Acquired: A Billionaire Auction Romance

by Charlotte Byrd

  As he hovers somewhere over me, I’m not entirely sure where, but I do feel his weight to the right of me, I feel myself shrinking. My legs press together tightly and my arms pull the restraints tightly. I’m clamming up. I’m not a particularly outgoing person. I’m a writer, for crying out loud. And my shy way of being is getting the better of me.

  “Oh no, we can’t have this,” Mr. Black says quietly, brushing his fingers on my knees. They are raised up, and when he touches them, they fall back down to the bed without much effort. I feel myself melting like butter around him. He runs his fingers along the top of my legs and a little bit on my inner thighs. I begin to feel myself start to panic. A cold sweat runs downs my arm pits. I’ve never allowed a man who I wasn’t involved with romantically to touch me before. And I don't even know what he looks like. I can’t do this. I have to give him back his money and apologize. But I really, really can’t do this.

  I’m about to say this out loud, when he puts his hand gently around my neck. The feel of his skin is warm and inviting.

  “You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. He runs his fingers around my clavicle and on my chest, right before my breasts he stops. I can feel my chest move up and down and his hand moves up and down along with each breath. I’m starting to relax and shut down at the same time. The intensity of this situation is getting too much, and we haven’t even done anything yet.

  “You can relax,” he whispers into my ear. His soft breath caresses my earlobe. “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you want me too.” As he says that, he presses his lips around my earlobe and kisses me lightly.

  There’s that phrase again. Unless I want him too. What does that mean exactly, I want to ask. But my mouth is as dry as a desert. It’s almost as if he had sucked all of the moisture out of the air. Except for the moisture between my legs. I rub my legs together to try to keep the moisture where it is.

  Mr. Black presses his fingertips beneath my chin, lifting my face up to him. He has a soft and demanding touch. It sends electricity through every inch of my body.

  “Would you like me to kiss you?” he asks. I want to say yes. But my mind is all muddy right now.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I have no idea why I said that.

  “That’s okay,” he says, lowering himself next to me on the bed. “But what is not okay is for you to not call me sir.”

  I nod.

  “Do you understand?” Mr. Black asks, running his fingertips around the contours of my breasts, underneath my robe.

  I nod again.

  “You have to say out loud.”

  “Yes, I understand,” I say.

  “No, apparently, not,” he says, opening the right side of my robe and exposing my breast. I feel both of my nipples getting hard. I tighten the grip on my restraints.

  “Yes, I understand, sir.”

  “That’s a good girl,” he says. He continues to run his fingers in concentric circles around my nipples, not once skirting either one. The game is starting to make me crazy.

  “Is there something you want?” he asks, probably sensing the disappointed look on my face.

  “That just feels really good…sir.”

  “Oh yes, I know.”

  I open my mouth slightly, and let a small gasp escape from my throat. I’ve never been so aroused just by someone’s touch before. I mean, he isn’t even really doing anything. Suddenly, his hand leaves my breasts and travels back to my lips. The tip of his thumb brushes across my lower lip. He’s teasing me. Toying with me. Then he presses his thumb inside my mouth and whispers, “suck.”

  I don’t even need the command. My lips instinctively press around his thumb as my tongue strokes it.

  “Mmm,” he moans into my ear.

  My cheeks heat up as my mouth opens and closes around his thumb inside of my mouth. I massage him with my tongue, taste his skin and realize that his fingers are soft and light. This is not the thumb that belongs to a man who works with his hands.

  “There’s going to be more of this to come,” he says, pulling his thumb out of my mouth. “But for now…”

  As he returns his fingers back to my body, I smile. I find his arrogance extremely sexy. I’m no stranger to arrogance - no one is who attends an Ivy League school. But most of the time, I find it tiresome and boring. But with Mr. Black, it is different. Authentic. Like he’s not just pretending to be an arrogant prick. Like he’s actually this unbelievably confident.

  “Am I ever going to see your face?” I ask. “Sir.”

  I feel him thinking about it as he returns his attention to my breasts. His fingertips are getting closer and closer to my nipples, and the wait is excruciating.

