Beauty and the Billionaire: A Dirty Fairy Tale Romance

by Kira Blakely

  “Then,” he said stalking over to where a few metal cans were cooking over burners, much like something set up on a catering table, “I’ll be more than happy to explain it to you. Would you like that, princess?”

  “You know that I would, Master,” I replied, the eagerness for the next session sweeping through me, making my clit throb and coat my thighs with wetness.

  “Good, that’s exactly what I want to hear,” he said, his voice a low, sensual purr. “I’m going to pour different colored wax over you, make a bit of abstract art. The wax is safe, special for this purpose so it’ll be warm but won’t scald, I promise. It’s been cooking, so to speak, for a bit, so it’s more than ready for our session, to make you a masterpiece.” He paused as he slipped off his dinner jacket and tossed it to the four-poster. “Of course, Belle, you’re already quite the revelation.”

  “That’s so sweet, Master,” I said, letting my voice fall into a sultry alto register.

  “It’s the truth,” he said, as he came to the first container and stirred the wooden stick inside of it, which was flat and almost like a giant tongue depressor in shape. “Even with the added coloring, you won’t be any more gorgeous in my eyes.”

  “Show me,” I said. “I want to see what you can paint with me.”

  “I thought you’d never ask, princess.”

  Then Drake sauntered over, his hips rolling in easy movements that oozed sex appeal. My heart thudded in my chest as waves of pleasure began to lap at every part of my body, teasing my limbs. He picked up the first of the three containers and brought it toward me. At first, he started by only taking the stick and flinging the wax against my stomach. Flecks of pink wax hit me like a Pollock painting, creating an abstract stream of color over my abdomen and the swell of my hips. I hissed at its warmth, no hotter than a warm bath that was unexpected, yet pleasant on my skin. My clit throbbed, and I wished I had permission to touch myself, to ease my need some because the anticipation was killing me.

  Drake was a master of that, in making me wait for what I wanted most. It was the most devious form of torture I knew of.

  He set the pot back on its burner and picked up the second one, this time using the stick to spread the thick violet wax up my knees and over my thighs, stopping just short of the apex of my thighs and my mons.

  “You’re the perfect canvas, princess. No man could help but be a fucking Renaissance master when you’re spread out before him like this.”

  I nodded and arched my hips up. “Yes, Master.”

  “Such a good girl, too, so compliant. That’s what I love about you, that you’re always so eager.”

  “Anything for this,” I conceded, feeling the wetness flow eagerly between my legs.

  “And we have one more color to go,” he finished, collecting the final pot. “I think you’ll find this is my favorite color.”

  He took the stirrer stick and pulled it slowly out of the container, a thick strand of crimson wax hanging from it. Drake grinned and rubbed the thick concoction over my left nipple, my areola and bud going rigid with the flush of heat. He did the same against my right nipple. The heat of the wax made them pucker as well as sent a jolt of pleasure arching straight to my most sensitive bundle of nerves.

  Helpless in his spell, I moaned and thrust my hips up, offering myself to him both body and soul. Drake took the hint and eased his body down between my legs, but angled downward so that his face came up to my vaginal lips. He reached down and parted my thighs, chuckling as his fingers slid over the cooling colorful wax that coated the skin there. Leaning his head low, he let out a breath. The warm air hit my most sensitive lips, and I hissed at the pleasure cresting over my body, my clit pulsing with need and almost burning with desire.

  “What are you going to do, Master?” I asked, falling fully into the role he’d established for our relationship, for our sessions and games.

  He chuckled again and nuzzled my secret lips, the stubble of his beard grazing against them and sending an arc of pleasure through my core. “You know what I’m going to do, princess. I can’t see you laid out for me like the best work of art and not feast on you.”

  I nodded and spread my legs as wide as they would go, and then closed my eyes, steadying myself for the sensation. “Go ahead, Master, ravish me.”

