The Billionaire Submissive (Billionaires in Bondage) (13 page)

“Then at least get up here and give me that dick so I can enjoy you too.”

“No.” He jerked forward, trying to get his mouth back on her. “When I come again, it’ll be inside you.”

“Did you just now fucking tell me
no
?” Furious, she used his hair to pull herself up to her knees, dragged him up on the bed and then grabbed his cock with both hands. She squeezed him hard enough his eyes about popped out of his head and he gave up all pretense of ignoring her will. Face slack, he stared at her, his eyes wide and dazed. This harsher, ugly side of her didn’t come out very often, but evidently he liked it. He liked it so much he licked his lips and she could see the thought rumbling around in his head that maybe he’d have to tell her no again real soon. “Did you have the fucking
audacity
to tell me how you’re going to come again? Maybe I won’t let you come at all.”

Proud, arrogant Donovan Morgan whimpered. “Mistress.”

She shoved him down on his back, whirled around to straddle his head and took his cock as deep into her mouth as she could go. But she didn’t make it easy for him to get his mouth on her. He had to wrap his arms around her hips and lift his face up to lick her. With a hand firm around the base of his cock, she sucked and bobbed until he was hard, swollen, muscles quivering across his stomach, and then she lifted her head, leaving him trembling right on the edge.

“Don’t you come, Donovan. Hold it. While I sit on your face awhile.”

Rising up, she settled back on her heels, pressing him down to the mattress beneath her. His hands tightened on her thighs, drawing her down hard enough she’d probably have bruises tomorrow. He was too damned talented with his tongue for her to care. Holding her clit in his mouth, he ran his tongue up and around, sizzling every nerve ending with electricity until the dam burst again. With a scream, she arched backward, lost her balance and almost fell off the bed. Luckily her flailing hand managed to grab onto something, one of the reading lamps above the headboard. She wrestled herself up and off her poor drowning submissive who still clung to her thighs with every intention of going to the death.

“I can take more, Mistress.”

Panting, she shoved her wild hair out of her eyes. “But I can’t. Condom?”

He lay flat on his back, eyes blazing, cock pointed toward the ceiling. Though it twitched toward her when she spoke. “You saw my medical test. It’s up to you.”

Her brain told her to get off the bed and dig around in the bedside table for protection. Just because they were both clean and she was most definitely on the pill didn’t mean they needed to share that level of intimacy and vulnerability. She’d never taken a man without a condom because she’d known it couldn’t last. She’d either been the calm, controlled Mistress or the passionate, lusty wench Lilly but she’d never been able to be both at the same time.

Until now.

“I’m not sharing you,” he growled out in his most forbiddingly arrogant voice meant to send weaker women away in tears. Even flat on his back and used by his Mistress until she’d feared he’d suffocate, he still managed to challenge her. “There’s no one else for me. No one but you.”

Flinging her body at him, she crawled up his legs and seated his cock deep in one hard thrust. His hands clamped down on her thighs and he arched beneath her, pushing up as deep as possible. She didn’t give him any quarter, squeezing with her muscles as hard as she could. She dragged his hands up to her breasts spilling over the corset and he didn’t need encouragement to squeeze her as hard as she gripped his cock inside her. Without lifting her hips, she rocked her pelvis, rubbing her clit against the base of his cock, tiny little circles designed to drive them both higher, to the very edge of a precipice she could usually only dream about.

“Mistress.” It was the same plea he’d given her at Dmitri’s. Half question, half SOS.

“Grip the headboard so I can fuck you in earnest.”

He released her breasts and wrapped his palms around the sleek chrome of his very modern slatted headboard.

She rose up, pulling herself up the length of his cock until just the tip throbbed inside her. “Hold on for dear life, Donovan. When I come, you come. Not before.”

“Yes, Mistress.” His voice quivered, but his eyes still held the fire of determination. He’d do what she told him or die trying.

