Training Her Curves - Geneva (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance) (7 page)

"A sterling example about the need for specific communication," he chuckled right before his head slid up and his lips formed a tight seal against my clit.

Wicked man, wicked mouth, and I loved him.

I gasped at the idea, not quite ready to entertain the reality even though I had held the thought so many times. I hadn't allowed myself to admit it for a long time. It was safe to admit it when he seemed so distant. Right now, in this bed, his tongue teasing my flesh and my body reacting with wild abandon...

Admitting I loved him was fucking dangerous.

Curling my fingers around the back of his scalp, I held him to me, surrendering to his intent to make me come again without him in me. I let the heat fan across my skin, blood infusing my breasts and face as my body tightened and I jerked against him.

A few more spastic jerks and Dylan rose onto his knees, his fingers jammed between my legs and his other hand lightly against my throat to hold me in place.

"Not enough, love," he said, his voice clogged and raw. "I want to see you come again. I want to read your surrender in those lovely blue eyes that have punished me for so long."

Those blue eyes misted even as his thrusting, grinding, twisting fingers drove me straight back to the edge of a third release. I licked my lips, nodded ever so slightly as I tried to keep my mouth from quivering.

It was odd to think that I was the one who had been punishing him, but at that moment his words felt right. He had said he loved me, called me love more than once and on different occasions. I had shielded myself, buried my heart in past hurts between us.

Even now I was holding back the words I wanted to release if only to stop the way they clawed and scratched at my throat.

"Shh..." he soothed, his touch softening. "I didn't mean to make you sad all over again, Joey."

Flattening against me, he captured the sides of my face and brushed the hair away. With a small swivel and side dip of his hips, I felt the fat head of his cock against my entrance, his whole body poised and trembling while I withheld my acquiescence -- or he thought I did.

"I love you, too," I croaked out. "I want to start over...not all the way at the beginning but from the point we can both admit we have strong feelings for one another and want to move forward...to build...something."

Even at that moment, I couldn't believe I could hold him for very long.

His head dipped, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth as his cock sank into me.

"I want to build a life together, baby," he admitted, pausing for the sweetest kiss I had ever experienced. "One that lasts as long as either of us still draws a breath."

Dylan

I slid the key into the last lock on the entry door of a Park Lane home located near the center of Dallas. The house and surrounding five acres of green space were modeled on the style of European country estates. Slate walkways, a pool, a tennis court, two putting greens, a creek with a curving stone bridge, separate lodgings for guests -- the list of what was charming and fabulous about the home was a mile long and I knew Marjolein had fallen in love with it the first time the realtor had given us the tour four weeks prior.

I stepped inside, an involuntary sigh escaping my lips as I punched in the security code.

"They took all the furniture out," Joey remarked, her feet still planted on the wrong side of the home's threshold.

As captivated as her gaze had told me she was with the home and grounds, her voiced opinion had been ambiguous, even after we were out of the realtor's presence. It wasn't the house Joey was afraid of committing to -- it was me. Two months had passed since Geneva and every single time she saw me reach into my pocket or open my briefcase or a desk drawer, she winced.

I wandered past the entry hall hoping her reluctant feet would eventually follow after me.

"Why did they take out the furniture?" she asked, stepping inside and closing the door but moving no further.

I could tell her the truth -- that I had finished purchasing the property a little over two weeks ago -- but I wasn't sure she wouldn't bolt when she found out.

"The..." I paused before I could say "owners" because that would have been an outright lie. "There were several offers, the sellers felt confident they could empty the place out."

There had, in fact, been a small bidding skirmish that took the purchase price a few million above the offer price of fifteen million. That battle had taken place in the already empty house with the sellers and realtor present, my final opponent a Russian oil baron who couldn't count on whether his rubles would have any value when he woke the next morning to another drop in gas prices.

Joey nodded, satisfied for one short moment. "The realtor just gave you the key and code? She was so insistent on being here last time."

"No furniture or electronics or million dollar paintings to safeguard," I answered with a wave of my hand around the empty space. She had finally made her way into the primary living area with its cathedral ceilings and wood beams.

"I like this room," she said softly, but her sparkling blue gaze told me she loved it.

"It's sunny, like you," I answered, my words short and quick to mask the raw feeling her distance created inside me. She had threatened me in Geneva with the purchase of a baseball bat to hit me upside the head with if I retreated -- yet here she was, holding back.

Because she thinks I'm holding back.

I cut the thought off and ambled deeper into the house, my feet carrying me in the direction of the master suite with its separate bathrooms, walk in closets and large interior den that could only be entered through the suite, affording an extra layer of privacy from any guests or children.

My stomach twisted at the idea of kids. For so long I had thought that my holdings in the company would pass to the children of my siblings or to a charity. I was overbearing as a big brother, or so Riona and Jake told me. How much worse would I be with my own child. The women who captured even a fraction of my time weren't suitable as mothers, and I had never expected to meet a woman like Joey.

A woman who had me imagining a whole house full of kids.

A woman who winced when she thought I might be reaching for an engagement ring.

Following me, Joey hesitated at the door to the master suite. "There's probably not enough time to decide if they have so many buyers lined up. A condo for you would--"

I shook my head. "I'm not buying for me, love. I'm buying for us."

"I don't know that I can decide today," she answered, her voice so soft and distant I could barely hear her.

