Dance with the Billionaire (8 page)

“I look forward to it,” I call back, as I head out the door, amazed that I’ve gotten away with this for the second night in a row. 

I’m sitting in the bedroom, playing with a mountain of expensive shoes, and guess what? A life of luxury is not half as fun and fulfilling as I thought it would be. I’m even, dare I say it, kind of ...
bored
.

Dylan is off at work, again, and I’ve been left to play Paris Hilton here at the mansion all day. I think I must have tried on almost every dress in the closet, and now I’m onto the shoes.

As I pull on a pair of stilettos so huge they might as well be stilts, just to see if I can even stand up in them, I find myself wondering if we’re due for a repeat of last night when he gets home from work, and if so, what tricks I’m gonna have to pull
this time
.

Last night was pretty easy, but when we first talked about the agreement, he also suggested he was into some pretty dark stuff – all that talk of me being
his
, ‘to do with as he pleased’. I just know I’m not gonna get away with my current antics
for too much longer. I mean, I can’t just pull out the same old dry humping routine again
tonight
now, can I?

I need time to think. But a nervous glance up at the clock tells me it’s almost time for him to get home.
Fuck. I should have spent my day scheming and plotting, not playing dress-up like some silly kid.

And just then there’s a knock on the door to my room.

I’m expecting it to be James, with tonight’s instructions on what to wear.

“Come in,” I call.

I look up at the door; it’s not James. It’s Dylan himself.

“Oh my God, it’s you,” I say, hurriedly pulling those stupid stilettos from my feet in embarrassment. “I, um, wasn’t expecting you yet ..” 

“Well don’t be too surprised,” he shoots back. “This
is
my house after all. I trust you’ve had a relaxing day?”

“Relaxing?” I repeat. And I can’t believe what I’m about to say, because despite all this amazing luxury, am I actually about to ...
complain
?  “That sure is
one
way to put it. Honestly, Dylan? This is great and all. Your beautiful house. Sitting by your amazing pool. Playing dress-up with thousands of dollars worth of amazing clothes. But in all honesty, I’m used to a little more
life
than this. Apart from James at breakfast, I haven’t spoken to another soul all day. You took away my cellphone, remember? I want some action.”

“I’ll give you
whatever you want
,” he says suggestively. “Like I said last night, I enjoy satisfying a woman. So? Let’s do it. Anything you want.”

“Really?” I say.

He nods.

“Okay then,” I say, getting to my feet. “What I
really
want is to go out dancing ...”

§

The club he takes me to – more of a grill and bar with a little dance floor in the back – is not my usual scene. It’s kind of quiet, the music’s kind of cheesy, and the clientele is just as snobby as I’d imagined they might be at a Rhode Island nightspot like this. But even so, I don’t care. Because I’m
dancing.
I’m moving my body in time to the beat ... and so is Dylan.

God damn it, I didn’t expect it from a guy who seems to live most of his life in a suit, but this kid is a surprisingly good dancer!

He moves with me, his body echoing mine, and even better: he knows when to take the lead. We’re dancing close, his body pressing against me. And wow. He’s radiating heat; that now-familiar intensity that I’m finding harder and harder to resist. I haven’t had this good a time dancing with anyone in ages – well, with a
guy
anyway. And I start to wonder what it would be like to actually fuck him – to
really
fuck him, to feel him inside of me, to feel that hot thick cock of his deep inside me ...

I mean, really. What exactly have I got to lose? It’d be fun – he’s obviously experienced, a guy who dances this well just
has
to fuck well too. And like I said, a hundred thousand grand is gonna protect my future way more than my virginity ever could ...

Come on, Julia, Focus!

But I can’t. I want him, despite myself. I want him
bad
. But then I remember that just because you don’t go all the way, doesn’t mean you can’t have fun with a guy. Just because I signed that stupid contract, it doesn’t mean that Dylan’s the one in control. I’ve still got a few more moves, and if my plan works, he won’t even
miss
fucking me. Oh yes, I’m gonna enjoy myself tonight and I’m gonna make sure Dylan does, too ...

It’s as if he reads my mind. Because just then, he whispers in my ear, “Had enough yet?”

I nod.

And wordlessly we leave the club.

§

Back in my room, we still haven’t said a word. I’m nervous but excited, too. This feels so fucking
intense
. Standing here facing each other in the dimmed lighting, we move towards each other and begin to kiss with the same urgent intensity as the way our bodies danced in the club. My hands are in his thick black hair, my tongue pushing deep into his mouth, while his hands explore my body, pulling my skirt up around my waist, pushing his leg between my thighs, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of my ass.

God damn it
, says my sensible side, once more raising its ugly head.
This is all happening too fast. You need to slow down. You need time to think.

Just then, he breaks away from me.

“I’ve been thinking about your body all day,” he murmurs. “You’re a little tease, Julia. Making me take you out in public like that so you can
flaunt
it. I had to watch you dance, knowing that I couldn’t just rip your clothes off and fuck you, right there on the dance floor ...”

Then he turns, and I watch in confusion as he walks over and opens a drawer below the wardrobe that I hadn’t even noticed. When he comes back to me, he’s holding something behind his back. I wonder what.

Oh God. What’s he planning?

