One Night With My Billionaire Master (3 page)

“Logan,” I whisper, his name sounding right on my lips.

He dips his head and captures my mouth, surging inside. Our tongues waltz, an intimate dance he leads, tugging, releasing, tugging, releasing, the tempo rising and falling. Logan holds me with a mind-numbing reverence, his coarse palms bracketing my face, his thumbs rubbing circles on my skin.

I place my hands on his chest, his shirt silky under my fingertips. My touch pleases him. A rumble rolls up his torso, the sound exciting me. He strokes into my mouth, coaxing more heat from my already molten core, and I caress him, savoring how solid, how firm his body is, under the layer of cloth. There isn’t an inch of give in his form, just as there isn’t a morsel of lenience in his dominant soul.

I lose myself in his embrace, curling my right hand around his nape, his black hair decadently soft against my fingertips. Logan is a man of contrasts, his eyes hard, his face angular, his hair lush. He can rumble the dirtiest suggestions into my ear and, mere minutes later, speak with elegance to a room filled with businessmen. He destroys his enemies with a few flicks of his pen, yet he would never hurt me.

Not intentionally. He’ll hurt me when he walks away. I suck on his tongue. Because as much as my brain tells me not to care, I do. Seeing him with another woman after he’s kissed me like this, will tear my heart into pieces.

I’m fucked, in more than one way.

Logan breaks our liplock and leans his forehead against mine, both of us panting, our need a wild living creature. I cling to him and he allows this for a couple of heartbeats. Then he removes my hands from his neck and steps backward, folding his arms in front of him, bracing his feet apart.

“Logan?”

“Sir,” he corrects, his tone stern and his eyes hard. Strength and power radiate from him.

I gulp. “Sir.” I fight the urge to drop my gaze, to lower to my knees and beg his forgiveness. He’s right. I do know when we’re in a scene, the air around him changing.

His eyes shine with approval, a heady response I want more of, approval rare in my life. “Tell me your safe word.”

Tomato, the lame safe word I’d decided upon, is discarded, a part of me knowing he wouldn’t appreciate something generic. I search my brain for words he’d never use during a scene with me. Love, diamonds, commitment. “Marriage, sir.”

“That’s an interesting choice.” My new master nods as though this says something about me. It doesn’t. Any woman would prefer marriage to a meaningless affair. “If you say that word, the scene will stop immediately. Our night will be over. You’ll dress and I’ll take you home.”

I don’t want that and I’m surprised he’d allow it. “You’ll be angry with me, sir.”

He pushes his jacket off my shoulders. The night breeze isn’t cool enough to douse my need. “I’ll be disappointed.”

Shit. Disappointed is worse than angry.

I turn my head, pretending to examine the marble sculpture positioned next to us, the table-like form oddly appealing, and I nibble on my bottom lip, worrying. He thinks I’m experienced, a woman of the world, a slut like my mom, and I’m not. I have no fuckin’ clue what I’m doing, how to make him happy.

“In the future, I expect you to kneel and present yourself to me.”

“Yes, sir.” I gaze up at him, his statement reassuring me. If he shares all of his expectations, I might have a shot at pleasing him.

“Kneeling on the grass now would dirty your pretty dress, and I don’t want a dirty pet.” He pulls on his bowtie, removing the strip of black fabric. “Fold your arms behind your back.”

I obey him. Before I realize what I’ve done, he’s tied my wrists. I tug on my restraints. They don’t loosen. This should freak me out. Instead, it calms me. I now know he doesn’t expect me to use my hands, though I don’t know why. “Logan?”

He tilts his head.

“Sir?” I amend.

“Touching your master is a privilege.” He unzips the back of my sleeveless dress, running his fingers along my spine. “One you haven’t yet earned.” The bodice falls open, leaving my breasts bare, the bra built into the garment.

I gasp, the chill in the air tightening my nipples even more. “Your men will see me, sir.” My plans never included an audience.

“Are you questioning your master?” His words are sharp.

My pussy drips, my need for him escalating. “No, sir.”

“Good, because you shouldn’t. Unlike my doubting sub, my men have been well-trained.” He glares at me and I bow my head, my cheeks heating with shame. “They can be trusted.”

He doesn’t deny that they’re looking at me.

“Show me your big blue eyes, pet.”

