Did you want me to beg?” His whisper was dangerously low, and it made her shiver as he gazed down at her with hooded dark eyes. “Did you? Whitney? Did you want me to beg, for you? For this?”

  He cupped her pussy within his grasp, and she caught her breath at the intensity in his eyes, holding her gaze trapped while he massaged her pussy with the heel of his palm. Her lungs stopped working. “This is my pussy, Whitney. I don’t like something that is mine being denied to me,” he said, then slid his fingers through her swollen labia, searching the folds, so damp the slick sounds of his fingers playing with her pussy echoed in her ears.

  “Does it make you wet? To make me jealous?” He tunneled his fingers through her cleft and made her gasp and moan as he pushed into her snug grip—his eyes glowing in the shadows, watching her.

  “Does it make your pussy hot when you tease me?” His voice broke with huskiness, and he stroked her to such a fevered pitch, she felt like a star, blazing hot in the darkness. She arched up, her skin sensitive for his touch, her pussy rippling around his fingers.

  “Andrew.”

  He answered her breathless cry by pinning her arms up, gazing down at her with a hot and proprietary look. He bent to her breasts, lapping at them with one single twirl of his tongue, and she strained upward, whispering, “Please kiss me. I need you to kiss me.”

  The scent of her arousal surrounded them as he wedged his hips between her legs and shoved his cock rapidly into her, then pulled out, refusing to give her the kiss she asked for.

  “Andy . . .” She breathed, aroused out of her mind.

  He fucked his cock inside her, then pulled out, his eyes wild on her face, her hands manacled. He held both her wrists in one large hand and stroked her breast with the other. She twisted her head in search of something to kiss and ended up licking the back of his finger on her breast. “Kiss me, Andrew.”

  “It excites you . . . to make me jealous . . . make me wait . . .” He bent his head, breathing hotly against her, sliding his cock deep into her, so deep, he groaned and stayed there, pulsing within her, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers. “It excites me to make you wait, too.”

  She shuddered, her tongue flicking out to his. She mewed when he pulled back an inch, sliding his cock out. Her lungs strained for air, her entire body tormented and screaming for him. “How long . . . will you make me wait . . .”

  His hands clenched her wrists as he plunged again, making her cry out in ecstasy. “As long as I tell you to,” he growled.

  Her nipples had hardened to diamonds, her womb tightening around him, screaming as he dragged his cock out.

  She tilted her hips up for more, and he shook his head, his gaze mocking. “Not yet . . . you started the game.”

  Her eyes blurred with need as he ducked once more, the moist laps of his tongue along her nipples making her womb clench empty. She whimpered in arousal, tossing her head when he rammed his hips against hers and penetrated again. She screamed and when he added a flick of his thumb to her clitoris, her body tensed for orgasm. “Don’t ever deny me this again . . .” he warned. He slid between her thighs and his mouth covered her clit.

  He twirled his tongue and inserted two fingers inside her, and Whitney’s newly freed hands became buried in his hair, fisting there. She was close to orgasm, her blood rushing through her body. He drew on her clit and the sensation rippled along her nerve endings, tightening her every muscle. His fingers slid smoothly into her slick channel, pumping against the muscular contractions of her hungry vagina walls as deftly as his tongue tortured her clitoris.

  She panted for breath, burning alive for him, twisting desperately underneath him. “Andrew,” she cried, frightened at the intensity of her arousal.

  His growl vibrated against her pussy as his hands reached beneath her and grabbed her ass, splaying to engulf the mounds completely, and then he lifted her up so that his tongue could be the one that penetrated her pussy. Pleasure knifed through her with each thrust of his tongue, her clit throbbing painfully tender as he brushed his nose across it between his tongue’s penetrations.

  Whitney held her breath, poised at the brink of orgasm, every muscle coiled tight, tighter still. He stretched his hand up her abdomen and touched her belly button, then he dragged his mouth upward and licked it with his tongue, before rising up to look at her.

  “Andy,” she pleaded, her throat closing on a sob of need.

  N
eed churned inside her body, making her claw at his skin, his muscles.

