Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set

by Black, Stasia

  But her needs come first and I need her anticipating tomorrow. Her life is in chaos and she needs order.

  She needs her Master.

  So I peel myself away from the bed and release her wrists. “Until tomorrow. Sleep now and sleep soundly.”

  Five

  Daphne

  I wake midmorning, feeling refreshed for the first time in days. I actually slept. Soundly, the whole night through. Usually my sleep is full of nightmare terrors.

  But last night?

  Quiet. If I had dreams, I don’t remember them.

  Is that really his power over me? He orders me to sleep soundly…and I do? Or was it because I knew that behind those words, there would come action?

  No more time to mull things over because there he is, pushing the door open with the morning breakfast tray.

  But unlike normal, he doesn’t set it up over my lap. He lays the tray on my nightstand and sits beside me on the bed.

  Right beside me.

  So close, I feel the blazing heat of his thigh against my side. It makes sparks zing elsewhere throughout my body.

  They don’t tell you this. But just because you’re sick, it doesn’t mean the rest of your body just shuts off. Maybe if we were doing traditional chemotherapy… But we’re not. And I feel just as needy as ever, maybe even more—but instead Logan’s been pulling away.

  There’s just been so much distance between us. Even at a physical level. I’ve missed sleeping with him because I’m stuck on this narrow hospital bed. So much distance.

  Until now.

  What does this mean? Why is he suddenly being like this? Because of my pathetic attempts to seduce him yesterday?

  Then again, maybe he’s as hard up as I am.

  “I can feel your thoughts spinning a million miles an hour.” Logan looks down at me gravely. “It’s time for all that to stop.”

  I squirm a little uneasily. “What’s gotten into you?” I’ve gotten used to the easy banter between us. But Logan’s not having any of it.

  He leans over. He’s not wearing the mask over the ruined half of his face anymore, but he’s still every inch the Master. More than ever, maybe, because there’s no obstruction to his ice blue eyes blazing into mine.

  “I am Logan. But I’m also your Master. And it’s time you remember that.”

  I reach up to caress his face but he catches my wrist in a firm grasp and stretches it over my head.

  My breath hitches when I feel a soft leather cuff circle my wrist and cinch tight. I look up at Logan, at Master, but apparently I’m not going to have any control in this session. Because the next thing I know, he’s coming at me with a sleeping mask. He settles it over my face, completely blocking out my vision.

  “Relax,” he intones in a low, mesmerizing voice. “Your job is to keep every single muscle absolutely relaxed, no matter what I do to you. If you start to tense up, you’ll be punished. And I promise you won’t like my punishment.”

  Goosebumps prickle all over my body. I don’t know about that, I’ve enjoyed his punishments in the past.

  Within minutes, he has all four of my limbs tied down and with the distinctive noise of a scissor’s snip, the filmy fabric of my nightgown comes away from my skin. I can’t help gasping as my nipples pebble, not so much from the cold air as from his bold actions.

  My stomach clenches and my toes curl in anticipation.

  Master draws back. “What did I say about tensing your muscles?”

  No, I wasn’t, I was just— But I know better than to speak my paltry excuses out loud.

  Will he punish me now? My heart rate speeds up and my thighs clench together.

  A light swat hits my thighs, a switch from a leather riding crop? But it’s nothing more than the barest stinging sensation before it’s gone, the merest promise of a touch.

  And then the Master’s voice is in my ear. “The punishment will mean an automatic cooldown time period of five minutes every time you tense your muscles.”

  An achingly soft, featherlight touch that might actually be a…feather traces down the center of my chest and then up and around my breast.

  I give into the sensation and gasp, “Are involuntary shudders allowed?”

  He leans in again, the hot air of his breath tingling the hairs fluttering near my ear. “We’ll take it on a case-by-case basis.”

  How can he make me want to laugh and go supernova at the same time? Not fair not fair not f—

  “Oooooohhh yes,” the pleasured moan comes from a place deep inside of me, “please gods do that thing again with your fingers.”

