The Billionaire Submissive (Billionaires in Bondage) (10 page)

“I took a bus.”

The thought horrified him. Sexy, curvy Lilly riding a stinky public bus. God forbid in those incredible heels. “You will not ride the bus again.” He put all his considerable power into his voice, making it vibrate low and mean. If he’d spoken to his secretary like that, Miss Wruthers would have fainted. Or screamed and then fainted.

Lilly snorted. “Are you going to come get me every time I need to see you?”

“Yes. If that’s what it takes to keep you off the bus. Good lord, woman, don’t you know what kind of perverts and sickos ride the public buses? What happened to standard operating safety procedures?”

“Of course I know. That’s how I practice my ultra-mean Mistress glare. Besides, I also carry pepper spray and I’ve taken every self-defense class offered at the community center.” She leaned over and pressed against him as much as the seatbelt would allow, rising up to whisper in his ear. “Believe it or not, I know a trick or two about how to take a man down. Even one who’s mean, crazy and outweighs me by a hundred pounds.”

He could only imagine the many ways she’d be able to bring him down. Clearing his throat, he concentrated on the road ahead. They were crossing the river now, so they’d be at his condo in less than five minutes.
I can hold on that long.
“Don’t ride the bus again.”

“Yes, dear,” she laughed softly. “If that will make you feel better.”

“Infinitely better. I’ll send a car to get you if I can’t come myself. And you’re not driving yourself home tomorrow. I’m going to have a tow truck haul this poor, neglected car to the mechanic’s and we’ll go up to Lake Minnetonka for the rest of the weekend.”

He thought she might bristle at his heavy-handed decision, but she simply snuggled against him. “That sounds nice.”

He pulled into the parking ramp and rolled down the window so the attendant could see his face. “Hi, Charlie. I need a spot to park my guest’s car tonight.”

“You got it, Mr. Morgan.” The attendant handed him a ticket to place in the window. “Take the spot next to yours.”

The bar raised and he drove through the lower level, circling around until he came to his Jaguar.

“You make it sound so easy,” Lilly said without lifting her head. She almost sounded sleepy. “The bar never goes up for me.”

He parked the car and turned off the engine, but he didn’t open the door. Not yet. He didn’t want to break the spell. He hadn’t seen this side of Lilly yet. The softer side that would allow him to take care of her for a change. Take her to his lake home. Do things for her she couldn’t or wouldn’t do for herself.

Would she let me whisk her off for a shopping spree in Paris? Sail around the world?

Carry her into my home?

“We’re here,” he whispered against her head, smelling the sweet vanilla scent of her hair.

“I know,” she whispered back.

Gently, he tipped her chin up to his and stared into her eyes. She looked up at him with desire and amusement, a teasing, honest light in her eyes. The light he’d distrusted before.

Before I knew she was real.

“May I carry you upstairs to my bed, Mistress?”

“Yes,” she answered simply, no demands in her eyes or her voice. “Donovan.”

He got out of the car, gathered her gift from Dmitri’s, and then swung her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her head up beneath his chin. “I hope I’m not too heavy for you.”

He laughed, even though he wanted to throw himself down on his knees and swear to follow her to the ends of the earth. “You did eat a lot for dinner. I might not make it up to the penthouse.” And then to himself, he made a solemn promise in his heart.
The bar will always go up for you, Lilly. I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter Six

He was true to his word. He carried her to the elevator, shifting her slightly so he could press buttons and unlock doors, but then he carried her straight to his bed. She didn’t even try to look around at his home until he set her on the edge of his bed and stepped back to look at her. She curled up on her side, propping her head up on her elbow, and simply watched him. No orders. No expectation. No guide from her. She simply wanted him to act without thought, because that would be what he needed the most at this moment.

Breathing hard—and not from the exertion of carrying her, because all the way upstairs he’d been fine—he shrugged off his coat and laid it across an easy chair in the corner. He pulled the tails of his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoned it. She thought he was trying for a slow, meticulous strip tease, but by the time he got to the last button, his hands were shaking.

He paused a moment, dark eyes flickering toward her where she lay on his bed. “Aren’t you going to do the same? Mistress?”

She smiled, lazily kicking her foot back and forth off the edge of the bed. He tracked the movement like a dog chasing a tennis ball. “Eventually. I’m having too much fun watching you.”

He took off the shirt, revealing the darkly tanned, sculpted lines of his upper body. Somewhere, he went without his shirt a great deal, and he did enough exercise or physical work to cover every inch of him in lean slabs of muscle. Black hair curled across his chest, a nice mat she’d have fun with later.

His hands went to his trousers, but he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Poor boy must be on the edge again.
This is going to be a night he’ll never forget if he’s ready to come just from me watching him take off his clothes.

Relenting a little, she decided to ask him a few questions to distract him enough he could get his pants off. “You said you had limited experience. How many scenes have you done? How many Mistresses have you played with?”

“Casual stuff at a club, ten, maybe twenty times. I’m not too comfortable in a public setting, even the more private rooms at the club.”

Calmer, he managed to unbutton his trousers. The black material slid down his thighs, revealing skin as tanned as his upper body. He wore silk boxers, but she had a feeling he’d be tanned underneath too. Yum. Where did he do this deliciously naked tanning? The same dark hair sprinkled his long, powerful thighs. He kicked off his shoes and lifted each foot to pull off his socks. God, he even had sexy, gorgeous feet, well manicured and perfectly shaped, almost as elegant as his hands.

“A so-called Mistress who wanted to do a strip tease for me in pleather boots and latex while waving a fake crop around? Once. I learned my lesson. A real Mistress away from the club? You’re my first.”