I lift my chin. Logan gives me a curt nod of approval and then peruses me slowly, gazing intently at my bared chest, my white skin, pink nipples.

I stand before him, helpless, unable to cover myself. My hands are tied, my shoulders pulled back, thrusting my breasts upward.

This might be a one-night stand but these memories will linger. My face blaze. Years from now, when Logan passes me in the street, attends the same society events, sits across from me in the boardroom, he’ll remember me like this, my body brazenly displayed to him in a semi-public garden. He’ll have this piece of me forever.

“I can’t do this, sir,” I whisper.

His eyes narrow. “Are you using your safe word already?” His disapproval tears at me.

If I walk away now, I’ll regret it. I know this in my soul. “No, sir.” I shift my weight from my right foot to my left.

“These are my tits, pet.” Logan cups my breasts with his big hands. “I’ll look at them when I want to.”

He rubs his thumbs over my nipples and I wiggle, unable to stop him from touching me. I’m at his mercy. He could leave me like this, invite others to view my shame, humiliate me in front of the world.

Yet he won’t. I gaze at him, knowing this about my billionaire. He’s too damn possessive to share me, has vowed to protect me. I force myself to relax, to breathe deeply. He’d never break that promise.

Logan plays with my breasts, lifting and weighing them in his hands, exploring their shape and softness. He strokes and squeezes, strokes and squeezes, applying all of his renowned concentration, to drive me crazy. Desire destroys any lingering inhibitions and I sway into his palms, needing more.

He chuckles. “Greedy pet.” He pinches the tips of my breasts and I jerk, the pain opening a door within me I’d never realized existed, heightening my senses.

“You like that, don’t you?” He twists my captured flesh, escalating the sensation, and I moan with pleasure, unable to remain silent. “Pain excites you.” My new master pulls on my nipples, elongating them, and I vibrate in his hands. “You’re so responsive,” he murmurs his approval, and I glow.

I please him, his appreciation reflecting in his eyes, the fabric of his black tuxedo pants tented around an impressive erection. That long thick cock will fill my pussy tonight, stretching me, changing my body forever. I wiggle in anticipation.

Logan slaps my right breast hard and I shriek, more surprised than hurt. “Did I give you permission to move?”

I know I’m not supposed to move, all of the BDSM websites having relayed this rule. Subs are to be still and silent, following their masters’ commands. “No, sir.”

He slips his hands into the front pockets of his pants, pulling the fabric even tighter across his huge hard-on. I see the outline of his cock head and a wave of wanting sweeps over me. “You’re not focused, pet.” He extracts a set of nipple clamps. “These will help.” They’re a work of art, sparkling diamonds set in intricately engraved gold.

He believes I deserve diamonds. No one has ever valued me this much. I blink back tears, gratitude added to the vortex of emotion whirling inside my chest. “Thank you, sir.”

My ruthless billionaire’s face softens for a heartbeat. “Don’t thank me yet.” He tugs on my left nipple and applies the jewelry.

Pain shoots over my skin and I press my lips together, stifling my howl.

“You can do this, pet.” Logan outlines the handprint tattooing my skin, caressing my right breast, calming, comforting me. He’s here, in charge, and he would never hurt me more than I wanted, needed, to be hurt. “You’re strong, one of the strongest women I know.”

Men often call me beautiful, as though I was responsible for this miracle of genetics. No one has ever called me strong, not before tonight, before Logan. I straighten, determined to prove him right. “I can do this, sir.”

“Yes, you can.” He snaps the second nipple clamp in place.

Mother of God. I shake, struggling to adjust to the dual pain. I’m not thinking about gossip or spiteful half-siblings or my slutty reputation. There’s no room in my brain to worry about anything other than my aching nipples and pleasing my master.

“Look at how pretty my pet is.” Logan flicks the nipple clamps with his fingers, causing the diamonds to glitter and agony to skitter over my skin. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll craft a diamond chain to connect these.” He skims his hands from one breast to the other, showing me how he plans to drape me, the St. James slut, in precious gemstones. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, sir,” I admit, the pain dulling. To be covered in diamonds is a secret fantasy of mine. Everyone would see that I was valued, cared for.