  But his fingers are gone, as is the rest of him. Even his weight is gone from the bed.

  I want to whine out my frustration. I didn’t mean to tense up. You try having the sexiest man of your dreams in bed with his hands all over you and not ‘tensing’ with excitement. Ha. Tense. I’ll show him tense.

  I pull at the restraints on my wrists, but only lightly. I want as much energy as possible for whatever Logan has up his sleeve…whenever he actually gets to it.

  But the next touch on my skin isn’t a feather and it isn’t a crop.

  It’s Logan’s hands. I melt under his touch.

  “Shhh,” he says in his low, haunting voice. “No more play. You’re mine and tonight we’re both going to remember it.”

  He pulls the mask off my face and I’m met with his startling blue eyes, right as his hands come up to cup my face. But it’s not like usual. He isn’t holding my face so that he can lean in and kiss me.

  No, it’s like he’s a blind man, trying to learn my face for the first time. His thumbs explore my nose, the shape of my eyebrow, the slope of my top lip, and then my bottom one. When I gasp, expecting him to slide his thumb inside my mouth, he only skirts along the open seam before dancing away to explore my jaw and the delicate place where it connects to my neck.

  And the look on his face the entire time he does it—like he’s awed. Like I’m a forbidden museum and he’s finally allowed to touch the exhibit for the first time.

  But no, it’s so much more than that, because our eyes are locked the entire time, and each external touch is connected to an internal touch, this zing of intimacy I didn’t know could exist.

  And my face is just the beginning. His exploratory massage continues down my neck, outwards to each shoulder, down my arms.

  I’ve melted into the mattress at this point, but I don’t want to miss a thing, so I keep my eyes drowsily open.

  I swear though, if he does all this just to put me to bed, I’m going to kill him. If this turns out to be another soothing exercise to help Daphne sleep because she’s too sick, that might actually fucking break me.

  But then I see all sorts of implements on the table beside him in an open bag. There’s the feather and the crop, yes. But also big fat candles with luxuriant looking wax. I’ve heard what these are for but obviously, never tried them for myself.

  Master catches me looking and his eyes go dark.

  “I want everything with you,” I whisper.

  I see the pain enter his eyes. Pain and indecision.

  “No. Stop it. And don’t look away.” If my hands were free, I’d grab his face and force him to look at me. “I want everything.”

  But by his face, I see that he still doesn’t understand. He still sees this, me, as something to fix.

  “This is your fault, you know. You taught me how to want things, and now I do. I want the big life and I want you and I want kids—” his eyes go wide and shit, I didn’t mean to say that, so I hurry on— “and I want…everything. I want an explosive sex life and decades under the sunshine.” I look over his beloved face. “I want to grow old by your side.”

  He drops his big body to mine and cradles my face. “You will. We will. I’ll find a cure.”

  I shake my head. I’m not just looking for false platitudes. I know some people like to hear people say it’s okay, that everything’s going to be okay. But that’s bullshit. There’s no cure
for this. My mom died. I watched her die.

  “You’re not listening,” I say, exasperated. “You just want to fix, fix, fix.”

  “I’m going to,” he asserts, as if there’s no other possible outcome.

  I sigh. Maybe that’s how it has to be in his head. He literally can’t fathom there being any other outcome. But that’s a game I can’t play. And I can’t pretend for his sake. If I try, it will start to build up between us and Logan refuses to allow that so—

  “I don’t know what to do with you,” I mutter, banging my head back against the pillow.

  “Do nothing,” he says, laying the whisper of a kiss across first one nipple and then the next. “Let me take care of all the doing. Lay back and let me give you a big life. Explosive sex. Let me make you want things and then give them to you.”

  I giggle at him repeating my words back to me verbatim. At least he’s a good listener, even if he’s ignoring the underlying gist of what I was saying and diving straight for the sex. Shocker.

  “You think too much, little genius. No more thinking. No more talking. Give in. Relax your muscles or I stop. That’s your only instruction.”