Oh dear. No wonder he’s wound so tightly.
As a submissive, Donovan Morgan was pretty much a virgin. “Have you ever been punished so hard you came?”

His cheeks flushed but he gave her a stiff nod. “Twice. Each time at a club. I never went back to either place.”

“Why not?” She rose up into a sitting position. “There’s no shame in the natural need of your body, Donovan.”

“I was afraid…” He dragged both hands through his hair until he looked like a wild man with a scrap of silk around his hips. “I was afraid people would remember me.”

“How quickly you came.”

He nodded again, averting his gaze. His cheeks darkened with shame to the point that his eyes looked bruised.

The male ego was a fragile thing, especially this male’s, her delightfully arrogant and bossy submissive. She didn’t dare laugh, his greatest fear, even though she thought it very sweet and naive that he’d been so embarrassed.

She turned her attention to her clothing. One of the things she’d loved about this dress was the line of buttons down to the waist. She undid a few to reveal the cherry-red corset she wore beneath, which immediately snagged his attention.

“Some men measure their virility by the size of their dick.” He flinched at the coarse language, even though his nostrils flared and the front of his boxers was nearly screaming with pressure. Evidently where he’d grown up, ladies didn’t curse.
Boy is he in for a surprise.
“How’s your size, Donovan? Are you going to measure up? Show me. Show me what you’ve got under those pretty undies.” His shaking hands immediately went to the silk, but she interrupted. “Come closer. Give me a good look.”

He did so, shoving the silk down as he halted in front of her.

“Nice, very nice, Donovan. You’ve passed the first test. When I let you fuck me, you’re going to fill me up good, aren’t you?” She leaned down like she was going to touch him and he sucked in a harsh, shaking breath. “I’d say you’re about nine inches. Very impressive. Nice and thick too. We’ll measure again when you’re fully erect. I think I can get more length and thickness in you after a little torment.”

“Ten,” he ground out. “Mistress.”

She smiled and looked up at him coyly. “Some men measure their virility by how long they can endure an erection without coming. What do you think, Donovan? How long can you last if I put my mouth on you?”

His breath whistled through his teeth, his chest heaving. “Not long at all, Mistress.”

“Some submissives have it in their head they have to take a lot of punishment before they come. They think it makes them more manly, more impressive.” She reached back and undid the rhinestone alligator clip she’d used to temporarily tame her hair. She shook the mass forward, deliberately dragging all that silky length against his aching cock.

His hips surged, his hands fisted, and he threw his head back, veins cording in his neck as he fought to restrain himself.

“What these submissives fail to realize is how exciting it can be as a woman, a Mistress, to know how powerful we are. That the submissive wants us so badly that he can’t control himself without our help and comes at the slightest touch. Not once but over and over at his Mistress’s command. Every time she turns around and asks if he’s ready, he can and will be erect for her pleasure. Is that you, Donovan? If I touch you now, will you come at my command?”

“It won’t take a touch,” he ground out, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Then show me.” She sat back so she could see his face. “Come, Donovan. Come for me.”

He barely managed to turn his hips aside enough so he didn’t come all over her sexy dress. Evidently he didn’t know jack about what a Mistress—this Mistress, at least—would expect, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate having to wipe his sperm off her chest or face. Though his five-thousand-dollar comforter would never be the same.

Panting, he finally opened his eyes, surprised to find he’d managed to stay on his feet. He’d never come so hard before. Spots danced before his eyes and he swayed.

Lilly braced a hand on either side of his hips, helping him keep his balance. “Good boy, Donovan. You did exactly as your Mistress asked. The real test will be later when I ask you to be ready for me. Are you going to be able to get hard again? Come again?”

“Any time you want, Mistress,” he ground out. Agreeing with his words, his cock stirred, still starved for her attention.

She gave him a swat on the ass, hard enough that he jumped. “Good. I’m assuming your kitchen is better equipped than mine?”

Maybe all the blood was still in his groin because he couldn’t get his brain to follow her train of thought. “Probably?”

“Fetch me two dishes, two spoons and the biggest, stoutest wooden spoon you have.” She slapped his ass again. “Pronto. I suspect that Dmitri concocted something very decadent for us to sample. It’d be a crime to let it go to waste.”

He headed for the door, his mind still fuzzy. Was she actually going to stop and eat dessert? Now? After he’d just come at her command? And what the hell was she going to do with a big freaking wooden spoon? He hoped for some punishment, but kitchen implements had never crossed his mind. Plus, he couldn’t help but remember that one of the options on the sexual interest questionnaire had been anal. Both the giving.

And receiving.

“Donovan,” she called after him, her voice soft and rich with laughter. “You’ve got a very nice ass. I’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off it.”

He growled out loud but did as she told him. Fine white china dessert plates, two silver spoons and one wooden spoon, the handle as thick as his thumb. He was cursing himself in every language he knew by the time he got back to the bedroom, but he froze at the sight awaiting him.

Mistress L had removed her dress and sat in all her sinful undergarment finery on his bed. Corset and stockings. And nothing underneath. Posed, naturally, so he could see every single glorious detail.

He’d known about her penchant for going commando after the incident in his office. And yeah, the thought had crossed his mind only a thousand times throughout the evening. A million. But the reality seared his brain to ash. He’d even known she kept her pussy shaved after she’d let him touch her.

But
seeing
that pink, moist flesh was an entirely different ballgame.

“Bring the box from Dmitri’s too. I can’t wait to see what he sent us.”

He handed her all the kitchen items and retrieved the box. At her nod, he opened it and couldn’t help but smile. “Cherry pie.” There was a lidded container inside, too. He lifted it out and gave it to her, unsure what it was. Ice cream? But it would have melted already. What did she like to eat on pie?

Whipped cream. The real stuff.