  “Yes, of course. Just not now.”

  “Why not, sir?”

  “You know, you have a lot of questions for a girl in your position.” He says laughing.

  “What do you mean, sir?” I ask. It’s not actually as awkward to say ‘sir’ at the end of each sentence. In fact, it’s kind of sexy.

  “Well, here you are, on my yacht. I just paid a quarter of a million dollars to spend the night with you. To do whatever I want with you and you are here making demands.”

  “No, not at all, sir,” I say.

  “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he says. I hear some rustling of clothing, and then something silky and soft touches my lips.

  “We’re going to have to bind this mouth of yours since you can’t keep it closed,” he says, and wraps what feels like a silk tie around my mouth.

  I should be horrified and petrified by his tone and his actions. But instead, I’m incredibly turned on. I’m actually wet in between my legs. My nipples are so hard they’re like little razorblades.

  “We’re going to take things slowly. Trust me, you’re going to really enjoy yourself. But you will also need to follow my orders. You have to do anything I say, anything I ask of you. Immediately. Do you understand?”

  I nod my head. My mouth again feels like a desert, but that’s because all of my moisture has escaped elsewhere.

  Again, he starts to run his fingers around my breasts, only this time he does touch my nipples. Soft at first and then a bit harder. He presses his lips and sucks on them a little, sending my body into uncontrollable shivers.

  “You have to control yourself, Ellie. And under no circumstances can you orgasm without my permission.”

  What? I don't need his permission to orgasm. Do I? No, of course not. And yet, waiting for him to say it’s okay, is incredibly sexy.

  While his lips return to my nipples, caressing me with sucking and licking and even flicking with the tongue, his hand runs down my body. It pauses briefly near my belly button, but quickly continues its way down. The soft touch of his hands on my inner thighs, opens them up, widely.

  “Oh no, not yet, my dear,” he pushes my legs back together. The wetness has nowhere to go now. I can’t even get it aired out. I moan a little.

  “Oh are you disappointed, my dear?” he asks with my right nipple in between his teeth. He’s toying with me. Teasing me.

  I nod and say yes through the fabric in my mouth.

  “Well, you’re going to have to get used to it.”

  The thought of dissatisfaction causes a shiver to run down my legs. It pools somewhere in my pelvic region. After a few minutes of caressing my breasts, he finally says, “Okay, you can open your legs now.”

  My legs fly open immediately. I feel exposed and on display and incredibly sexy at the same time. I’m laying myself out as an offering to him. I’m waiting for him to claim me. The thought of him coming inside of me, sends shivers down my body. I’ve never felt this way about anyone I’ve never seen before. But right now I’m not thinking. I’m feeling. I’m existing entirely on another plane of existence - one that’s made entirely of emotions.

  He runs his hands around my thighs and around my belly button. Then he makes his way down to my thighs. He starts at the knees and goes up. I hear him lick his lips and I f
eel his eyes looking at my body. Admiring it. His fingers suddenly run upward, and trace a slow path in between my breasts and down to my stomach. I close my eyes under the mask and moan. His hands are so soft that his touch feels like little butterfly kisses. The whole experience is not only sexual, it’s also incredibly sensual.

  I relax against the restraints and allow myself to drift away into a fantasy. I feel him deep within me and my thighs start to move accordingly. I pretend that we have known each other forever, but this is the first time that we’re having sex. Suddenly, his touch gets more and more intense. His hands wrap around my legs and I realize how big his hands really are. Much bigger than they seemed from the touch of his fingers.

  He takes the trim of my bathrobe and runs it over my stomach. The bottom half of my body moans in ecstasy and I close my legs to try to push some of it away.

  “Oh no, we can’t have you doing this,” Mr. Black says, pushing my legs apart. My heart jumps into my throat and starts to beat extremely fast.

  Then he takes the feather trim and runs it across my clitoris. It almost screams out for more. He runs the feathers along my thighs and then around my vagina. The lips open up for more and he laughs. Then he kneels down in front of my opened thighs and blows on me.

