The Billionaire Submissive (Billionaires in Bondage) Read online

  “I can take more, Mistress.”

  Panting, she shoved her wild hair out of her eyes. “But I can’t. Condom?”

  He lay flat on his back, eyes blazing, cock pointed toward the ceiling. Though it twitched toward her when she spoke. “You saw my medical test. It’s up to you.”

  Her brain told her to get off the bed and dig around in the bedside table for protection. Just because they were both clean and she was most definitely on the pill didn’t mean they needed to share that level of intimacy and vulnerability. She’d never taken a man without a condom because she’d known it couldn’t last. She’d either been the calm, controlled Mistress or the passionate, lusty wench Lilly but she’d never been able to be both at the same time.

  Until now.

  “I’m not sharing you,” he growled out in his most forbiddingly arrogant voice meant to send weaker women away in tears. Even flat on his back and used by his Mistress until she’d feared he’d suffocate, he still managed to challenge her. “There’s no one else for me. No one but you.”

  Flinging her body at him, she crawled up his legs and seated his cock deep in one hard thrust. His hands clamped down on her thighs and he arched beneath her, pushing up as deep as possible. She didn’t give him any quarter, squeezing with her muscles as hard as she could. She dragged his hands up to her breasts spilling over the corset and he didn’t need encouragement to squeeze her as hard as she gripped his cock inside her. Without lifting her hips, she rocked her pelvis, rubbing her clit against the base of his cock, tiny little circles designed to drive them both higher, to the very edge of a precipice she could usually only dream about.

  “Mistress.” It was the same plea he’d given her at Dmitri’s. Half question, half SOS.

  “Grip the headboard so I can fuck you in earnest.”

  He released her breasts and wrapped his palms around the sleek chrome of his very modern slatted headboard.

  She rose up, pulling herself up the length of his cock until just the tip throbbed inside her. “Hold on for dear life, Donovan. When I come, you come. Not before.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” His voice quivered, but his eyes still held the fire of determination. He’d do what she told him or die trying.

  Closing her eyes, she threw herself headlong off the edge. She braced her hands on his chest and rode him hard, slamming her hips down on him over and over, faster, pushing herself to the very edge of her strength and endurance. Her thighs ached, her pussy throbbed, filled with him so deep it felt like he’d punch a hole through the other side. Sweat burned her eyes, her lungs on fire. And it still wasn’t enough.

  Until he roared out her name.

  Digging her fingers into him, she let her head fall back as every barrier in her mind came down. It was like leaping out of an airplane without a parachute. Soaring without a net. She lost all sense of direction, tumbling, spinning out of control while her body convulsed with his. She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t catch herself this time. She was going to fall hard.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered against her ear.

  He wrapped himself around her, a cocoon of hot, delicious living flesh tangled with hers so she couldn’t tell where he started and she ended. They were sweaty. Caked in cherries and whipped cream. And she was too tired and sated to care.

  Chapter Nine

  Donovan took one look around his bedroom and decided he’d better invest in a top-notch housecleaning company. And probably an electrician, he added, noting the reading lamp. It hung askew, dangling from wires out of a hole in the wall.

  Also a furniture chain, because he’d bent the decorative bars of the headboard.

  The comforter wasn’t salvageable.

  The off-white carpet probably wasn’t either, because the cherry pie on the floor resembled a horrendous murder scene.

  The lady who’d created such a mess was sprawled sideways in his bed. Her hair had driven him nuts, tickling his nose and getting in his mouth every time he rolled over. She was a blanket thief and bed hog and slept like the dead.

  And he’d never been happier in his life.

  Grinning, he returned to the kitchen and poured a cup of freshly brewed coffee. He wasn’t sure what she liked for breakfast and he certainly wasn’t Dmitri, but he had toast, fresh fruit and scrambled eggs on a tray for her.

  He sat on the edge of the bed by her head. “Good morning, sweetheart. I thought we’d get an early start for Lake Minnetonka today. I want to take you out on my boat.”

