Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (11 page)

“You will stay,” he whispered, the strength of his assertive embrace making it clear she was no longer in control of her own body.  “Because it is what we both want, and you know it.”

To be seduced without apologies or excuses?  Yes, yes… perhaps it was.
  Isabel closed her eyes again in surrender.  His fingers wisped across her collarbone and glazed over her necklace. The confidence behind his every action persuaded her to relax into his touch.  She exhaled with a deliberate release, feeling the desire to obey.  Then, she sensed the tip of his nose skating over her collarbone, savoring her perfumed skin.

“I love your scent,” he betrayed.

It was the same perfume she wore every day
.

She indulged in the warmth of his breath passing over her exposed shoulder before everything suddenly went black as he slipped the blindfold over her eyes with certainty that she would accept it.

Darkness. Sheer, complete darkness
.  She held up her hand, seeking out a moment of reassurance.  He rescued her, sweeping her into his arms and whisking her through the expansive suite, passing by the churning fireplace as its flashing burst of heat warmed her world of darkness before he ushered her into the seclusion of a private space. 
The bedroom
. 

Isabel sensed the immediate change in the temperature; she could still feel the low, even blush of heat from a more intimate source, its flames crackling in sparse intervals as she barely sensed its golden flicker beneath the rim of her blindfold.  She could still hear the sounds from the city through the window panes, but its blinds or shades were fully drawn, muting everything into distant reminders of a world that they sought to escape—together—if only for a few brief hours.

Cautiously, he laid her down onto the bed.  Within her sightless private world, she suddenly took in the soothing mink pelts beneath her and the sweet, undeniable aroma of something beautiful—
rose petals
.

“I’m going to undress you now…” his low, undistinguishable voice whispered through the darkness.

Isabel felt the tug on her sash.  Anticipation pricked her skin as he slowly peeled open the folds of her dress, fully exposing the front of her bustier, which stopped just above her hips. 
Was he silently admiring her?
  She could see nothing beyond the blackness of her blindfold, but she sensed he was staring at her, taking in the bustier’s boosting bra cups, accentuating the arcs of her cleavage
.
  She waited for his cue, his next advance, his next expression of desire.  The bustier’s unforgiving constriction punished her every inhale, but still, she savored his silence as she imagined him taking in the full view of her wearing his gift.  In that moment, within the secrecy of darkness, she was someone else; someone naughty and desirable, someone worthy of his masterful seduction and forbidden desires; someone who was willing to submit to him without protest—not because of the taboo thrill of being dominated by a mysterious suitor, but because of the unexpected sensation of the unconditional trust that settled between them.

Slowly, he slipped off her languishing dress, stripping it along the silky texture of her stockings before finally allowing it to drop to the floor.  Now, she was half-naked, wearing only her bustier, stockings, and racy black thong, barely guarding her wetness. 

“So, so lovely…” he said with a hush before exhaling—a deep masculine release of yearning that suggested he could no longer repress his physical need to claim her.

Without warning, he spread her body out across the king-sized mattress like a sacrificial offering.  She heard the
click, click, click
of the beads snaking along the mattress before she felt him wrapping each silky strand around her wrists. 
Pearls
.  Symbols of her fragile bondage to him—and their tenuous bond to each other. 

“I want to be sure that you won’t resist me.”

She felt the sudden constriction of her wrists, tied to bedframe with the precision of a sailor’s knot.  Suddenly, she was completely at his mercy, gushing with her own desire to receive everything he intended to gift to her—fully and without apologies.