“Lie down on the bed,” he orders. “The time for teasing is over.”

I have no choice; I just do as he says. I’m instantly his prey, stunned and caught in his talons.

“Hold out your arms,” he commands.

And again, I can’t help it, I do exactly as he says.

From behind his back, he produces a length of black silk rope, and I realize
exactly
what he wants to do. But I can’t let that happen. No way. I need to be the one in control.

“No,” I say firmly, my voice shattering the pulsing stillness, as I recognize a sneaky way out of this. “Let me,” I add with a suggestive raise of the eyebrow. “I want to tie
you
up.”

He looks down at me with surprise, but also with curiosity.

“Oh, I
see
,” he says, teasingly. “You like to be in control, do you?”

I nod, my expression telling him silently that if he gives in, I promise he’ll enjoy this.

“There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?” he says with a growl. “Well, in that case, I surrender, Miss Tate. Do your worst ...”

With that, he drops the silk rope onto the crisp white sheets, then offers his wrists to me, the challenge blazing in his eyes.

I push him hard, square in the chest, and he falls backwards onto the bed in surprise. I wonder if maybe this was a move too far, but nope -- he looks like he’s enjoying it. So I grab the silk rope and begin binding his wrists and then ...

Fuck.

For the first time in my life, I curse myself for never having been a girl scout. Because I have
absolutely no fucking clue
how to tie this knot around his wrists. But I can’t let Dylan Campbell know this, of course.
He
needs to think that I’m totally experienced in kinky shit like this. That I do this kind of stuff all the time. In which case? I’m just gonna have to fake it.

I distract him with a long, urgent kiss as I wrap the rope around and around his wrists, making sure I pull it as tight as I can, and then I just tie a simple knot that I hope to God holds out. I lift the rope and tie that to the wooden posts of the headboard too, so that he’s bound on his back, arms above his head, fixed firmly in place.

Finally I pull at the rope to test my knot. Hey, not bad! He’s not going anywhere tonight. Well, not unless I let him.

He looks at me as if to say,
Very good, what’s next?

I give him another long lingering kiss, just to whet his appetite, and then I begin to loosen his tie, and undo a few of his buttons for good measure, brushing my lips against the flesh I uncover in soft, playful kisses. He tastes good, and my senses whirl with that delicious cologne he wears, his skin so soft yet taut beneath my lips, his body so hard and masculine it’s kind of ridiculous.

I run my hands sensuously up and down his body, pulling open the rest of his shirt, tugging playfully on the cropped fuzz of hair that grows between his sculpted pecs, then finally resting my hand over the hot, hard bulge in his suit pants.

Now I’ve got him exactly where I want him, I stare straight at my prey as I unbuckle his belt, then unbutton his pants, enjoying the way his breath shivers past his full lips, the more of him I uncover. He lifts his hips off the bed to help me as I pull down his slacks, along with his cotton boxers, his hard cock springing free, thudding heavily against his toned abs, his balls tight and full beneath.

“Look how fucking hard you’ve made me,” he murmurs, nodding down, urging me to look at his cock.

It’s magnificent, but I force myself to pull my eyes away, directing my kisses once more to his chest, but working my way downwards now, until I’m inches away from that hot, twitching prize between his legs. But I don’t ever let my lips touch against it, instead positioning myself on my knees between his legs, so that he can watch everything I do as I take him between my hands and begin to stroke his shaft, the swollen head of his cock just inches from my parted lips, which I moisten suggestively with my tongue, as if I’m about to take him in my mouth at any moment ...

Now don’t laugh, but I suppose I should let you know that I am an
expert
at hand jobs. I know, know: it’s hardly the most sophisticated sexual technique in the world. More like the sort of thing nervous high school dates gets up to while making out in parked cars. But it’s something I’ve gotten
really
good at over the years.

From the way he starts writhing beneath me as I stroke him, I’ve quickly worked out
exactly
which parts of his cock are the most sensitive – the little patch of skin beneath his head, the underside of his shaft, and of course his balls, and I start to work him up into a frenzy, all the while keeping my mouth tantalizingly near to the head of his cock, the warmth radiating against my face, but never actually sucking him, even though he’s thrusting his hips now, desperate for me to enclose my parted lips around him. But the closest he gets to
that
is when I let a little saliva fall from my lips, to help me stroke him.

“God, you’re such a
tease
,” he gasps, straining at the ropes.

Still stroking him with one hand, I pull down the front of my dress with the other, wanting to give him a little more excitement, uncovering my breasts, my nipples by now rock hard, standing out like bullets. And then, for good measure, I spread my legs, too, letting my trembling fingers slip into my panties, finding myself so fucking hot and wet, that I know instantly that it wouldn’t take more than a few strokes before
I’m
the one coming, let alone Dylan.

A moan escapes my lips, but this one isn’t planned.

I keep jacking his cock with my right hand, while working my throbbing aching clit with the other, both of us now becoming frenzied with lust and arousal. 

My orgasm when it hits takes me by surprise, exploding through me so quickly and powerfully that I almost let go of his cock.
Almost
. I shudder and moan, my body bucking, but even during the intense pulses of pleasure, I keep my hand stroking up and down his swollen cock.