  From the nightstand, he pulled out a white silken sash they’d used in bed before, and her muscles clenched in anticipation. Lifting her arms, he wrapped the fabric around each of her wrists in a horizontal figure eight, then he hooked the center of her bondage over the middle decorative knob atop the headboard. Bound, the pleasure was so much greater—Whitney was helpless, at his mercy, and a fever took hold.

  “I’ll keep you tied to the bed all night, Whitney. I’m going to use your body until it is sore from my loving . . . and even then, you’ll still beg for more of this . . .”

  A shudder wracked her when he held her hips and pummeled her with his cock, filling her, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes glowing as he watched her breasts bounce with each ramming thrust. The piercing went in so far, she felt it scrape deep within her, tease her in parts she’d never felt before.

  She cried out.

  “That’s right, Whitney, just like that. Take it. Take what you’ve been begging for.”

  A climax struck her, rippling around his thick cock. He groaned and spurted inside her, three fast jets, and then he was still as hard as ever, and continued fucking her. Her flesh felt sensitive, the pleasure absolute. Heaven. Hell.

  Tears stung her eyes and he bent to lick them, slowing the pace, dragging his cock deep within her sheath.

  His hands swept up the sides of her rib cage so his fingers could curl around her breasts, tweaking her nipples and shooting ripples across her system.

  “Andy,” she pleaded again, rolling her head, biting her lower lip so hard, she felt blood.

  He bent his head and slid his tongue over her lips so her teeth released their painful grip. When she let go, he laved the tenderized flesh, soothed the throbbing ache with his tongue. She mewed in gratitude and her tongue came out eagerly to draw him in deeper, keep him inside her. His taste, male and powerful, invaded her senses. She clung to his straining shoulders and then it hit. Another powerful orgasm, tearing out his name as wave after wave crashed through her systems, halting and restarting them, all at the same time.

  She was still coming when Andrew bucked and climaxed with a harsh groan.

  Still panting after the tremors, he withdrew and slid his dampened cock up between her breasts, rubbing himself over her skin, marking her, his eyes wild as he squeezed the flesh of her mounds around his cock.

  Need surged within her, more powerful than ever. “Andrew, let me play with your piercing. Let me lick you.”

  “No, Whitney, you can lick me up after I make love to you . . . but right now I’m going to fuck you hard like you deserve.” He eased back, moved, and she saw him change his cock piercing into something that was huge and shaped like a heavier, larger version of what he had been wearing. “You make me angry when you deny me and now I need to show you who takes care of you. Who protects you. Loves you.”

  He untied her and rolled her over, and she gasped as she felt him at the entrance of her pussy from her rear, her eyes wide as she imagined him fucking her with the new piercing. “You are, Andrew, you do.”

  “Don’t ever forget it.”

  She felt him stroke his thumb down the fissure between her ass cheeks, and she quivered in anticipation as he eased his cock inside and teased his thumb around the rosette of her anus.

  “This little thing is mine, too,” he said, stroking his thumb in and out and around her, before deftly teasing it back in. “Every orifice in your sweet body.”

  He caressed the outer rim once more as he thrust his cock in and out, in and out, the new piercing heavy and thick, dragging along her vaginal walls until she felt it rub against extremely sensitized tissue, deep within her.

  She whimpered in abandon, realizing he’d known he’d hit her G-spot like this; with the added weight of the ring scraping along the spongy tissue, the pleasure was absolute. When his thumb entered her in synchrony, she cried out in pure bliss. The double sensations drove her mad, her eyes almost crossing, blind to sight, all her senses attuned to Andrew.

  He pushed her down onto her elbows while her ass remained up in the air, the position opening her sex organs to him. She could feel him watch as he penetrated her. Could feel the jiggle of her breasts. The way he pleasured her with his thumb and cock simultaneously. Then he exchanged his longest finger, his middle finger, with his thumb, and his cock rammed straight home, reaching so deep within her Whitney went crazy. Ecstasy slapped her on all sides.

  “Squeeze your breasts, darling.”

  She did, squeezing them in the way he did, already feeling another orgasm coming.

  “That’s right. Now pinch them for me.”

  His shaft kept stretching her pussy, making her muscles clench and ripple as his heavy ring stroked across her sensitized flesh.

  “Keep them pinched until you come,” he ordered.

