by Lisabet Sarai, Amy Armstrong, Sam Crescent, Cheryl Dragon, Tanith Davenport
“I do.”
“And you thought you could make me believe, too?”
“I’d hoped I could, yes. That’s why I asked to speak to you personally. You’re young, educated, a different generation from the greedy swine who raped America for their own gain.”
“Like my father, you mean?”
She blushed in spite of herself. Normally she was more diplomatic.
“Well, then, Olivia—” The way he emphasised her first name made her shiver. “I have a proposition for you.”
Chapter Three
The instant he set eyes on Olivia Alcott, he saw her on her knees. The image came to him unbidden, unlike the fantasies he so often summoned to amuse himself. His twisted desires could not have been further from his mind. He’d been preoccupied with the strike and all the other manifold concerns of his industrial empire. Still, there was something about her erect posture, her trim curves, the set of her lush mouth, that called to his dominant nature and turned his thoughts from business to forbidden pleasure.
She was a modern woman—that much was immediately clear—self-confident and assertive. Although adequately polite, her forthright manner lacked any hint of the deference to which he was accustomed. She spoke to him as an equal. Yet his instincts told him that under her steely exterior lay something soft and yielding, a spirit hungry for surrender to the sort of power he loved to exercise.
Probably she didn’t realise it herself, but Olivia Alcott was a natural submissive, born to be mastered.
This sudden insight distracted him. He could scarcely look at her without imagining her graceful limbs wound with rope, her neat bosom bared to his pinching fingers, her lively brown eyes hidden by the blindfold that would give him licence to use her however he chose. His cock swelled to an uncomfortable bulk inside his trousers. He was grateful that the motoring duster he wore concealed the evidence of his excitement.
When he shook her hand, he sensed her shock of unconscious recognition. Her breath quickened and the colour rose in her smooth cheeks. Her voice grew softer as she entreated him to increase the millworkers’ wages, laying out the arguments, pleading with his better nature. He wanted to make her beg for something quite different.
An inspiration seized him then, a stroke of brilliance that would enable him to solve multiple problems at once.
“Olivia, I have a proposition for you.” She did not resist when he led her to the automobile and installed her inside. As he breathed her lilac perfume mingled with her clean sweat, his erection grew more insistent. “There’s to be a ball this weekend at Wavecrest, my house in Newport. My mother has invited what she considers to be the cream of society, including every eligible—that is, single and wealthy—female she can think of. She’s determined to marry me off to one of these creatures, regardless of my wishes.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Her frown of perplexity delighted him. He could practically see the wheels turning in her agile mind as she tried to understand his motives.
“I need an escort, a woman to keep at my side all weekend so I can fend off the advances of all these would-be Mrs MacInytres. Come back to Newport with me. Spend the weekend. If you do, I’ll seriously consider the question of raising the workers’ salaries.”
Olivia laughed, a bright, clear sound that sent a stab of want to his groin. “Me, a poor professor’s daughter, at a society ball? I’d be as out of place as a Hottentot in the White House! I don’t have the airs and graces of a Vanpatten girl. And what would I wear?” She indicated her dusty brown frock. “I doubt very much this would be appropriate.”
“No one need know who you are—we’ll invent some mysterious identity for you. You can be the illegitimate American child of a Hungarian prince, how’s that? As for clothing, I will supply everything you’ll need.” He gave her luscious body a frank once-over that brought the blush back to her face, to his immense satisfaction. “I suspect your measurements are quite comparable to my sister Ann’s. You could wear one of her dresses. But no, that won’t do—you must be the most resplendent creature at the ball. We’ll stop at Ann’s dressmaker on the way and have you fitted for a new gown. With adequate monetary incentives, I’m sure the dress can be ready by tomorrow evening. We’ll pick up a whole kit for you, tennis and boating outfits, morning attire, underclothes. With jewels to match each ensemble, of course…”
“Mr MacIntyre, doesn’t the impropriety of what you’re suggesting bother you in the least?”
