Curves for the Billionaire (12 page)

“So I assume you wouldn’t like to see another man making love to me, then?”  She knew that she was being deliberately provocative, but she enjoyed watching him lose the cool façade he always showed the world.

“I would snap your neck if you so much as kissed another man,” he threatened sliding his hand around her neck.  She raised startled eyes to his and the coldness of his expression sent chills through her.

“I was only joking,” she apologized, wanting to erase the bleak look from his face.

“Were you?” he questioned.  His hold tightened fractionally and for the first time she realized just how much power he concealed under his sleek muscles.  “I think a good spanking will remind you never to make that same joke again.”

He got off the sofa and imperviously held his hand out to her.  She took it obediently, not because she truly wanted to be spanked, but because she seemed to have inadvertently hurt him and wanted to make amends.

As they made their way silently up to the upper level, Samantha’s heart hammering in her chest.  When they got to the room, he sat on the end of the bed and instructed, “Lie across my legs.”

He could have positioned her himself, but she sensed that he was allowing her some measure of control.  She knew if she objected strongly or struggled he probably wouldn’t carry through with his threat, but Samantha lay herself obediently across his knees and once again she found the hem of her dress up over her head.

She shivered as he ran his hand over her bottom as if to warm it.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised and then brought his hand down sharply.

The pleasure-pain was so intense all she could do was moan.  Before she was ready another blow struck her bottom, followed by another ten at regularly spaced intervals.  At the end she found herself squirming against his legs, the hunger inside her worst that any he had created all day.

What’s happening to me?
she thought bemused.

An hour ago she’d thought that she would be too sore for them to make love again before the night was through.  Now all she wanted was to have him deep inside her, soothing her burning channel with masterful thrusts.

Zachary set her on her feet and stood up.  He took her face between his palms, kissed her fiercely and then released her.

“Zac?” she whispered questioningly.

He didn’t respond—just took her hand and led her to the bathroom with its full-length mirrored walls.  Placing her hands against the cool surface of one wall for support, he bent her slightly at the waist, so that her bottom stuck out.

She’d never basked in the sunshine without protection and even then her costumes had been sensible one-piece garments that covered her bottom fully.  On the photo shoot for the catalogue Fiona had said, “Wow, your ass is like porcelain!”

Pink and red porcelain now
, Samantha mused as Zachary slowly and deliberately shed his clothes behind her, admiring his handiwork in the mirror.

Instead of feeling humiliated or nervous of his next move, Samantha jiggled her bottom and indicated her impatience.

“Is this what you want?” She watched in the mirror as Zachary’s reflection joined hers.  She had kicked off her heels before settling down to watch the movie.  Now he dwarfed her with his 6’4” broad-shouldered frame as he held his meaty length and spanked her bottom lightly.

“Yes,” she replied, beyond shame and pride.

“I want you to see just how well I fuck you.”  He slid one hand around to the front of her body and stroked the nub nestled between her curls as he pressed against her entrance.  “Bend a little lower.  A bit more.  Ah, that’s it.”

Samantha watched as the gorgeously virile man started to thrust into the voluptuous redhead with long deep strokes and could hardly believe that the woman was her.  It was more beautiful that anything she had seen the few times Fiona had persuaded her to watch a porn movie.  Its beauty came from the fact that it was not orchestrated or posed.  The rhythm of the man’s hips wasn’t choreographed to look good on camera, neither was the desperate movement of the woman as she backed onto him to take every inch within her.  No, this was natural, raw, real beauty.

Suddenly Zachary pulled her up against him.  “Do you feel that?  Do you feel the way my cock fills you until you can’t take another millimetre?”

“Yes.  Oh God, yes!”

“No other man is going to fill you in quite the same way.”  He bent her forward again and started thrusting furiously.  “No other man’s going to fit your tightness like a hand in a glove. No other…fuck!”

He came without warning, holding her hips still and grinding himself against her.  Frantically she worked herself back onto him, triggering her own orgasm as he lost control.

He moved her closer to the wall and for the next few minutes they leaned half upright against it, joined together, too sated to move.  Finally Zachary eased himself carefully out of her and moved towards the bed, her hand in his.  They fell onto it tiredly, barely making it under the covers before they fell asleep.

***

“You have an incredible body,” he complimented as they lay in bed late the next morning.  He ran his hand slowly down the slope of her shoulders, the full jut of her breast, the soft rise of her stomach and then to the smooth curve of her hip.  “I’m glad that you didn’t pursue a career as a lingerie model.  You looked sexy in the catalogue but I didn’t enjoy the thought of other men—”

“What did you just say?”  She couldn’t have heard him correctly!