  His tongue traced delicate patterns over the silk of my labia, lapping at me like I was a saucer of cream and he was a thirsty cat. I writhed underneath him and my hands wrapped tightly around the edges of the bed. I felt as if my fingers were going to dig through the cushion there, everything was so intense and pounded through me. Then Drake reached down and spread my lips, his tongue coming into contact with my engorged clit. I mewled like a kitten and took in a deep breath. The constant scent of the room was there, that musk of Drake’s mixed with his potent cologne, but so was a different scent, the soft hint of lilac wafting overhead from another candle he had to have lit. Then his mouth wrapped around my nub of nerves and I bucked wildly on the bed, thrusting my hips up to meet his face.

  His tongue traced over my clit, lapping delicately at first, teasing darts that caused the waves of pleasure to undulate through me, but didn’t satiate me, not yet. Drake knew how to draw things out, how to make a girl want for more. I think he prided himself on it, on making me beg. I was more than pleased to oblige, as long as he kept pleasing me.

  “Master, more,” I moaned.

  His lips pulled tighter around me and he suckled at my clit, at the juices seeping from me. Then he twisted his tongue counterclockwise in a circle, and the waves of ecstasy beat against me like those on the sand when tossed by a hurricane.

  He plunged forward, his tongue slipping into my channel. It wasn’t a slow, soft entering. No. Drake wanted to dominate me in every way, to take this other type of virginity and mark me as his own. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of him beneath me, his neck arching fast and almost seeming to blur in and out as his tongue plundered my core. I moaned and dug my heels into the bed, the slickness of his tongue filling me in a new way, no less fulfilling than when his length had been inside of me.

  Then he suckled hard on my clit again, going for a full and deep succor, and I lost it. It was like a tsunami of not just ecstasy, but also emotion sweeping over me. I was caught up in all the power of the sensations, of the feeling of his tongue on me, the strength of his hand on my thighs, and even the wax cooling over me.

  I fell back to the bed, the cries of delight dying from my throat, and lay there for a while as he cleaned himself off at the sink and then worked to prepare rags and other things to clean me off. It took a while and I relished the intimacy of it, the trust. He wasn’t wrong about how the Dom/sub dynamic worked. I was growing to trust him, at least in the playroom, in ways that I had never trusted anyone before. He ran the cloth over my body with extreme tenderness, with devotion that was almost reverent until I was clean and then taken back to his bed. He curled up with me and stroked my hair, his fingers tangling in my long, chestnut locks.

  “You did well, princess.”

  I nodded and traced my fingers over his shirt and eased back out of my role. There was a time to be Master and submissive, but not now. This was the after, the time I could slip back into being myself, just Belle with Drake, albeit with still one more thing between us.

  Drake paused and considered me, his dark eyes troubled like storm clouds. “You’re so quiet. Did I tucker you out already?”

  “No,” I said, biting my lower lip. “I just… I had one request and maybe I am pushing too much, but I’ve been more exposed to you than I’ve ever been to anyone, believe me. I’m stretching limits and running over boundaries that I didn’t know I had.”

  “I know,” he said, holding me more tightly. “I never expected you to take to it all this well, to be so invested in it.”

  I laughed, a rueful sound escaping my list. “I didn’t expect it either. But we’re here and intimate… but not even. I want you to take off your shirt.”

  He st
arted to push away from me, but then I reached my hand out and grasped his forearm. “It’s not because of me wanting to see you, it’s not about that. I think it’s important because it matters so much to you. I want you to know that you can be yourself around me. You don’t have to hide with extra layers or clothes or turning off the lights at the right time. I want you to know that I can care about you, all of you, and nothing else matters to me.”

  “I don’t…” he started.

  I leaned forward and kissed his lips, letting my tongue tangle with his own. “Please,” I said, pulling back. “Show me everything.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Drake

  I was fucking shocked. I thought we’d gotten past all this, gotten past her curiosity. There was no way I wanted to show off my wounds, the marks from what had been a living hell. The physical therapist kept telling me that I’d been spared. The other old timers at the VA kept bragging about war wounds while I was in recovery and having a nurse wipe my ass when I was still wheelchair bound. I didn’t see any of that; I just saw the permanent truth they’d left on me.