Closing her eyes, she threw herself headlong off the edge. She braced her hands on his chest and rode him hard, slamming her hips down on him over and over, faster, pushing herself to the very edge of her strength and endurance. Her thighs ached, her pussy throbbed, filled with him so deep it felt like he’d punch a hole through the other side. Sweat burned her eyes, her lungs on fire. And it still wasn’t enough.

Until he roared out her name.

Digging her fingers into him, she let her head fall back as every barrier in her mind came down. It was like leaping out of an airplane without a parachute. Soaring without a net. She lost all sense of direction, tumbling, spinning out of control while her body convulsed with his. She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t catch herself this time. She was going to fall hard.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her ear.

He wrapped himself around her, a cocoon of hot, delicious living flesh tangled with hers so she couldn’t tell where he started and she ended. They were sweaty. Caked in cherries and whipped cream. And she was too tired and sated to care.

Chapter Nine

Donovan took one look around his bedroom and decided he’d better invest in a top-notch housecleaning company. And probably an electrician, he added, noting the reading lamp. It hung askew, dangling from wires out of a hole in the wall.

Also a furniture chain, because he’d bent the decorative bars of the headboard.

The comforter wasn’t salvageable.

The off-white carpet probably wasn’t either, because the cherry pie on the floor resembled a horrendous murder scene.

The lady who’d created such a mess was sprawled sideways in his bed. Her hair had driven him nuts, tickling his nose and getting in his mouth every time he rolled over. She was a blanket thief and bed hog and slept like the dead.

And he’d never been happier in his life.

Grinning, he returned to the kitchen and poured a cup of freshly brewed coffee. He wasn’t sure what she liked for breakfast and he certainly wasn’t Dmitri, but he had toast, fresh fruit and scrambled eggs on a tray for her.

He sat on the edge of the bed by her head. “Good morning, sweetheart. I thought we’d get an early start for Lake Minnetonka today. I want to take you out on my boat.”

Nothing. Not a blink, not a groan, not even a twitch. He set the tray on the bedside table and threw open the curtains, letting bright sunlight stream in.

“Fucking bastard,” she growled, drawing a blanket over her head. “Go away.”

“The sooner we get to the lake house, the sooner I can take you out on the boat.”

“I fucking hate boats. What time is it?”

“Six.”

“What kind of motherfucking sicko bastard gets up at fucking 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning to get on a fucking boat?”

She said she wasn’t a morning person, but damn. This is extreme.
“Evidently this one. But I never fucked my mother. Just you.”

He tugged the blanket down off her head and she shrieked. “Don’t look at me! My hair’s a mess in the morning!”

She clutched at the blanket but he dragged it completely off the bed, leaving her drawn up in a ball in the middle, still in the sexy red corset. How the hell had she managed to sleep in it? The material was twisted around and halfway down her waist. Groaning like she was dying, she finally managed to sit up. Her hair frizzed out in all directions like she’d stuck a finger in the light socket and he was pretty sure the knotted mess on the side of her head was a smashed-up cherry. Yet when she caught him looking at her, she couldn’t care less about her breasts hanging out of her top. She was too worried about trying to smash down her hair.

Fighting to keep a straight face, he said, “It’s not that bad. I’ve seen worse.”

“Ugh. I hate you. I hate sunlight. I hate mornings. I hate everything until I’ve had a fucking cup of coffee. Why—?”

Solemnly—despite his twitching lips—he offered the steaming cup. “I hate you too, sweetheart. Last night was awful. Horrible. Nightmare inducing. I’ll never be the same.”

Huddled around the cup like it was her last precious lump of coal on a wintry snowy day, she finally cracked a smile. “Yeah, it was pretty damned good, wasn’t it?”

“No, it was great.” Actually, great didn’t even come close to what he’d felt last night. She’d given him everything he’d ever dreamed about and a million more he hadn’t even dared hope for.
And this is just the beginning.

