Billionaire's Matchmaker (Titans)

by Sierra Cartwright

  “Not necessarily.”

  “No?”

  “As long as it’s something we’ve talked about and negotiated, you don’t get to use a safe word.”

  “Like being duct taped to a chair and being forced to watch cartoons?”

  “That might be included. Yes.” He nodded, a smile once again teasing his lips.

  No doubt, she was falling for him. His softer side made him irresistible. “It sounds sadistic.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? But if you have no objection to being tied or to watching television, and I put the two together, you don’t get to safe word, unless there’s something I don’t know about. Or perhaps something will come up for you that you weren’t expecting, an unpleasant memory, for example. In that case, we need to talk. Maybe we can make a change so that you’re more comfortable with what I’m doing.

  He crooked his finger, then pointed at a spot on the floor.

  Hope hadn’t considered that she might be a submissive. Like a few of her friends, she would own the fact that she’d had fantasies of being overpowered by a delicious hunk of manliness, including a particular actor bare-chested and wearing a kilt. But that she would have a physiological response to mere words and sexual demands? Getting a burst of pleasure and anticipation from being commanded by a man? Wanting him to dominate her? Worse, even though she wouldn’t admit it to him, the way he’d threatened her with a spanking had intrigued her to the point that she couldn’t banish it from her mind.

  Without repeating himself, Rafe waited. Her heels were unnaturally loud on the wood floor as she closed the distance between them.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I can see your struggle. Your frown. The thumping of your heart in your throat, the death grip you have on your phone. You’re curious, and you are telling yourself you shouldn’t be turned on. Perhaps you’re thinking this may jeopardize our business arrangement, yet here you are. The first step in your submission is turning over your phone.”

  She tightened her hold.

  “I’ll put it on the desk.” He extended his hand. “It will always be within reach. You can pick it up at any time. Call for help if you think you need it.”

  Even the suggestion that she might need help sent the room spinning.

  With infinite patience, he waited. Would he really stand there all night? No doubt he would, if that was what she needed.

  Shaking, she dropped the device into his palm.

  “Very good.”

  His approval was a drug she couldn’t get enough of.

  He slid the device next to Skyler’s empty candy dish. “Would you like to lock the door?”

  She debated for a moment.

  “BDSM is all about consent. Nothing will happen without your permission. Since this is our first time playing, you’re free to use your safe word at any time. Anything on your hard limits list?”

  “Canes scare me.” She shivered. “And I’m not into sharing or being shared.” That statement made her bring her chin up. “Nothing that will break my skin. Scars. Permanent marks.”

  “Understood,” he acknowledged. “We’ll discuss everything as we go.”

  His presence filled the room.

  Hope moved past him to lock the door. Uncertain of what to do next, she allowed her shoulders to collapse against the wall as he turned to face her.

  More than ten feet separated them, yet goose bumps danced across her skin as if he’d touched her.

  “Take off your blazer, Hope.” His words were soft, more inviting than commanding.

  She nodded.

  “I like the sound of your voice. I like to hear the catches, the breathlessness, the roughness, your hesitation, your fear.”

  Riveted, she looked at him.

  “When I give you an order, I want to hear you say, Yes, Rafe. Or even better if you say, Yes, Sir.”

  Calling him by the honorific would make this moment even more real. She pondered his request while he waited. Finally, softly, she said, “Yes, Rafe.”

  “That sounded sweeter than I could have imagined.”

  The tiny taste of his approval made her yearn for more.

  “You’re making me very, very happy.”

  She pushed away from the wall, then shrugged out of her jacket.

  “Hang it up.”

  She was beginning the slide toward submission. He’d made simple, ordinary requests, and she’d obeyed.

  “I didn’t hear an answer,” he prompted, and this time, his words were an intimidating purr.

  “Yes, Rafe,” she whispered desperately. “Anything you say.” He’d demanded she talk to him. Her verbal acquiescence was part of the spell, a web that wrapped its inescapable silken strands around her. She hung the jacket on a nearby coatrack, then faced him, unsure.

  He studied her, as if memorizing every detail.

  A little unnerved, she covered her bare arms with her hands.

  “Don’t hide. I always want to see you. The parts you love, the parts you don’t. I want your vulnerabilities as well as your strengths. All of you.”

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  He was crossing an invisible line, one she’d drawn years ago to keep people—men—from getting too close. With a few words, he’d stated his intention of demolishing it. It made him more than scary. It made him dangerous.

  “I haven’t even begun.” His words were a promise, buried beneath a warning. “Drop your arms.”

  Her safe word lodged in her throat. This was madness.

  He hadn’t asked her to do anything that made her physically uncomfortable, but the emotional implications terrified her.

  Even though the silence stretched, he didn’t repeat himself, waiting for her decision. Then, because it was inevitable, she lowered her arms.

  He exhaled. In that moment, she realized how important this was for him as well. The knowledge fed her courage.

  “Now unfasten the top button on your blouse.”

  It was too much to hope that he’d do it for her. Part of her wanted him to sweep her off her feet, do terrible things to her, and allow her to abdicate the responsibility. “Yes, Rafe.” Her fingers shook a little as she complied.