Her critical tone brought him up short. What would people say about a single young woman, unchaperoned, in Andrew’s constant company? He’d hoped she was less conventional than the women of his regular circle, but, given the importance of reputation, he couldn’t blame her for her concern.
“You’re essentially trying to buy my sympathies, aren’t you?” she continued. “You suppose that if you lavish enough money upon me, I’ll drop my support for the strike and encourage the workers to return to their looms, correct?”
“Not at all…”
“Well, it won’t work. I intend to spend every minute we are together reminding you of the plight of these poor women. I shall work upon your conscience, sir, until you have no choice but to do the right thing.”
“What? Then—you agree? You’ll come to Newport?”
“How could I pass up the opportunity to do so much good?” A smile played at the corners of her compressed lips and Andrew understood that she was teasing him. Yes, she was serious about her cause, but she wanted to join him for other reasons. Hope flared in his chest while desire hardened his loins.
“Thank you, Olivia.” He clamped his hand down upon her smaller one. Her breath hitched with excitement she could not hide. He focused all the force of his will upon her, compelling her to meet his gaze. “There’s one more thing to which you must assent.”
“Yes? What’s that?” She was brave, this woman. The girls on the lawn this morning would have wilted under that stare, but she held her own.
“You must agree to follow my orders in every particular and without question. Otherwise, your charade may be unmasked and we’ll both suffer.”
“In every particular? Even if you should command some indecency?” Her hand still lay beneath his. The pulse fluttered in her wrist like a captive bird.
“In every particular, as I said, and without question.” Full of anxiety, he searched her lovely face. Would she change her mind? “I promise I won’t allow any harm to come to you, Miss Alcott.”
She allowed the smile he’d seen her fighting to bloom. He released the breath he had not realised he’d been holding.
“I agree, Mr MacIntyre—Sir. Shall we be on our way?”
Chapter Four
Olivia perched on the satin coverlet of the carved canopy bed, surveying the impossibly opulent bedroom where she had been installed. The chamber had to be at least thirty feet square, with a gilt-encrusted ceiling that soared ten feet above her head. Tall windows framed in emerald velvet looked out upon a verdant lawn that stretched to the ocean. Distant sails danced upon slate-blue waves and the breeze wafting through the open casements carried a hint of salt. The late afternoon sun sparkled among the crystal tears of the chandelier, casting shards of rainbow upon the polished oak floor. Nearer the bed, a plush Chinese carpet soothed the residual blisters on her bare feet.
She wore one of the delicate silk camisoles Andrew had selected for her as they’d passed through the town. Nothing else. The other garments he’d chosen hung in the rosewood wardrobe, all but the ball gown, which would be delivered, the dressmaker had promised, by Saturday noon.
Cocktails would be served at seven, Andrew had told her, and dinner at eight. In the meantime, he’d instructed her to await him here, in her current state of undress.
She’d never even considered disobeying.
Fingers entwined upon her lap, she breathed deeply in a struggle to calm her racing heart. Her nipples knotted against the silk, aching for stimulation. Her sex was as moist as the humid s
ummer afternoon, her juices perhaps staining the pale green satin beneath her bare bottom. No matter. Andrew MacIntyre could afford to replace it.
Her entire body hummed with anticipation. He would be here soon, or so he’d promised, and the waiting would be over. She’d wanted this for so very long—long before she’d encountered the masterful young billionaire. They had not spoken openly of what was to come. She hoped she had not misunderstood his intentions. If she had, she’d die of embarrassment—or disappointment.
With her back to the door, she watched the snowy clouds drift and reform into fantastic shapes. Breathe. Relax. Open. She remembered perfectly, despite the years.
The hinges were soundless, but she sensed his presence as soon as he entered, the new aura of power that shimmered in the room. The lock clicked, shielding them from interruption and preventing any possibility of escape. She swallowed hard. The moment of truth had arrived.
He stood before her, silent, and she bowed her head automatically, her eyes on her clasped hands. Still, she knew he was gazing upon her near-nakedness. She felt the weight of his attention like a physical caress.