“I said that you looked sexy in Fiona’s lingerie catalogue, but I—”

“Oh my God, you recognized
me
?”

“Of course.”

“How could you?”

“I recognized your hands, then your feet and I looked closer.”

“My hands and my feet?” she asked stupidly.  Surely they were no different from anyone else’s?

“I love your hands,” he said laying one of them against his larger one, palm to palm, and turning them both to admire the effect.  “Even without nail polish they look soft and feminine.  The arches of your feet are unusually high and look real sexy in high-heeled sandals like the pair you were wearing last night.”

“I didn’t think that anyone would recognize me…”  Samantha broke off in dismay.  “We’d thought with the makeup and the lighting that I would be unrecognizable.  I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“I don’ think that anyone else recognized you.”

“You did!  What if my father had done, too?”

“Somehow your father didn’t strike me as the type of man to be browsing through lingerie catalogues.  I was about to throw out my copy with other junk mail when something familiar caught my eye.”

The pose she had struck for the cover had been as bold as she had been feeling by the end of the photo shoot—she’d become more and more comfortable with the female photographer and had stopped worrying about the slim possibility of someone recognizing her.

“Did you throw it out afterwards?” she asked hopefully.

“No, I’ve still got it.”

“You’ve kept it for five years?”

“I don’t intend to ever get rid of it.”

“Wait!  Hold on!  If you liked my body so much, how come you’ve always dated skinny blondes?”

“Because I needed to prove something to myself.”

“What.”

“That I could resist falling in love with them.”

“You didn’t want to fall in love?”

“No.  Love makes fools of men.”

“What do you have against blondes?”  Though it wasn’t directed at her, prejudice of any kind was worrying.

“I don’t have anything against blondes,” he denied.  “I just needed to know that I could resist the feminine wiles of women who look like my—”

“—mother,” she finished the sentence when he broke off abruptly.

He looked annoyed that he had revealed more than he wanted to, but Samantha knew that there would never be a more appropriate moment to broach the topic that had troubled her for a long time.  “Zac, why do you hate your mother so much?”

“I don’t hate her.  I just don’t like her very much.”

“You barely said a dozen words to her at the wedding.”

“That’s eleven more than I wanted to!” he admitted brusquely.

“You’re starting to worry me now.  If we have children and there’s a reason they can’t be left—”

“I would never leave my son with my mother.  Never!”

“Zac?”  Samantha suddenly couldn’t breathe.  “You…you didn’t…?”

“Excuse me.  I need some space!”

“Zac, please don’t leave!” she begged, but he stormed into the other bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

Samantha sat stunned.  She had once been so disgusted at herself for thinking that Zachary might be in love with his own mother, but this seemed much, much worse!  Had his mother sexually molested him?

Oh God, please don’t let it be true!
she prayed silently.

She was aware that children could be sexually abused by either parent, and in some horrendous cases both parents had been perpetrators, but abuse by fathers was more prevalent.  Just like male victims of rape, boys abused by their mothers were often more embarrassed about coming forward.  And often when they found the courage to do so, they weren’t treated with the same sensitivity as female victims.

Samantha got up and paced the length of the room, torn between giving Zachary the space he’d demanded and offering him comfort.  She would be devastated for him if he confirmed that he had been sexually abused, but he needed to know that it wouldn’t affect the way she felt about him.  He would have been an innocent victim and she’d never compound that by blaming him.

“Zac?  Zac, honey, please open the door!”

“It’s open,” he responded.

She turned the knob and the door opened easily.  Pushing it inwards, she saw him sitting on a chair, holding his head in his hands.

“Did you just unlock it?”

“I didn’t lock it in the first place.”

“Sorry, I thought you did.”  Samantha walked across the room and stood beside his chair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, but I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“Go on,” she urged.

“Zoë was a daddy’s girl.
 I
loved my mother.  She was like an angel to me with her ash blonde hair, soft skin and sweet vanilla scent.  I used to love hugging her and pressing my face against her chest.  I was about seven or eight when I heard giggling one night and came downstairs thinking that my dad had come home earlier than promised.”

Samantha pressed the side of his face against her breast and wrapped her arms around him, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“My mother was an air hostess before she married my father.   She got pregnant with us…  She was on the sofa, dressed in her uniform and sandwiched between two of my father’s friends...pilots who worked with my dad.  I asked her what she was doing, she said they were practising flying.  When I said I wanted to join them, she told me to go back to bed, that I was just having a dream.”

Samantha tried to picture him as a seven-year-old.  He must have been cute beyond words.  And thank God he hadn’t understood at the time what he was witnessing.