  I stood up and started to pace, raking a hand through my hair.

  “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “I just need you to know that I don’t care. I need you to understand that I can see past that. After this, if it makes you feel better to keep everything covered up, I won’t object. But you don’t ever have to hide from me. You need to know that.”

  And she managed to say that with those wide blue eyes, the eyes of a fucking angel in that face, and I didn’t know what to do. Leonard had told me to fix this mess, and there was the present I was still arranging, but this would go even further to help heal the damage I’d done by walking out on her the last time we were in the playroom. I obviously couldn’t do that again.

  But I owed her the truth, the actual truth, the one I didn’t even tell my parents when I got back from leave. “It’s my fault.”

  She frowned and sat up in the bed. “What?”

  I balled my hands up into fists at my sides. “It’s my fault. I changed the jeep route that day because we’d been getting intel on something I needed to check up on in the far west quadrant. I could have gone with the standard route but it was my call. I thought it was worth looking into this. Then we go out there and it goes FUBAR, and I’m holding what’s left of my best friend in my arms. I did that!”

  Belle was out of bed quickly, rushing to me and putting her hand on the side of my face. I didn’t deserve her comfort. I didn’t deserve anything ever. Still, I couldn’t pull myself away, couldn’t leave the soft feel of her hand over my skin.

  “You didn’t!” she cried, her tone strong. “You weren’t the insurgent who buried the IED to start with. You weren’t the terrorists who started the war. You were just there trying to do the best that you could, trying to follow up on the information you were given. You didn’t do it!”

  I shook my head and stepped away from her, but she then took one of my hands in hers. Maybe I needed that, needed the heat of her touch to keep me focused in the moment. I could already feel the blood pounding in my ears, the whizzing rushing past me, all those signs that I was going to be pulled back to then, into those damn flashbacks that haunted me. That left me weak, like an animal. I gripped her hand tightly and took in a gasp of air.

  “But Jimmy, Martinez, Jones… all of them. If I had made a better call, it wouldn’t have been them. If I’d been smarter or…”

  “What?” Belle asked, her blue eyes wide and her tone calm, as if she were speaking to a scared animal. Maybe she was. “Were you supposed to be psychic? Were you supposed to be clairvoyant? You’re only human, Drake, and you did the best you could. That’s all you could have done.”

  I pulled back from her, frustrated by the decision, but needing to show her all my truth. Maybe Belle wasn’t wrong about that. Sighing, I started unbuttoning my shirt, moving fast. It was like a fucking dam had burst, and I couldn’t get the material off fast enough. When the silk slipped off, I stood there with my arms spread wide, giving her the full picture. The scar was visible over my right hip, ran about seven inches and then to the side of my stomach. It didn’t really affect the view of my abs, and maybe people would assume I’d accidentally fallen off my bike as a kid and impaled myself on a fence post, something completely normal and inane, if I didn’t tell them about the service.

  It wasn’t really disfiguring, not compared to some of the wounds I’d seen on others at the VA. Shit, there were guys from ‘Nam who still came in with napalm burns so bad that they no longer had ears. I wasn’t like that, but I knew what that scar meant, knew that the mark branded me as a failure. I’d gotten my men killed, and I had to remember it in exacting detail anytime I took my clothes off. Anytime I slipped into the shower… like a damn curse. Then I’d be doomed to remember, to draw back into those flashes.

  Those fucking flashbacks.

  Belle stilled for a moment, her intense gaze studying the scar. Then she quirked her head at me and spoke, her tone still calming. “May I touch it? I… does it hurt?”

  I shook my head. “Maybe you should. I don’t even know anymore.”

  She reached out and stroked one finger over the edge of my hip to where the scar dipped low under the waistband of my jeans. I shivered at her touch; it was the first time anyone had touched me there in years. The first time I’d let any woman see it, and I’d let her.

  God, what the fuck is this woman doing to me?