“Olivia.” With one word, spoken low and sure, he claimed her. Heat rushed to her pussy and the bed cover grew damper.
“Yes, sir?” It felt easy, natural—as though she’d never stopped.
“On your knees, girl.” She slipped to the rug, boneless and loose already, his to command. Did he find her compliance strange? No matter. She had been right about his desires and that was all that mattered.
“We’ll start slowly, this first time. Don’t be afraid.”
Afraid? The only thing that scared her was the intensity of her own dark desires.
“Crawl to me.”
Eyes on the floor, she made her awkward way towards his mesmerising voice, her heart slamming against her ribs and her sex clenching with want. The smooth wood hurt her knees as she left the carpeted area behind. She ignored—no, welcomed—the pain. The brief chemise left her ass uncovered. Delicious shame washed over her as she realised he could clearly see how wet his orders had made her.
“Stop there and kneel up.” He dragged her sole garment over her head and tossed it away, then circled her body, murmuring further instructions close to her ear. “Cross your hands behind you, at the small of your back. That’s right.” The cord he wrapped around her wrists was cool and smooth, possibly even silk. Perhaps he’d switch to rough hemp when he knew her better. He wound the loops halfway up her forearms, in neat rounds that bit ever so slightly into her skin. “Ah yes! Lovely! Tell me, are the bonds too tight?”
“No, sir, they’re fine.” Should she tell him he could tie her much tighter, if it pleased him?
He skimmed his hands over her shoulders and down to her elbows. His fingers were soft, without the calluses of a working man, and oh, so knowing! Shivers danced up her spine. She straightened her back to present her breasts and parted her thighs as she’d been taught. Oceany musk drifted from her soaked pussy. Her taut nipples throbbed with her pulse. Her clit beat in time. The three swollen nubs made a triangle of need, with her consciousness staked between them, stretched and fragile. One touch to any point and she’d shatter.
As if in answer to her silent plea, he reached both hands around to cup her rounded flesh. Catching the tips between thumb and forefinger, he rolled them back and forth like marbles. A gasp escaped her and she arched into his palms. Sensation sizzled down to her clit, as if he were exerting the same firm pressure there.
“You are exquisitely responsive.” His praise thrilled her. “But how do you feel about a bit of pain?”
She had no time to consider the question. He gave her a vicious pinch, nails biting into her engorged nipples. Her eyes closed, she let the shock of hurt arc through her and die away. Pleasure followed in its wake, radiating from his fingers down to the hungry gulf between her thighs. He squeezed again, with much greater force. Would he pierce the skin? Imagining her blood staining his fingertips, she came near to swooning.
“Oh, Olivia! I have so many ideas about what to do with you, I can’t decide which to try first.” He nuzzled her neck then nipped her shoulder. As the pain surged then receded, she struggled to remain still, knowing that was what was required.
“If you weren’t bound, I’d have you on your hands and knees, so I could spank your soft, white bottom…but I don’t want to stop to untie you now. That will have to wait until later. And I didn’t bring up my crop—I didn’t know if you could bear it.”
I can bear whatever you care to inflict, Olivia thought, though she wasn’t quite ready to admit this aloud. If he read her as clearly as it seemed, she wouldn’t need to tell him.
She heard his footsteps as he came to stand in front of her. She still didn’t dare to meet his eyes—not until he commanded it.
“Look at me, girl. Today, tonight—for the next forty-eight hours—I will be your master. And you will be my plaything, my slave, my whore.” The words were as thrilling as his touch had been—perhaps more so. They kindled a dark fire in her soul. “Do you consent? Will you serve me?”
His eyes bored into her, pinning her like a captured butterfly. His voice rang with authority. Still, she discerned a touch of uncertainty in his expression and demeanour. Did he really doubt her?
“Yes, sir, I will. I’m yours to command.” The words rolled off her tongue, familiar and satisfying, as if she used them daily.
“You’re sure?” His gaze was relentless but she met it bravely, glad to have someone at last know who she really was.