  “The second, please.”

  His gaze holding hers captive, she followed his order.

  “Part the material.”

  She exposed her chest, revealing her cleavage and the lace outline of her bra.

  “So obedient. Now come to me. I can’t wait much longer.”

  With each step, her pulse accelerated. She wanted to please him, wanted this adventure, no matter where it led.

  When she was in front of him, he asked, “On my list, what things intrigued you?”

  Her insides rocked as if she were on a boat out in the middle of the ocean, away from any sight of land. “I think I might like to be restrained.”

  “Like with handcuffs, behind your back?”

  “Or…”

  “Nothing you could say would shock me.”

  “Yes. Or with a tie.”

  “Excellent. What else? Surely something intrigued you?”

  Hope took him at his word, that he couldn’t be shocked. “Orgasm denial.”

  “One of my favorites.” He grinned.

  His expression faded so fast she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. As he’d promised, he didn’t appear surprised. Happy, maybe. But not shocked.

  “Did you look it up?”

  She recalled pictures of submissives who looked frustrated, one a bit dazed. She’d read accounts of how a Dominant had frustrated a sub for an entire week. The sub had said thoughts of sex dominated her days and that she’d climaxed in her sleep without touching herself. Hope wasn’t sure whether that was fact or fiction. But she’d clicked through a half dozen similar stories. “Yes.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  Hope wrung her hands, as if that would ward off his intensity. “The…” She cleared her throat. “The submissive gets close to coming and the Dom refuses to let her.”
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br />   “It can be during a scene, or in general. Even as a punishment.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not into the whole idea of punishment.”

  “Even if you do something your Dom has forbidden?”

  “Well…” Her tummy quivered. “Maybe. In that context.”

  He nodded. “Do you reach orgasm quickly?”

  Shame and embarrassment flooded her. Was this the way most Doms seduced their subs? By asking such personal questions? Destroying barriers in his path? Or was this something unique to him? “I…uhm…”

  “Floundering won’t save you.”

  “I don’t date a lot.”

  “Do you masturbate?”

  Heat flooded her body. Who the hell asked that kind of question? “Is this—”

  “Necessary? Yes, it is. How many times a week do you masturbate?”

  Her blood thickened, moving through her veins in sluggish little bursts. “It depends.”

  With a touch so gentle it unraveled her, he said, “If there’s a question you don’t want to answer or information you prefer to keep private, say so. But don’t play games. If it’s a question you can answer, do so.”

  He was forcing her to confront deeply personal thoughts. “I masturbate several times a week, sometimes more.” Embarrassment danced through her, but she pressed on. “It helps me to sleep. Most nights I take a bath, and then sometimes I…” She tilted her chin back. “Play with myself.”

  “Not so difficult, right?”

  Not once she’d shed her inhibitions.

  “It becomes easier with practice. Honesty about your sexuality makes it easier for you to get your needs met.” He released her wrist. “How do you do it? With a toy? With your fingers?”

  “It becomes easier.” She replayed his words for encouragement. “It depends. Most nights I use my fingers. I have a dildo I like, and sometimes I use a vibrator.”

  “Are you naked? Or do you slip the toy inside your panties?”

  “I’m…yes. Naked.”

  “And back to my original question. Do you come quickly when you masturbate?”

  Sometimes in less than a minute. “Yes.”

  “And with a man?”

  “I told you I don’t date all that often.” It was easier to protect herself if she didn’t get too close. “To be honest, as you demand, I’m more self-conscious when I’m with a partner. Shy. Nervous. So sometimes I don’t climax at all.”

  “And do you also play with your nipples, or just your pussy?”

  Mortification gnawed at her. He expects me to answer that?

  With infinite patience, he waited.

  “Not my nipples.”

  “Show me.”

  Perplexed, she frowned.

  “Take off your clothes, then lie on the desk and show me how you masturbate.”

  She stood there, agape. “Are you serious?”

  Lazily, he lifted one eyebrow. “Was there anything in my tone to suggest otherwise?”

  Oh. God. No. There wasn’t.

  Under his watchful gaze, she released another button. He didn’t hurry her, and he didn’t offer to help. Part of her wished he would—that way she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for what was happening.

  When she removed her shirt, he smoothed the material, then draped it over a nearby chair.

  Her mind lurching from thought to thought, she reached behind her to unfasten her skirt. She worked the linen down her hips and thighs before letting it fall to the floor. Hope stood in front of him in bra, skimpy panties, and her heels.

  “You’re a spectacular woman, Ms. Malloy.”

  Even with his words of approval wrapping around her, it took tremendous effort to resist the urge to cover herself.

  “Now give me your skirt.”

  She did, and once again, he hung it with care. Maybe it was ridiculous, but she drank assurance from that, as if his actions meant she could trust him.

  “I’m waiting.”

  After unfastening her bra, she rolled her shoulders forward to lower the straps.

  He nodded when she stood before him with her breasts bared and her nipples taut from the air-conditioning.

  Her bra joined the rest of her clothing. Next, she wiggled out of her underwear. Most of the time, her dates had pulled her clothes off with haste, but Rafe seemed to savor every moment of her undressing.