With her hands secured over her head, she was forced to focus only on the sensation of his fingers, towing down the strapless bra cups of her bustier, fully liberating her breasts to the rushing wash of cool air.  His palms massaged her with force.  She tilted back her head, indulging in the circling caresses of his every stroke.  His hot breath drifted over her nipples, each tit aroused by the lushness of his tongue and the intentional nip of his lips. 
Hot, then wet
. 
Painful, then pleasurable
.  The plushness of mink pelts against her skin and the fragrance of rose petals—sweet, velvet rose petals—invited her to relinquish all her inhibitions within the security of the altar that he had prepared for her.  She could not push him away or rotate away in protest.  She could only yearn for more, the mounting burn throbbing between her legs every time his mouth sucked her like his submissive.  He was reigning her in, gaining control over her senses, fueled by the masterful balance between pain and pleasure, and preparing her for his next conquest.

Then, she felt it.  She relaxed her head and released an involuntary moan as his fingers slipped under the taut protection of her thong and tested her wetness. She tugged on the restraints of pearls, wanting to resist the temptation of yielding herself completely to him.  But she was his captive now, and there was nothing she could do except endure the sensual heat of his breath, whispering across her bare hips before exhaling between her legs. 
Yes, she was gushing for him now
.  He stroked his finger over the damp silk of her crotch band; he wanted to be inside her, and he wanted her scent to confirm how much she wanted it, too. 

Suddenly, she sensed him pull away from her, as if he planned to leave her—bound and vulnerable and panting—spread out across the bed.  The flipped-down cups of her bustier exposed her bare breasts to his full view.  The thin strip of her black thong barely covered her glistening slit.  And now, slowly, she felt him unfastening the garter straps and rolling down her Cuban heel stockings with his fingertips.  His hands worked to undo the clasp of her heels before tossing them onto the floor with a subtle thud.

A smothering silence filled the room. 

“I want to watch you come,” he finally said, low and brooding.

She shook her head before she could utter her protest—“No.”

“Yes,” he insisted.

She couldn’t
. 
It wasn’t a possibility, even if she tried
…she lowered her hand as if she thought she might persuade him to stop.  He had no intention of stopping.

“Isabel
…
” he whispered her name like she was his seductress. “I want to watch you come and if you resist me, I will stop, walk out, and never acknowledge my admiration for you again.  Do you understand?”

His voice was stern.  She thought she had placed its cadence, but she pushed its familiarity out of her mind and nodded in agreement. 
Yes, she understood
.  She waited, expecting to hear him unbutton his own shirt and remove the buckle from his pants.  Instead, she sensed his presence above her, releasing her wrists from the bedframe by slackening the strands of pearls.  Then, his presence shifted to the foot of the bed.  That’s when she felt it—his possessive grasp around her ankles, pushing her bare heels towards her backside, encouraging her knees to drop open and grant him access to the part of her that he craved most. 

There was a pause—a deliberate pause—before his angular chin lowered itself between her thighs.  She gushed with anticipation before the tip of his tongue slipped under the thin strip of her thong and flicked her tingling slit. 

She moaned and rotated her hips away. 
No,
it was too much, too fast…
It had been five long years since she had accepted a man into her body, but even longer since she had allowed anyone to pleasure her in such a compromising way.  But he encircled her ankles like a warning—he had meant what he had said:
he would stop and never openly admit his admiration for her again
. 

Isabel closed her eyes and exhaled. 
God, how
he knew what she wanted…knew her so, so, so very well
.  Without the anonymity of the blindfold and his lingering threat to end it all, she never would have consented to being stimulated in such a risqué way.  Forceful, domineering intercourse would have been so much less personal—so much less
vulnerable—
than spreading open her legs and permitting him to
taste
her like he was tasting her now.  He fondled her clit and teased her slit with his fingers, arousing her even more, but it was the agility of his forbidden tongue that she ultimately craved.  She titled up her pelvis and gasped, raising her breath above the surface of lapping waves that threatened to drown her in sexual gratification. 
He was determined to pull her down, down, down with him
.  His tongue slid inside her again, building her up with full circles, forcing her to shudder with an exhale. 
Yes, yes, yes…
she rhythmically chanted with staccato breaths while lifting her backside, offering him to strip off her thong and remove the last barrier preventing him from accessing her completely.  But he did not accept her offer.  Instead, he countered it by placing his calming palm on her midriff—a command to slow the rapidity of her accelerating breaths.  A moment of stillness settled between them like a private acknowledgement of his determination to make her climax and her willingness to grant herself the permission to enjoy it. 
Every minute of it
.