"One last room," I suggested, my heart slamming against the back of my ribcage despite my calm exterior. For the two weeks since closing, workers had been in the house, all their attention devoted to one room, the large den contained within the master suite.

Walking toward the door, I looked at her over my shoulder.

"That's just the study, isn't it?" Her brows furrowed. "It doesn't even have windows."

I didn't answer, just slipped through the door, with its own deadbolt and a security panel inside. I moved to the opposite end of the room, dodging a draped table, to where a sturdy, oversized leather couch had been placed. I didn't sit down, just looked at the framed image attached to the wall. There were more photographs around the room. I had placed them all myself, denying the workers the pleasure.

Marjolein filled the frames, images of her that had been taken during the catalog and advertising shoots. The photos didn't make it to print. Most of them were candid shots Rick Wells had taken when she wasn't looking. Others, like the one above the couch, were posed but deemed far too sensual for advertising despite her lush body being clothed, not even the outline of a nipple visible beneath the gauzy fabric unless you looked really long and hard.

I had looked long and hard -- and often.

A gasp behind me revealed Joey's presence.

"You already bought the house..."

Her stunned tone made me relax. I had expected an accusatory edge to her words, one that might be looming if I didn't carefully handle the situation.

"Yes, because you love it," I answered then twisted the imaginary knife in my chest a little harder. "And I love you."

"This is a playroom," she whispered.

Unable to read her mood any longer just by listening, I turned to look at Marjolein. Her eyes had gone wet, something that happened every other time we came together, which was not often enough with my living in a hotel suite and her staying in her little apartment despite all my offers and protests.

I knew bringing her here would be the end of our current impasse, I just didn't know which way the outcome would swing -- us together, my ring on her finger, or the annihilation of my dreams and my eventually going back to the man I had been before I met her.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She wasn't moving into the room and I couldn't get my feet to work.

"It is a playroom," I responded, frustration twisting my words until they sounded harsh. I tried to soften my tone. "But it can be any kind of room you want, a study again, a studio, a nursery..."

Her lips quivered and I found my legs again. I rushed across the room and wrapped my arms around her before she could think to flee. "Baby, please tell me what's wrong. How can I fix it when you pretend everything is okay?"

She buried her face against my shoulder, her answer muffled. "You made this room but you don't want to play with me."

Tension squeezed my chest. It wasn't that I didn't want to play with her, I just didn't trust myself. Before Geneva, I had imagined my mark on her, the imprint of my hand that would fade in a few seconds, the thin line of flesh kissed by a flogger that would be gone before the after care was complete. I was a master of such things, exercising consummate control -- with women I cared nothing for beyond an hour of their time and their bodies.

What if I made a mark on Joey that didn't fade?

What if she didn't enjoy the ones that did?

Unschooled in protocol, she already had tried to initiate play, but did she really want it?

Swallowing the bitter, unfamiliar bile of anxiety, I knotted my fingers through her hair and tugged lightly until she had to quit hiding from me and meet my gaze.

"I want you and I want you so badly I'm afraid I'll lose control. I worry that you only want me to play with you because you think I can't do without it."

The words were simple enough to say. Waiting for her response was pure hell and the reason why I hadn't dared to say them until I was on hanging by one finger at the precipice of losing her.

Again, if this was love, I wasn't sure I liked it. Love turned me into everything that had been the opposite of growing up Kehoe. Anxious, afraid, no confidence in my decisions. If my father had been alive, he would have disinherited me, stripped me of my last name and tossed me onto the streets.

"I want to know what it's like," she said, the blue gaze boring into my skull like a laser. "I want to know if it's something we can enjoy together, that will draw us even closer or push us apart."

Tears overtook her eyes, ran in fat streams down her cheeks as her throat clogged with pain.

I had to let go of her or risk hugging her so tight I cracked a rib. Stepping back, I brought my hands to my sides.

"Remove your blouse," I ordered.

Marjolein

Dylan's command took me by surprise. I thought I had encountered every version of his voice there was to hear -- big brother, CEO, cold negotiator, boss, bored, aroused, seemingly indifferent, distracted, spreadsheet excited, rugby finals excited, cranky and in need of a nap...

The man had more voices than he had bank accounts, but this one had never revealed itself to me.

"Don't make me repeat myself," he said and a shivery thrill ran up from my pussy to my nipples before it exploded hot across my cheeks.

My fingers jumped to the edge of my top. My elbows felt like they had gyroscopes inside -- unbalanced gyroscopes that made my arms wobble in impossible directions as I inelegantly pulled the material over my head.

I dropped my hands, one still clutching the blouse, to my side and looked at him. More heat seared me, his gaze so intense I worried that he had spoken again and I had missed another command because of the pounding surf of blood traveling past my eardrums.

"D-did you say something?"

He shook his head, his eyes and their line of focus fixed in place.

I had a moment's panic that I was doing this all wrong. The women Dylan had paid possessed poise and grace and bodies that most models would envy. Would the oversized curves that he seemed to enjoy so much in the bedroom be different in a playroom? Would he like the feel of his open palm against my bottom or feel like he'd just slapped the top of a bowl full of jelly?

A vision of Alexa washed the anxiety away. Not that we had much in common physically beyond our weight, but she had been almost as inexperienced as I was in the role of submissive when she first met Jake. For Jake, at least, the authenticity had been part of the appeal.