“I’m completely certain, sir.” There was a delirious freedom in that confession. Her clit pulsed and she thought for an instant she’d fly off into climax from that alone.
His hand strayed to the buttons of his trousers and her gaze couldn’t help but follow the movement. In the space of a few heartbeats he had freed his erect penis from his clothing. It was as solid and sturdy as the rest of his muscular form, pale, veined and topped by a ruddy helmet that was slick with evidence of his excitement. Saliva filled her mouth at the sight. Her pussy filled with moisture, too, hungry to feel that hardness deep inside.
He took a step towards her, brushing the smooth cap over her parted lips. “Open your mouth, whore.”
Olivia needed no encouragement. His rampant cock drew her like a magnet draws iron. Leaning forward, a bit ungainly because of her bonds, she opened wide and engulfed him, halfway to the root. His moan sent shudders of delight through her body. She swirled her tongue over the stretched skin of the head then sucked him deeper, wanting to swallow him whole. He tasted of salt and sweat, a masculine flavour that made her more ravenous than ever.
She pulled back slightly, made a tight ‘O’ of her lips, then bobbed, running her mouth up and down over the taut, silky skin.
“You’re a clever little slut,” Andrew muttered through gritted teeth. “I’ll wager this isn’t your first time eating a man’s prick.” He wound his fingers into her hair and held her head still. “Open!” Jerking his hips, he drove his cock down her throat with bruising force.
The onslaught stole her breath. Before she could adjust, he pulled back then thrust again. She choked as his cock slammed into her palate and would have squirmed away had he had not held her head fast.
As he pistoned in and out of her mouth, he tugged at her chestnut locks, positioning her like some inanimate doll in order to increase his pleasure. The pins loosened and her hair tumbled down her back, tangling in the ropes that secured her arms. A few strands caught in her mouth, where they were soon soaked with saliva and his copious pre-cum.
He continued, relentless, until her lips grew sore and her jaw ached, but she never considered asking him to stop. His thrusts became ragged. Tiny contractions rippled along his cock as he approached his peak. Her own arousal increased in synchrony, though she had no stimulation other than the taste and the smell of him, the slide of his hardness over her tongue.
She knew he was close, yet his final explosion surpr
ised her. He swelled for an instant against her tongue, impossibly hard, and bitter fluid flooded her mouth. She gulped it down, to show him how eager a slut she could be, but he pulled his cock from her lips, spattering her cheeks and tangled hair with fresh dollops of spunk. The bright shame of it brought her still closer to the edge.
He released his grip on her hair. She leant forward, off balance, to press her lips against his softening organ. She hoped he could read the reverence in her gesture, that he would see how grateful she was for his use of her, how very glad she was to be herself at last.
Andrew gave a satisfied chuckle. “Well done, Olivia. I believe you have a natural aptitude for this sort of game.” Crouching in front of her, he kissed her bruised lips. He tasted like milk tea and tobacco, simultaneously sweet and harsh. She’d never get enough of his flavour. His tongue wormed its way into her mouth, agile and demanding. Can he taste his own jism? she wondered as she opened herself to his explorations. The filthy notion ramped her excitement higher still.
Down on one knee now, still plundering her mouth, he clutched her to his chest. He fingered the ropes behind her back, the bonds that marked her as his slave. His closeness dizzied her. Could I climax from just his kiss?
Between her splayed thighs, her clitoris beat like a second heart. Fast as thought, he sank his hand into her drenched cleft, thumbing the bead at her centre, curling his fingers to stroke her inner walls, still kissing her all the while. Come for me, Olivia. She could have sworn she heard his voice, though his lips were locked on hers.
It didn’t matter. His fingers commanded her, and she obeyed. Pleasure welled and broke like the waves on the rocks below the Cliff Walk. She shook in his arms, helpless to resist, as he coaxed another climax from her heated flesh.
And still he kissed her, hard, insistent, drinking the nectar of her surrender as though he’d never get his fill.
Chapter Five