  “Oh my God,” I mumble into the tie around my mouth.

  “Now, remember, you promised. You’re not going to orgasm without me saying so, are you?”

  “No, sir” I mumble. Though at this point, I’m actually getting very close. Usually, it takes me a long time to orgasm. I’m not naturally a very sexual person. But there’s something about Mr. Black that just makes me wet. There’s no other way, no other more delicate way, of putting it.

  After putting the feathers back to my sides, he positions himself right in front of my opened thighs. Oh my God. Here it is. He’s going to kiss me. Or stick a finger in me. He’s going to do something to release all this amazingly horrible pleasure that has been building up within me.

  But much to my surprise, I hear a quiet vibrating sound come on instead. And then it touches me. My clitoris. A sharp cry of pleasure-pain seizes through my body as the vibrating sensation spreads through me. I find myself intoxicated with this new kind of roughness. My legs open further and reach up, as my inhibitions seem to fall by the wayside.

  “That’s a good girl,” Mr. Black says. “How does this feel?”

  “Amazing,” I mumble.

  Suddenly, the vibrating sensation stops and the sound disappears.

  “Now, what did I say about calling me sir? If you don't do what I say, you don't get the pleasure that I’m wanting to give you,” he says.

  “It feels amazing, sir,” I mumble quickly. “Please don’t stop, sir. Please, sir.”

  He presses the vibrator back to me, only this time it goes into my vagina, and he starts the vibrations. The vibrations are faster this time, making me nearly choke up on my breaths.

  “You’re a very sexy girl, Ellie,” Mr. Black says. “I think you deserve something extra for being so sexy.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I mumble, floating away on pangs of pleasure.

  And just when I thought I couldn’t feel any better, suddenly, I feel his breath on my clit. He inhales deeply. And then exhales. And he presses his soft, almost liquid tongue on top of it. I feel my back arch off the bed and my body presses up to fill his mouth even more. He moans approvingly, pushing the vibrator deeper inside of me.

  “That’s it, beautiful. Show me what you’re made of,” he whispers and begins to suck on it more aggressively.

  “Oh my God. I’m getting so close, sir” I say, feeling that warm sensation running up my legs. My toes have already gone numb.

  “Tell me, when you’re about to come,” he says. I nod.

  “There, there, sir” I start to moan and I feel like I’m just about to climax.

  And suddenly, everything stops. He pulls his mouth away from me and turns off the vibrator.

  “Not now, Ellie,” he says coyly.

  Wait, what? I don't understand. My legs flop down onto the bed in disappointment.

  “You can’t come so soon, honey,” he says, running his fingers over my breasts. “The night is young. We are just getting started.”

  My mind starts to swim. I don't understand anything he’s saying. It takes me a few minutes to feel okay again. My heartbeat slowly returns to normal. My body temperature slowly drops and I start to feel cold. I’ve never felt so dissatisfied before.

  13

  When the mask come off…

  After Mr. Black pulls out of me without letting me get off, I feel angry. Really angry. Who the hell does he think he is? Why the fuck is he toying with me? He might have paid for me for the night, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m a free woman and he has no right to do this to me.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask. I must’ve caught him off guard, because he doesn’t respond for a few moments. I wish my arms weren’t tied up anymore, so I could take off this damn mask.

  “Excuse me?” he asks. The tone of his voice changes. It drops about an octave.

  “Why didn’t you let me get off?” I ask.

  “Because…this is just the beginning.”

  “Or maybe it’s the end,” I say. I’m sulking. Upset. I guess this is what men refer to as blue balls, because I’m livid. My cheeks are actually burning with anger.

  He leans over me. I cower away from him. Get the fuck away from me you asshole, I want to say. But when he takes the tie from my mouth and takes off my blindfold, I’m glad that I kept my mouth shut.

  The lights in the room have been dimmed, making the place look like it has been lit up by candlelight. When my eyes focus on Mr. Black, I’m taken a little bit aback. I don't know what I was expecting, but for some reason I thought that he might be wearing some leather. Being tied up isn’t full on bondage, of course, but he was clearly into it and isn’t that what BDSM is about? From what I’ve seen on the internet, the dress code seems to be quite important to the community.