  “Do you shave all the time?”

  She didn’t need to ask whether he appreciated the small strip of hair or not. The approval gave his voice a roughened resonance. “Yes.” She was glad she did. “I like it. Would you mind if I didn’t?”

  “Not at all. Whatever is comfortable for you. Women are exquisite, no matter their personal preference. Though I might request it of a sub just so she would be thinking of me during her grooming time.”

  She wondered what it would be like to have a man so involved in decisions she’d always considered private.

  “And your shoes. They’re sexy as hell, but I want you to be aware of how small you are compared to me.”

  At five feet seven without her heels, she didn’t feel tiny next to many men. But once she was in front of him, in bare feet, several inches shorter and much more vulnerable, she was aware of his size and dominance.

  Rafe eyed the desk again. “On second thought, do you have a conference room?”

  “Down the hall, yes.”

  “Bigger than this?”

  “Quite a bit. It seats eight.”

  “A better option, but I’ll leave the choice up to you. You can hop up on here. I rather like the idea that you will remember this evening every time you walk into the office. A bigger table may be a little more comfortable.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “I’m not sure either will be comfortable.”

  “After sixty seconds, you won’t even notice. You’ll be too busy begging me to allow you to come.”

  He wrecked her nerves.

  “A sample of my wicked intentions?”

  Suddenly it was all too real, and she wanted what he had to offer.

  “Ask for it.”

  Her pulse stuttered, and her knees weakened. “I want… Yes.”

  “Come to me, sweet Hope.” He pointed to a spot close to where he stood.

  Knowing there was no going back, she hesitated for a moment. In a moment of madness, she looked at him. Panic seized her when she realized she was seeking reassurance from the man who had promised to redden her ass, arouse her, then deny her, punish her in her own workplace.

  In his eyes, though, she read reassurance, a promise that she was safe. After a last nervous swallow, she did as he said. She took the three steps that brought her to him. The floor was cool against her skin, and she appreciated the stability when everything else swam with uncertainty.

  “I appreciate your trust. I promise you, I will continue to earn it.”

  She nodded, the sincerity in his words compelling her to believe him.

  “Spread your legs, Hope.” As he spoke, he unknotted his tie, leaving the ends loose.

  She did as he asked, and he held up his hand in front of her mouth. Though he didn’t give her any instructions, she sucked on his finger.

  “So sexy.” He kept her gaze hostage as he extracted his finger, then trailed it down her cleavage, then lower still to outline her ribs, igniting a trail of damp heat over her skin.

  Rafe skimmed the planes of her abdomen, then slid his hand between her thighs. She jerked as he brushed her clit. It had been so, so long since she’d had a man touch her this way. Until now, she hadn’t realized how desperately she’d missed it.

  “You’re so delicate, Hope.”

  Because she didn’t know what to expect, his touch was so much more intense than her own.

  Several times, he slid back and forth, and she grabbed hold of his biceps for support. He pressed the small bundle of nerves, then backed off before teasing her again.

  Her insides spiraled toward an orgasm. In a silent plea, she jerked her h
ips toward him.

  Frustrating her, he stopped.

  She sighed her disappointment. Her whole body was on fire and she needed him to extinguish the flames. She clamped her hand on his wrist, keeping his touch against her skin.

  “No.” His refusal was quick and sharp. “I appreciate how responsive you are. Imagine how much you will enjoy it when I do allow you to come.”

  “Maybe this orgasm denial wasn’t such a good idea.” His finger was so near her that she struggled against her reactions. “Can we renegotiate?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. You may safe word out if you want to stop the scene, but deciding you no longer like the rules of this game won’t persuade me to change my mind. Understand?”

  She sighed. “Yes, Rafe.” Part of her was glad he’d refused. She didn’t want him to change his mind. She wanted the experience.

  “Conference room?” He tugged his hand away from hers. “Lead the way.”

  For protection, she reached for her shirt, but he stopped her with a sharp shake of his head.

  He was pushing her past a lot of boundaries she hadn’t realized she’d had. The moment she finished having sex with a man, she covered up in a robe or a towel. Once she’d taken the sheet with her when she’d fled to the bathroom after sex.

  Barefooted, she walked down the hallway, aware of him right behind her.

  She flipped on the conference room light. Before she was ready, he lifted her from the floor to sit on the edge of the table. Even though she wanted to present a picture of composure, she swung one leg back and forth, her body betraying the fact that she was outside her comfort zone.

  He swept the audio-visual equipment onto a nearby chair. “Please put your hands behind you.”

  Despite his courteous words, it wasn’t a request. She complied, and the position thrust her breasts forward a little. Her nipples were hard, and she was still aroused from the way he’d played with her in the reception area.

  He returned to stand in front of her, arms folded, foreboding.

  He thrilled her. He scared her.

  “Legs farther apart.”

  She’d never been more exposed.

  “I love seeing your pussy. I’d make you sit like this all the time if you were mine.”

  If you were mine. Mesmerized, she fixed her gaze on him. She wasn’t his. This wasn’t real. On some level, it was a mistake. Remember that. Sharing this with him was dangerous, yet she couldn’t flee.