Awed, humbled, and yeah, a little scared of the intensity of his attachment to her already, he changed the subject. “If you can’t cook, how do you do coffee?”

“I have a pod machine and a thing called a coffee shop. Have you heard of it?”

“For shame.” He let horror twist his face. “A pod machine doesn’t produce
coffee
. That’s merely brown water. Now this is a cup of coffee, freshly ground Jamaican Blue Mountain brewed to perfection.”

“In a pot that probably cost more than my car.”

He smiled. “Guilty as charged. Do you want to take a shower now or when we get to the lake house?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t go anywhere looking like this. I don’t even have any clothes other than my dress and that’s the last thing I feel like putting on at six on a too-fucking-bright Saturday morning when I’m supposed to be sleeping for another four or five hours.”

“You can sleep in the car on the way, or on the boat. Hop in the shower and I’ll rustle you up some clothes.”

She narrowed a glare on him that made every single tender spot she’d left on his body sit up at full attention. “You will not give me some other woman’s clothes you might have lying around.”

She assumed he’d had a string of women in and out of his bed who’d just happened to leave their wardrobes behind? Stiffly, he stood up to give her some privacy. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Still suspicious, she tugged and worked the corset around so she could unsnap the front. Watching her, his momentary irritation faded away. Her luscious breasts swayed, making his mouth water.
Maybe she’s right. We should just stay in bed this morning. We can hit the lake house later…

“Don’t even think about it,” she retorted fiercely, but the light in her eyes and the reluctant curve of her lips told him her mood was improving. “I’m a stinky, tangled-up mess with wretched morning breath. And I’m sorry I offended you. I know you better than that now.”

He smiled and took a step back toward the bed, sure he could convince her otherwise. “I took the liberty of ordering some clothes for you as soon as you agreed to come to my place after dinner. I’m a pretty good judge of size but the tags are still on if you don’t like anything or they don’t fit.”

“I knew you were a creepy nutcase.” Laughing, she leaped up and fled toward the bathroom before he reached her. “And I still hate you for getting me up this fucking early.”

“You sure do curse a lot.”

She popped her head back out the door, her forehead creased with the first hint of uncertainty he’d seen from the confident Mistress. “Does it bother you?”

He snorted. “About as much as those swats you gave me. Of course it doesn’t offend me.”

Her lips quirked and her brow smoothed out. “Then maybe I’ll give you a fucking swat on that gorgeous ass of yours every time you make me curse. Deal?”

He couldn’t suppress the shudder that rocked through him. After last night, he wanted more. So much more.
We’ll just see how much I can make that luscious mouth curse, then.
“Deal. But no wooden spoon.”

“Got it. No fucking wooden spoon. How about a fucking crop? Would that work for you, Your Majesty? We’ll have to stop by my place and get it.”

His skin tightened at the thought. He’d had a crop used on him before and he’d come after just a handful of blows. “Sure. We can pick up anything else you want.”

“Like my dog.” She shut the door so she thankfully missed the way he winced. He wasn’t much of an animal person. Or a kid person, for that matter. They made too many messes and were too noisy.

Looking around again at his destroyed bedroom, he had to smile. Maybe he could get used to messes. And he’d certainly enjoyed a lot of noise last night.

He heard the shower turn on and she raised her voice so he could hear through the door. “Start the fucking count, you sexy beast.”

“One!”

Waiting while Lilly unlocked her front door, Donovan could barely contain his curiosity. Would her bedroom look any different from the rest of the house? After last night, he’d be terribly disappointed if her bed was average. If the color was beige. The woman who’d half destroyed his room last night deserved better than a boring traditional bedroom.

She paused a moment and for once, the Mistress looked hesitant. “I don’t let a lot of people into my bedroom. So it’s a bit of a mess.”

“I don’t care.”

She flashed a grin at him, the saucy one that made him want to chase after her like a bull in a ring. “I’m a terrible slob. It might be more than your delicate sensibilities can withstand.”