  Nothing. Not a blink, not a groan, not even a twitch. He set the tray on the bedside table and threw open the curtains, letting bright sunlight stream in.

  “Fucking bastard,” she growled, drawing a blanket over her head. “Go away.”

  “The sooner we get to the lake house, the sooner I can take you out on the boat.”

  “I fucking hate boats. What time is it?”

  “Six.”

  “What kind of motherfucking sicko bastard gets up at fucking 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning to get on a fucking boat?”

  She said she wasn’t a morning person, but damn. This is extreme. “Evidently this one. But I never fucked my mother. Just you.”

  He tugged the blanket down off her head and she shrieked. “Don’t look at me! My hair’s a mess in the morning!”

  She clutched at the blanket but he dragged it completely off the bed, leaving her drawn up in a ball in the middle, still in the sexy red corset. How the hell had she managed to sleep in it? The material was twisted around and halfway down her waist. Groaning like she was dying, she finally managed to sit up. Her hair frizzed out in all directions like she’d stuck a finger in the light socket and he was pretty sure the knotted mess on the side of her head was a smashed-up cherry. Yet when she caught him looking at her, she couldn’t care less about her breasts hanging out of her top. She was too worried about trying to smash down her hair.

  Fighting to keep a straight face, he said, “It’s not that bad. I’ve seen worse.”

  “Ugh. I hate you. I hate sunlight. I hate mornings. I hate everything until I’ve had a fucking cup of coffee. Why—?”

  Solemnly—despite his twitching lips—he offered the steaming cup. “I hate you too, sweetheart. Last night was awful. Horrible. Nightmare inducing. I’ll never be the same.”

  Huddled around the cup like it was her last precious lump of coal on a wintry snowy day, she finally cracked a smile. “Yeah, it was pretty damned good, wasn’t it?”

  “No, it was great.” Actually, great didn’t even come close to what he’d felt last night. She’d given him everything he’d ever dreamed about and a million more he hadn’t even dared hope for. And this is just the beginning.

  Awed, humbled, and yeah, a little scared of the intensity of his attachment to her already, he changed the subject. “If you can’t cook, how do you do coffee?”

  “I have a pod machine and a thing called a coffee shop. Have you heard of it?”

  “For shame.” He let horror twist his face. “A pod machine doesn’t produce coffee. That’s merely brown water. Now this is a cup of coffee, freshly ground Jamaican Blue Mountain brewed to perfection.”

  “In a pot that probably cost more than my car.”

  He smiled. “Guilty as charged. Do you want to take a shower now or when we get to the lake house?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t go anywhere looking like this. I don’t even have any clothes other than my dress and that’s the last thing I feel like putting on at six on a too-fucking-bright Saturday morning when I’m supposed to be sleeping for another four or five hours.”

  “You can sleep in the car on the way, or on the boat. Hop in the shower and I’ll rustle you up some clothes.”

  She narrowed a glare on him that made every single tender spot she’d left on his body sit up at full attention. “You will not give me some other woman’s clothes you might have lying around.”

  She assumed he’d had a string of women in and out of his bed who’d just happened t
o leave their wardrobes behind? Stiffly, he stood up to give her some privacy. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Still suspicious, she tugged and worked the corset around so she could unsnap the front. Watching her, his momentary irritation faded away. Her luscious breasts swayed, making his mouth water. Maybe she’s right. We should just stay in bed this morning. We can hit the lake house later…

  “Don’t even think about it,” she retorted fiercely, but the light in her eyes and the reluctant curve of her lips told him her mood was improving. “I’m a stinky, tangled-up mess with wretched morning breath. And I’m sorry I offended you. I know you better than that now.”

  He smiled and took a step back toward the bed, sure he could convince her otherwise. “I took the liberty of ordering some clothes for you as soon as you agreed to come to my place after dinner. I’m a pretty good judge of size but the tags are still on if you don’t like anything or they don’t fit.”