  But Mr. Black is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. I wouldn’t be surprised if it cost a couple of grand and was by some sort of fancy designer. It’s dark-gray and the pants are tailored with a snug fit that accentuates his lean muscular legs. He is tall and broad-shouldered and I immediately try to imagine him in the nude. What does he look like under all those clothes? My eyes slowly drift up to his face.

  “Are you going to untie me?” I ask.

  He smiles out of the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re kind of a feisty one, aren’t you?”

  “Listen, I may have signed a contract to anything sexually, but you clearly didn’t want to finish what you started. So that part is over…for now.”

  Who is this talking? Are these my words coming out of my mind? There is something about being tied up that’s making me incredibly confident. And cocky. Usually, I’m the girl who is cowering in the corner, but now I feel like I am the most powerful woman in the world.

  “So, are you going to untie me?” I ask again. This time, I use an even more forceful voice.

  As Mr. Black glides over to the bed - he does not walk like normal men, no, he glides - I glance into his impossibly blue-green eyes. They are a perfect compliment to his tan, sun kissed skin. Shivers run up my spine. Mr. Black looks dangerous and I like it. He takes his time untying my hands, occasionally looking over at me. When our eyes meet, it takes all of my strength not to look away. But I’m done cowering. And he’s done having the upper hand in all of this.

  Once my hands are free, I rub my wrists and ask him where the bathroom is. He points me to the room on the other side of the suite. The bathroom is all tile and has a very high ceiling like the rest of the suite. I’ve been on sailboats before, but only small thirty-footers, with ancient wooden paneling and crammed interiors. I’ve never been on a boat this big. Come to think of it, it’s actually hard to believe that this is a boat at all. The yacht is so large that you can barely feel that
it’s moving at all. The only indication that you have that it’s a boat at all is the 360-degree views of the blue water out of each window.

  I lean over the marble vanity and look at myself in the mirror. The sheer robe with the feather trim is quite becoming. The feathers hide all of the imperfections and make me feel very luxurious and incredibly sexy. I kneel down and flip my hair a couple of times. Laying on my back for so long, made it fall flat a bit and I want to infuse it with a little bit more body.

  Next, I check my eye makeup. My eyeliner is a little smeared on the right eye, giving it an unintended smoky eye look. I wipe some of it off and flash myself a smile. I’m usually not this vain. In fact, I hardly care about makeup and frilly clothes at all. But there’s something about Mr. Black and this yacht that makes me want to try.

  What the hell are you doing, Ellie? I ask silently, looking at myself in the mirror. This whole scene isn’t you. If it’s anyone, it’s Caroline, but it was too much for even her. Why are you really here? There’s of course the usual answer. I owe over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in student loans. And while they won’t pay themselves, Mitch and my mom are more than happy to cover the expenses. Christ, they didn’t even want me to take out any loans. So, why did I? Pride. It’s this stubborn, middle-class pride that I must’ve inherited from my father, who also famously refuses to take any money from my mom. But at least my dad has an excuse, she’s his ex-wife.

  Still, there is something to be said for paying your own way. I know that I’m not paying my own rent, but I am paying for everything else. I’ve always thought that it would really mean something if I was actually able to pay off my student loans on my own. Maybe it would mean that I’m actually a success. That I’ve actually made something of myself as a writer.

  And when this opportunity came up…I don't know, it just felt right. But more than that, it felt exciting. And besides being a stubborn, stick-in-the-mud, I’m also not the type of girl to do a lot of exciting things. For crying out loud, I never even tried pot in high school because I was too much of a wimp. I hardly took a sip of beer until I was eighteen. I’ve never let myself go in anything. I wanted to audition for the school play my senior year, but I chickened out. I wanted to go away on a study abroad semester, but again I was too much of a coward. I’m not very old, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life. Mostly, because of my own decisions. So, when this auction came about, I decided that I’ve had enough. Enough of being scared. Enough of not taking chances. Enough of not living my life to the fullest.