Isabel waited, gazing into the endless darkness while absorbing the sound of his respirations, moving closer to her face. 
He was lying next to her now
.  Carefully, he secured her wrist and positioned her fingers underneath her thong, guiding her to finger herself, slowly, repeatedly, aided by his confidence and experience.  Isabel had tried to have an orgasm so many times before—by herself, alone in the midnight solitude of her bedroom, and only when she was certain her household was fast asleep and no one would interrupt her.  But every time she had tried to masturbate, she never allowed herself to betray her deepest fantasies—not even to herself—and so, it had been five long years since she had experienced anything like the start of what he was building up within her now.  He paused before repeating the strokes, as if he was watching her touch herself beneath her naughty thong, waiting for her to accept the fact this time was going to be different. 

She sensed his shifting weight lifted himself from the mattress and moving to the foot of the bed.  His strong palms encircled her knees, butterflying her open.   Slowly, he peeled back her thong and ran her own forefinger along the full length of her slit before guiding her deeper to explore her G-spot with unwavering repetition.  Isabel heaved with a quivering sigh, suddenly feeling his hot breath exhale between her legs before his tongue slipped inside her, mimicking her own rhythmic motions, devouring her with hungry, lustful swipes that unleashed years and years of longing.  Isabel shuddered with every lick as an elusive wave of gratification ebbed and flowed across her body, grounding itself into the base of her pubic bone before swelling into a violent tremble of ecstasy that made her cry out to release it. 

But she could not release it—she was at his mercy to release it for her.  He responded by bracing her ankles and burying his chin deeper against her flesh, forcing her to accept every expression of his sinful yearning into the very core of her being until her body acknowledged in that moment what her mind had tried so often to deny—that she had craved to break free from the repression and austerity of her professional life.

Isabel threw back her head against the mink pelts and raised up her pelvis, stroking herself like she wanted to prove to him that he was her only motivation and inviting his mouth to overtake her with every palpitation of his penetrating tongue.  Just before it was all too much to bear, she seized up from the bed and convulsed with an uncontrollable spasm that climaxed into a rushing arc of sexual heat and fury. She collapsed into the whooshing of satisfaction that flushed her cheeks and rolled across every inch of her being.  And then it was over. 

She sensed his presence shifting from the foot of the bed to the surface of the mattress as he lay down beside her.  The full security of his masculine body, still fully clothed, spooned her from behind.  Slowly, he removed her bustier and the blindfold, heightening her sensation of liberation.  She curled up into his body and settled her drifting mind onto the shadowed patterns of the fireplace’s receding flames.  There was only one caressing kiss along the nape of her neck that she would remember…every moment after that would be clouded from her memory by the protective gesture of his embrace and her own internal ethereal bliss that plunged her into a euphoric haze of slumber.

* * * *

The bleeping of the alarm shot through Isabel’s heart.  She rose up from the bed and glared at the red neon numbers of the clock:
6:00AM
.  She reached to shut off the alarm and shivered.  The chill in the air pricked her bare skin.  Like a Greek goddess, she wrapped the flowing white sheet around her naked body and pulled herself out of bed.  In the full unforgiving glare of early morning light, she saw all the details of the room that had been obscured from the night before—the king-sized platform bed with a Japanese painted-silk head board, contemporary bay windows adorned with floor-length sheer curtains, and the wall-mounted gas fireplace.  The rose petals, strands of pearls, and mink furs were gone, but the perfumed scent in the air and the sensation of luxury against her skin lingered with her like a lyrical dream.  She paused in front of the glass French double doors leading out into the suite and noted the stark silence beyond them, confirming what she already knew—she was alone.