  “I knew you were a creepy nutcase.” Laughing, she leaped up and fled toward the bathroom before he reached her. “And I still hate you for getting me up this fucking early.”

  “You sure do curse a lot.”

  She popped her head back out the door, her forehead creased with the first hint of uncertainty he’d seen from the confident Mistress. “Does it bother you?”

  He snorted. “About as much as those swats you gave me. Of course it doesn’t offend me.”

  Her lips quirked and her brow smoothed out. “Then maybe I’ll give you a fucking swat on that gorgeous ass of yours every time you make me curse. Deal?”

  He couldn’t suppress the shudder that rocked through him. After last night, he wanted more. So much more. We’ll just see how much I can make that luscious mouth curse, then. “Deal. But no wooden spoon.”

  “Got it. No fucking wooden spoon. How about a fucking crop? Would that work for you, Your Majesty? We’ll have to stop by my place and get it.”

  His skin tightened at the thought. He’d had a crop used on him before and he’d come after just a handful of blows. “Sure. We can pick up anything else you want.”

  “Like my dog.” She shut the door so she thankfully missed the way he winced. He wasn’t much of an animal person. Or a kid person, for that matter. They made too many messes and were too noisy.

  Looking around again at his destroyed bedroom, he had to smile. Maybe he could get used to messes. And he’d certainly enjoyed a lot of noise last night.

  He heard the shower turn on and she raised her voice so he could hear through the door. “Start the fucking count, you sexy beast.”

  “One!”

  Waiting while Lilly unlocked her front door, Donovan could barely contain his curiosity. Would her bedroom look any different from the rest of the house? After last night, he’d be terribly disappointed if her bed was average. If the color was beige. The woman who’d half destroyed his room last night deserved better than a boring traditional bedroom.

  She paused a moment and for once, the Mistress looked hesitant. “I don’t let a lot of people into my bedroom. So it’s a bit of a mess.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She flashed a grin at him, the saucy one that made him want to chase after her like a bull in a ring. “I’m a terrible slob. It might be more than your delicate sensibilities can withstand.”

  He let out a huff and pushed her door open. “Delicate sensibilities my ass.”

  She pressed against his back and gave said backside a very firm squeeze. “Mmmm, no, I believe it’s my ass now. Just don’t be horrified.”

  Letting him lead the way down the only hallway where her bedroom could be in such a small townhome, Lilly pointed to the door on the right. “My room. Across the hall is the Mistress’s room.”

  Did she really think they were two separate personalities? “You have a separate room for the Mistress?”

  She pushed open the door on the left. “The things Mistress L needs are completely different from what Lilly needs. I keep all the equipment in here. My toys, the traditional Dominatrix clothes, the fetish shoes.” Indeed, she had drying racks lined up in the small bedroom holding various outfits of mostly black latex. Hip boots heavy with straps and buckles. A table holding all kinds of paddles, flails and the aforementioned crop. “See anything that strikes your fancy, lover boy?”

  “The crop is enough for me.”

  “You don’t want any of the clothes?”

  “Let me see your bedroom first.”

  With a shrug, she twisted the other door handle and pushed open the door. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to pack a bag of toys for the weekend. I guess I’ll just surprise you. But if you see something you want me to bring, grab it.”

  Her bedroom was so dark he couldn’t see anything but the vague shape of her bed. Given her penchant for sleeping late, she probably loved the dark cave-like feeling of the room. Fumbling around on the wall, he flipped the light switch.

  Finally, color. No beige in Lilly’s bedroom. The coverlet on her bed was a brilliant scarlet. No surprise there. But what did surprise him were the colorful pillows on the bed, all bright jewel tones and different sizes, from royal purple to peacock blue to sunshine yellow. The fabrics were all sumptuous and rich, velvets and satins, a mix of textures to please her sensual side. The curtains were heavy brocade in a rich forest green, floor to ceiling, and instead of just covering the window, she’d lined the entire wall, increasing the feeling of a cave. Actually, no, it was more like a tent. A sultan’s exotic tent in the desert.