  She reached up after that and skimmed her fingers over the ridges of my abs until they stopped at my pecs. “You shouldn’t be ashamed. I’m not going to give you some speech about you being a hero because I know it makes you feel like you’re put on the spot even more. I get that.”

  “I don’t think you could,” I said, placing my hands over hers on my chest.

  “Maybe, but I know it wasn’t your fault. I know that if your friends were alive and could see you now that they’d want you to try and move on. They definitely wouldn’t blame you. You have to let it go.”

  She didn’t keep talking. Instead, she traced her fingers over my abdomen and then she leaned her face forward until her lips were caressing my skin. She littered my body with dozens of kisses, and I let her. Ran my fingers through her hair and let everything wash over me as my cock grew hard as granite in my pants. I fucking wanted her so badly; it was all I could do to keep from grabbing her right there and throwing her back onto the mattress.

  Then she ran her tongue over the line of my scar and I fucking lost it.

  I did grab her then, lifting her soft, naked body and demanding that she wrap her legs around my waist. Then I found the nearest clear stretch of wall and pressed her against it.

  “You always get to me, Belle,” I said, my voice low and gruff.

  She nodded and bit her lip in a way that drove the blood raging through my dick. “It’s the truth, Drake, just let go. All you have to do is let it go.”

  “I can do that.”

  At least for tonight, that is.

  I reached down into my pants pocket and pulled out a rubber. “I need you to hold on tight,” I said, pinning her up against the wall as I unzipped myself and slipped the condom over my cock. “You ready?”

  She nodded, and I was glad she was up for it. I loved pleasuring her, making her come with my name on her lips, but nothing felt as good as actually being inside of her. Even tasting her juices couldn’t make me feel as good.

  This wasn’t going to be slow burn lovemaking like when I’d gone down on her or when we’d first had sex. No, this was going to be a hard fuck, something I needed, what I wanted to exorcise my demons. Belle watched me hesitate with those wide blue eyes beckoning me on, and I knew she was ready for it.

  I shoved my cock deep inside of her. She was ready by now, limbered up from our earlier play, so I slid into her like I was made for her. Maybe I was. She was hot and tight like always, and I hissed at the warmth of her as I plunged balls deep into her. B
elle wrapped her legs tightly around me, as if she was trying to squeeze me with her damn thighs.

  I fucking loved it.

  That animal side of me, all that pain and fear I tried to keep bottled up, came roaring out. I’d kept it tightly leashed with my Dom role, with all my rules, but now I just wanted to fuck out my guilt, to let it all be done with. Belle reached her arms around my neck and dug her fingernails into my back, scratching deeply. It made me pound harder into her, my cock pushing through her until my hips were pistoning for all they were worth.

  Then my balls tightened, and I came, wishing a little that I could come deeply inside of her with no barriers.

  She shuddered around me and cried my name as she shook, her climax obvious. Belle dropped her head and kissed my shoulder and then my lips. It took everything I had to keep standing, to keep from stumbling where I stood. I’d rarely had sex take this much out of me, but anything with Belle seemed to be an exception, everything about her a new fucking revelation.

  “Do you feel better?” she asked, winking back at me. “Can you let it all go?”

  “Not in one night,” I admitted, smirking and kissing her again. “But it’s a start.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Belle

  The weeks passed in bliss. I didn’t think that was possible. After Mom got sick, my life had been nothing but pain and fear. The last three weeks had been anything but that. By day, we explored the island, taking in the sights and sounds of the tropical nation. Then, at night, we would have dinner, either something fancy and delectable created by Mrs. Johnson or something with local flare from Leonard.

  Later, we’d retire to the playroom, and I’d test my limits. Every night seemed to bring more pleasure than the last, to bathe my body with more ecstasy.

  That wasn’t to say actual negotiations weren’t happening as well. Of course, they were. We were still only meeting each other part way with sixty-five cents on the dollar. It was a mental chess game when we went into business mode, and I had to respect that Drake McManus was able to outmaneuver me when it came to facts and figures. The dossiers had been right, and there was a reason he headed probably the most profitable media management company on the planet.