  A small part of me wants to balk. I want to keep arguing with him. I want to pick a fight and push him away.

  “I want to fight the whole world,” I whisper, a tear sliding out my eye. Embarrassed, I try to wipe it away but of course my hands are tied.

  “Don’t hide from me. Never hide from me,” Logan says, eyes searching mine and seeing too much. “You want to fight, you fight me. You want to rage, you rage at me.”

  He disarms me with those few words.

  I go limp on the bed, all my anger diffusing and running out of me like water out of a drying sponge. Wait, what? That’s not how this works. Usually when I’m feeling bad, nothing can take away the anger. Except that it slowly fades into a gray depression.

  But Logan’s hands are on my body, massaging up and down. In non-erogenous areas, but then again, everywhere he touches seems to light up my body like a glow stick. And the last thing I’m feeling is depressed.

  Finally, I do as my Master commands.

  I stop thinking.

  And it’s so fucking glorious.

  Quiet. The million racing, worried thoughts have finally quieted. There’s a beautiful, crystal-clear silence in my head.

  More tears spill out of my eyes, but this time they’re from happiness. It feels good, so I obey his one order. I relax my entire body and struggle to keep it relaxed even as the Master begins his ministrations.

  First comes a sharp prickle from the top part of my foot. I’m glad he didn’t blindfold me again, because while most of the time I lie back with my eyes closed, focusing on the sensation, I like having the option of opening my eyes. I love to watch the intent look on Logan’s face as he runs the object that looks like a poky pizza cutter up my leg, so slowly and with such intense concentration. Watching him is half the high.

  Next he’s back with the feather, but he stops soon when he sees that I can’t help but tense up when it tickles me.

  I can barely suppress my smile when he picks up one of the big wax candles. He sets it on the bed, then pulls off his shirt in that sexy way that men do, pulling from the back shoulders and tugging it off over his head. Liquid swoops through my stomach down to my sex at seeing his muscles and the dark trail of hair that leads between his sharply defined V.

  He’s usually so buttoned up, any chance seeing his skin feels like a treat. And to think, he’s mine now. I can see this whenever I want. The giddy schoolgirl feeling is swept away by dread. Until you get sicker and die.

  Nope. Brain turned off. Brain turned off.

  I turn my eyes to the candle and train my eyes on the flame. But I’m greedy and I can only last a second before looking back to Logan. My Master.

  He’s watching the flame too. Or rather, he’s watching the small puddle of wax that’s slowly liquefying in the lip of the candle.

  He holds out his forearm and drips wax in a line along the inside of his wrist where it’s the most sensitive. I hold my breath, but when he doesn’t react one way or the other, I burst out, “What does it feel like?”

  His mouth quirks up on one side. “Curious, kitten?”

  I nod, not trusting myself with words. Is he really serious? Are we still allowed to do things like this? Then I shake my head. Who the hell do I think I’m asking? Logan’s a doctor and I’ve got my PhD and have spent my life studying this disease. If we don’t know, who will?

  Number one, there’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to, and number two, I’m not supposed to be thinking.

  I trust Logan. For twenty minutes can I not just shut my freaking brain off and trust?

  Even as I think it, my entire body relaxes. Logan and I watched the candle burn and liquefy more wax until there’s another little puddle.

  Logan’s eyes come to me. The hand not holding the candle massages my thigh, up and down, up and down.

  “You’ll have every experience this life has to offer,” he promises. “Together, we’ll explore every sensation, every feeling, every possible nerve ending of your entire body.”

  He leans in and breathes in my ear. “We’ll have a lifetime of exploration. In sickness and in health. Together. Now close your eyes, and feel. Feel me and what I do to you.”

  I nod but I know I might disobey. He doesn’t know how much I need this. I didn’t know how much I needed this. And I will give myself to him body and soul… But I might peek.

  I’ll never give up looking at him now that he’s unmasked himself. I need every line of connection possible between us and he’s not stealing one of my senses. Not tonight anyway.