  The rest of her home was tidy and plain, but she wasn’t exactly messy here. Not like she’d warned. She was just more careless. More open. More herself. The suit she’d worn to his office was thrown on the floor in the corner along with the ugly shoes. An appropriate place for clothes she obviously cared very little for. A pair of jeans were laid out on her bed, as if she’d planned to wear them as soon as she got home. Naturally he grabbed them for her, along with a pair of tennis shoes she’d left at the foot of the bed.

  Her bathroom was fairly Spartan in the feminine category, at least in his experience. No racks of perfumes, only a small makeup bag of mostly natural products. A variety of hair products lined the counter, but no lotions or perfumes. He’d hoped to find a clue to what her favorite scent was, but none of her things had fragrance. She’s sensitive or even allergic. Better avoid any smelly gifts until I know for sure.

  “So am I disowned as a messy hoarder?”

  “Hardly.” He turned and looked at her. She had her hip cocked, resting against the doorway with a black bag in her hand. “Do you need to grab any of this?”

  “Sure, I can just throw it into this bag. I see you found my jeans. That’s about all I wear when I’m home.”

  “Sounds good to me, though you might get hot on the boat.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Donovan. Do you even own a pair of jeans?”

  “Of course I own jeans.”

  “But have you ever worn them?”

  “Do you think I walk around in Armani suits all the time?”

  She let her gaze flicker over his body, noting the shorts and T-shirt he wore now. “No. But I’m guessing you’d burst into flame if you tried to put something on that wasn’t by a designer. The outfit you’re wearing now costs more than everything in my closet except for my favorite stilettos.”

  “I thought you said you got them at a yard sale.”

  She laughed and headed back to the bedroom. “I’ve been known to tell a fib or two.”

  He snorted, pausing at the closet door that revealed a wide array of beautiful heels, all at least three inches high. “I’m glad to see you don’t own any heels. I wouldn’t want you to lose your balance or anything.”

  She flashed a smile over her shoulder. “Let me grab Hank’s stuff and I’m ready to go.”

  “Hank the dog?”

  She pushed open the slider door and let Hank inside. Very well-mannered, he didn’t jump on her or even bark at her guest, though his tail wagged so
hard he spilled his water bowl. Donovan had no idea what kind of parentage the dog claimed, though certainly some kind of long-haired breed. “Donovan, this is Hank. Hank, this is my sexy new lover boy. Better get used to smelling him all over me.”

  The dog sniffed her hand and then trotted over to sniff Donovan’s leg. Part of him braced for the dog to hike a leg and whiz all over him, an alpha marking his territory. But the dog gave a yip and then followed his mistress to the utility closet where she stored his food and dog toys.

  She hauled out a large bag of food, a mesh bag holding at least a dozen balls, and a box of dog biscuits. Easily more things for the dog than for the woman. “Can you grab his bed? I forgot to get it. It’s over by the sliding glass door.”

  “Sure.” At least he wouldn’t have pet hair all over his sheets. Though he’d sleep in the dog’s house if she told him to. “Anything else?”

  “Can the trunk of your fancy car hold all this?”

  “Of course. The bigger question is whether Hank gets car sick.”

  She frowned. “He might. Though I might too. I don’t do well in cars for long distances.”

  “Lake Minnetonka’s not far. Less than an hour.”

  “Okay. We should be fine.”

  Outside, she helped him load everything into the trunk. Donovan opened the back door of the Jag but she took one look at the leather seats and grabbed the dog’s collar before he could jump into the car. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  I can’t wait until she can grab and control me like that. Donovan had to drag his gaze away with a brutal shake. Idiot. Jealous of a dog. “Of course it’s a good idea. We’ll have a very, very good time.”

  She heard the thickness in his voice and her lips twitched. “Are you sure? Maybe I should just stay here and get to work on your design for the windows.”

  “Don’t you dare tease me, Miss Harrison.”

  “All right, Mr. Morgan. But Hank rides in the front with me between my knees.”