Logan gazes at me, his open admiration like a drug, escalating my need. “I’m tempted to fuck these breasts.” He bends his head and mouths over my curves, his lips firm, his breath decadently hot. “If I wasn’t so determined to come in your sweet pussy, I’d straddle your chest, squeeze your softness around my hard cock and pump in and out of this valley.” He licks between my breasts, and I tremble. “I’d use you as my fuck toy, covering you with my cum, rubbing my scent into your skin, and you’d love it, begging me for more.”

I would love it. I arch my back, thrusting my breasts higher, silently asking for his touch. My billionaire sucks, licks, and retreats, sucks, licks, and retreats, bringing me to the brink of release and then yanking me back.

I don’t know how much time passes. After the third denial, I lose my sanity and fight against my makeshift restraints, trying to free my hands, yearning to rake my fingers through his thick black hair, pull his mouth to my breast, demand he give me satisfaction.

The piece of black silk holds. I’m forced to take the torment, helpless to stop the cycle of hot mouth followed by cool air, decadent pressure preceding aggravating nothingness, arousal trailed by frustration.

Logan swirls his tongue around first one nipple, and then the other, every jostle of the clamps reviving the sweet ache. One tug of his lips is all I need.
Please let me come
, I silently beg him.

The damn man pulls back and I growl, unable to remain silent.

He chuckles. “If you were an experienced submissive, I’d punish you for that sound, pet, but this is your first scene and you’ve been such a good girl.” He straightens, his fingers resting on the nipple clamps. “You deserve to come.” He releases them.

A wave of mind-ravishing agony sweeps over my breasts, converging on my nipples. I open my mouth to scream. Logan covers my lips with his, swallowing the sound, holding me as I convulse, pain and pleasure mixing into one, a confusing tornado of sensation.

He places his rough palms on my super sensitive tips and rubs, prolonging the hurt and the bliss. There’s no pulling away from him, from this torment. My legs shake and my body floats. I need his strength, his support, his tongue in my mouth, his hips pressed against mine.

My tremors ease and my rational thinking returns, my ecstasy flowing into embarrassment. My cheeks heat. Logan witnessed my shame, my weakness. I’m not the strong woman he thought I was. He saw me fall apart. An apology dangles on the tip of my tongue.

“You came from breast play.” Wonder lilts his voice. “You’re a delight.” He brushes my hair away from my face and presses his lips against my forehead.

I pleased him? I blink.

“We’ll explore that later.” Logan turns me toward the flat stone artwork. “Ass up, pet.” He pushes my shoulders downward. My aching breasts skim the cool marble slab and I twitch. “I have to feel you around me.”

He’ll fuck me now. I tense. Am I ready for this?

My master isn’t waiting for my permission. He bunches my skirt to my waist. The night breeze rushes along my legs, ass, bare pussy, banishing the last of my climax-induced haze. This is real. He’ll soon be inside me.

“Ahhh…” Logan pushes the fabric into my hands, silently requesting that I hold my skirt. “My pet isn’t wearing panties.” His tone communicates his approval of my daring fashion choice.

“I’m ready for you, sir,” I murmur into the stone.

“You are.” He nudges his shoes against mine and I widen my stance, all of me exposed to his gaze, his touch. “You’re dripping for me.” He skims his coarse fingertips over my newly shaven mons, my wet folds, my needy clit, and I quiver, his touch reviving my passion. “You’re soft and slick and mine.”

“Take me, sir.” I want him to fuck me now before I change my mind.

“Bad pet.” He slaps my ass and I jerk, surprised, shocked, aroused. “You do
not
top from the bottom.” Logan swats me again, a delicious heat spreading from the point of contact. “A pet doesn’t tell her master what to do.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Trust me to know what you want.” Logan strokes me, fanning the flames of desire. “We’ll have a fast first fuck, burning off some of our need, allowing me to regain my control.” He’s working me into an erotic frenzy. “Then we’ll take our time. I’ll learn your body, test your limits.”

I make billionaire investor Logan Ross lose control. I smile against the stone. “Thank you, sir.”

A zipper rasps. A package rustles. I grip the fabric of my dress, preparing myself physically and mentally. I can do this. I can take this step.

Hard latex-covered flesh prods my pussy as he searches for my entrance. Tension stretches across my shoulders, doubts flooding my mind. Once he fucks me, I’ll have no defense against my half-siblings and the gossip. I can never claim to be innocent.

Not that anyone ever believed that claim. Everyone, including the man behind me, thinks I’m a slut, that I’ve done this numerous times with a variety of men.