  So I keep my body completely relaxed, but I watch. And he watches me watch, because he’s constantly checking my face to catch my reactions. I know if I exhibit even the slightest expression of discomfort, he’ll stop. But I don’t want that. I want this moment of intimacy between us to continue and continue and continue, forever.

  We’ve finally stripped down, and I don’t mean just our clothes.

  The first drop of the steaming wax on my right breast is a surprise. It stings for a moment but then just sinks into a lovely warmth that spreads across my entire breast. He avoided the nipple, maybe because it was also recently pierced, but he paints around the areola like a blood-red candle-wax crown.

  Wax drips down the mountainsides of my breasts and I’ve never felt more…more fucking alive.

  “There,” he says with satisfaction, blowing on the hardening wax as it cools. “I’ve crowned you my Queen.”

  I might laugh if he wasn’t simultaneously touching me and driving me absolutely crazy. He gave up on the PG zones of my body a while ago.

  The hand not pouring wax is on an exploratory journey of its own.

  “Ah ah ah,” he chastises when I clench around his fingers buried in my cunt. “Relax or I stop.”

  No stopping. No stopping. But I don’t beg out loud in case it makes him stop. Instead, I open my eyes and focus on Logan’s face. The deep blue of his eyes. The furrow in his eyebrows when he focuses, and gods, how hot it is when his entire being is focused on bringing me to climax—

  A warm wave washes outward with one strong, immense pulse. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s unlike any orgasm I’ve had before. Usually it’s intense and I’m clenching and chasing it and fighting and—

  Oh shit here comes another one—

  I meet Logan’s eyes and see his wonder as he shares the moment with me, the second wash of bliss that has tears pouring out of my eyes.

  It’s so— So fucking beautiful—

  He bows over me, face an inch from mine, but he doesn’t kiss me.

  He just keeps sharing the moment, fostering a crazier, deeper intimacy than I ever knew was even possible between two human beings.

  “You,” I finally whisper through choked breath, the tears still coming so thick. “The big life is here. I already have it. Right now. As long
as I’m with you.”

  Six

  Daphne

  Two weeks later, it’s a very different scene when Logan comes in the door. I’m already propped up in bed surrounded by pillows, scrolling through the day’s news on my tablet. No longer cut off or disconnected from the world.

  The curtains are thrown open wide and sunshine pours in through the glass, warming my face.

  It’s hard to describe the past two weeks. Physically, I feel like shit. But they’ve still been two of the happiest weeks of my life. Logan is doting but I call him out when he gets overbearing. I’m seeing a side of him I only had glimpses of before. He’s kind and nurturing. A gentle giant. And he respects me enough not to cut me out of my own treatment process.

  Like this morning, for example. He comes in carrying a stack of lab results, his brow furrowed.

  “Are those from the experiments that ran overnight?” I reach for the papers.

  Logan comes and sits beside me on the bed, not giving up the papers but holding them so that we can both look on.

  “Your numbers are holding but we aren’t getting the improvement that were looking for.” His voice is gruff and I know he’s trying to hide his frustration from me.

  “We knew this might take some time.” I interweave my fingers with his. “Cancer immunotherapy is still such a new field.”

  He frowns down at the papers. “Not that new. It’s past time somebody figured this out.”

  I look at him fondly. “And that somebody is going to be you?”

  He finally tears his eyes away from the numbers and he meets my gaze. “It’s going to be us.” Then he frowns when he sees my breakfast plate. “You didn’t finish your eggs. You know you need your protein.”

  I stick my tongue out but reach for the second half of a boiled egg. “I miss greasy bacon,” I moan.

  “Eat all your grapefruit slices and blueberries, too. The antioxidants are good for you.”

  “Yes, mother.” I pop a few blueberries into my mouth, just in time, too, because the next second I’m squealing as Logan jumps on top of me, knocking me backwards onto the bed. The papers go flying but Logan’s focus is only on me.