  “I’m coming,” she moaned. Then she screamed as pleasure burst inside of her, his cock dragging into her sensitized flesh, over and over, as she convulsed beneath him. He barked out in pleasure and bucked his hips against hers, increasing the tempo, prolonging her orgasm until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel the pleasure engulf her, consume her.

  She collapsed, vaguely aware of him spurting inside her, his cock jerking several times, provoking new shudders of a tiny orgasm inside her.

  They lay there forever, panting and limp.

  She heard him stir behind her, but she was still too dazed to move. Managing to swivel her head around, she watched him grab some tissue from the nightstand, and since she remained weak and lax, she easily allowed him to roll her onto her back and clean her up.

  His hands worked gently between her thighs, his gaze tender on her face, and when her breath quickened, he smiled a killer, all-knowing smile.

  He bent over her and kissed her, then he slowly, slowly, made love to her, murmuring how beautiful she was, how he loved and had missed her, how wet and tight she felt and how hard she made him.

  When they were spent, tired, and sated, he cleaned her once more and tucked her back under the covers with him.

  She wiggled closer by instinct, craving his nearness with sickening intensity, and she realized no matter what she told herself or how frequently she denied it, she was still as wildly in love with him as she’d ever been.

  She’d never stopped.

  Not even when she simultaneously hated him.

  Her stomach twisted so powerfully at the realization, she almost felt like throwing up.

  Oblivious to her turmoil, Andrew gathered her closer, seizing her chin between his thumb and forefinger to search her face. “You did well with Dr. Lincoln, Whitney?”

  She nodded against his chest. “I no longer need to see her, and thank God I’m off the pills.” She sighed, absently steepling her fingers with his, admiring their tattoos, and for a moment, this one moment, it felt like Andrew had never left. “I was sick of those pills, they made me so groggy.”

  “No more nightmares?”

  An image of Uncle Harry popped into her head, and the thought of his angry face and stale breath made her squeeze her eyes shut. She had nightmares about that man all the time. When he came to her bed. When he died. His blood hot on her skin. So hot. So red. “Sometimes I still do,” she admitted.

  But now I also have nightmares of waking up to find that you’re gone.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied, and she wished the wealth of concern in his timbre didn’t affect her like it did.

  “Andrew.” She pushed up to sit, all of a sudden too desperate to know. She hated to bring up a topic that would cool down their afterglow, but the urge to know the truth was slowly murdering her. If he didn’t trust her, she wouldn’t be able to ever trust him back.

  The note was burning in her little clutch purse while a thousand questions burned in her mind.

  “All this time, were you in the Middle East?” she asked.

  He groaned, and dropped his head back with a bang o
n the headrest. “Ah, shit.”

  “Come on. Were you?”

  “Whitney,” he said tentatively, then he reached around her shoulders to pull her back down to his chest. “I’d love to discuss this at another time. I’m dying to have some normal time with you.”

  She squirmed free and sat back up, unable to bear this any longer. No matter how strong she wanted to be, she just couldn’t do this alone.

  “Look, I’d love some normal time with you, too, if it weren’t for the fact that I got this.” She stretched out to the end of the bed and reached for her purse, then she crawled back to him and handed him the note. “Somebody knows, Andy.”

  “Knows what?”

  “Somebody knows what I did.”

  She watched as Andrew read the blackmail note, his face turning into a mask of rage. Her stomach cramped, and suddenly it felt like she’d swallowed a pack of live bugs. Her eyes burned with the anger she could feel roiling off him in waves, which only increased her feeling of helplessness.

  He lowered the note slowly. “Where did you find this?”

  “On my office desk. There’s no stamp so someone must have dropped it off.” She remembered Uncle Harry again and still couldn’t believe that someone else knew what had happened. “I don’t understand who could know. Why now? It’s been five years. Five, since he died. Why now . . . why . . . ?”

  Andrew pushed himself off the bed, went to the window, and ran all five fingers of his hand through his hair, gloriously naked, and unapologetic about it. He expelled a breath and started pacing.

  Whitney wondered what she’d do if the FBI or police came knocking right now and arrested her. Now. When Andrew was back. Oh, God.

  Scowling, he snatched up his cell phone and, after punching in some numbers, he locked himself in the bathroom. Whitney could only hear his muffled voice.