The Billionaire Submissive (Billionaires in Bondage) Page 8

  “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.

  She stuck her finger in the thickened cream and licked it off. “It’s a little runny after sitting in the box with a still warm cherry pie, but it tastes soooo good.”

  A sound escaped his throat that made him blush so hotly he swayed again. Dear God in heaven, did he, Donovan Morgan, CEO of Morgan Industries, actually whimper?

  “Oh, yum, look at these big fat cherries. He must have had some Bing cherries in the freezer.” She dipped her fingers into the pie plate and plucked one of those dark red cherries from the pie. “Mmmm. My favorite.”

  She spread sticky sweet cherry pie all over her lips and licked it off with loud appreciation. While he stood there watching, trying not to moan again.

  “Are you getting hard for me yet, Donovan?”

  He let out a strangled laugh. His cock was so hard he could probably use it to slice her a piece of the pie she was enjoying so much. “Yes, Mistress.”

  She folded the box down flat to protect his already stained comforter and set the pie plate on top of it. Thoughtfully
, as though she didn’t have a naked, sweating, anxiously aroused submissive standing before her, she broke off a piece of crust and nibbled it daintily. “If I remember correctly, you offended me today in your office.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” He straightened, dragging his eyes away from that wicked pie. “I did. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, using her fingers to find another big cherry. This time she tipped her head back and let the cherry fall into her open mouth. He couldn’t look away as she moaned softly, obviously enjoying the treat. Without looking at him, she went after another cherry. “You said I could punish you. You said I could use anything I wanted. Anything at all. Is that right?”

  He nodded, unsure whether he could get a word out that wasn’t garbled beyond all recognition. It’s a good thing she let me come once already, or I’d have already embarrassed myself watching her make love to the pie.

  “Do you think I’m enjoying this pie, Donovan? Then help me enjoy it even more. Come here and fuck this delicious cherry pie.”

  He stiffened, trying to get his mind wrapped around what she wanted. Like put his dick in it? Seriously? Wouldn’t she regret wasting the entire dessert?

  “You heard me.” Her voice lowered, deeper to the vibration that made his spine jangle with alarm and delight at the same time. The voice said get your butt over here now and do exactly what I told you to do. Or else.

  And he wanted the “or else”. Ached bone-deep to have the punishment. The pain that burned his skin and melted through the ice threatening to overtake him.

  But he wanted to please her too.

  “Donovan.” Her voice rumbled with warning.

  Numbly, he moved to the edge of the bed. She reached out and wrapped her palm around him, not hesitantly, not gently, but firmly enough that he rose up on his toes, painfully aware of exactly what body part she squeezed so hard. And then she lifted the pie plate and pushed the head of his cock through the warm gooey cherries.

  He’d never felt anything quite like it. It was almost like being inside a woman, without the tightness.

  She rubbed him back and forth, stirring the cherry pie to a churned-up mess.

  “That’s a pretty pitiful attempt at fucking, Donovan.” Despite her words, her voice was laced with amusement, not disappointment. “Are you going to fuck me so hesitantly? Or are you going to rear back and shove that big dick into me as hard as you can?”

  Her words shook something loose inside him. He’d never had a woman talk dirty to him before. He’d never had a woman crack open his head and look inside to see all the secret things he wanted. The things that shamed him to his core. All the secret desires he tried so hard to ignore and forget while his life iced over in the worst winter known to man. She made him look and feel and see, melting the ice inch by determined inch. And if she tells me to fuck a cherry pie while she watches…

  With a low growl, he buried his cock deep into the pie.

  “There you go. Good boy.” She released him, letting him set the pace. It was strange, weird, easily the kinkiest thing he’d ever done in his life. He had to brace a knee on the edge of the bed and tip his hips forward to get into the pie, but he managed to thrust hard enough the pie plate skidded on the box.

  Lilly braced her knee against the pie plate to give him some traction. Then she drizzled whipped cream all over him, starting from the base of his cock. It dribbled down his belly and dripped off to puddle in the stirred-up pie. White and red. Just like her dress.

  “Now that, dear boy, is my dessert.”

  He couldn’t quite believe she was going to do it. She’d clipped her hair back from her face, not as smoothly as before but enough he could see her face as she bent forward. Her lush, tempting lips parting to slide down the length of him. Her tongue licking the cherry filling, the trails of cream. She moaned her enjoyment, unafraid, uninhibited, completely at ease eating pie and whipped cream off his cock. Closing his eyes, he rocked into the warm pie, lost in the feel of her lips moving over him.

  He heard the crack before he actually felt it. The path of the blow burned in his flesh, a hard slash across the outside of his left thigh. His eyes flew open, his body tensing. Her right arm rose again, bringing the thick wooden spoon down on him again. Again.

  His breath came quicker, the pain overriding the warmth of the pie. He forgot all about the cherries, the cream, and even her mouth, at least temporarily. Punishment. What he’d craved so desperately. She hit him again and again, hard enough his eyes burned. He sucked in his breath with each blow, louder, until he groaned with the bliss of it. All from a lousy wooden spoon. He would have laughed and yeah, probably cried, if he had any breath in his body. The blows moved down his leg toward his knee, both on the opposite and the front of his thigh. Such heat. His skin burned like he’d planted the side of his body in the ovens where Dmitri had baked the cherry pie.

  She paused a moment, just long enough for him to realize she was changing her position. She pushed him off the bed to stand, abandoning the molested pie. She remained on her knees on the edge of the bed, and this time when he slid into warmth, he had the tightness of her mouth.

  Now the blows came from the left. She gripped his hips with her right hand, reaching around his left to land blows deeper on his buttocks. Yet she still managed to suck him so hard his thighs trembled with the effort of holding himself back.

  Drawing back a moment, she looked up at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth smeared with cherry. Whipped cream dotted her nose. “You can touch me, Donovan.” Until then, he hadn’t realized that he’d kept his hands locked at his sides. “When I want to keep your hands off me, you’ll know it.”

  With trembling hands, he reached out and cupped her cheek, using his thumb to wipe the cherry off. “Li—Mistress?”

  “Yes?” She smiled up at him even as she lowered her mouth toward his cock.

  “I never… I didn’t think…” Her mouth clamped on him and he couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Her hair was tangled in his hands. A blazing fist punched through his gut to bury in his spine and he arched his back, a wordless roar breaking out to drown out any sound of release he’d ever made in his life.

  Then she smacked him on the chest with the wooden spoon, directly over his heart, and he swore the last bit of ice encasing his chest cracked and broke away.

  Chapter Seven

  Panting as if he’d run a marathon, Donovan collapsed on the bed beside her, almost planting his face in the mess of cherry pie. Tenderly, she stroked his cheek. “Are you all right?”

  He cracked an eye open and muttered, “Mmmm.”

  Laughing, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and sat up.

  He forced his eyes open, throwing a hand out to snag her arm before she could get up. “Where are you going?”

  “I was going to clean up before we thoroughly destroy your bed.”

  “I don’t care about the bed. And don’t you dare throw the pie out until I have the chance to eat some off you.”

  He managed to roll over flat on his back, but he didn’t look like he was up to anything more strenuous yet. She settled back down against his side, propping her chin up on his chest so she could watch his face. Lightly, she traced her index finger over the red mark on his sternum. His hips and thighs were probably a delightful pink, but she wasn’t going to make him move to find out. “Are you sure you want to dip into that pie after what we already did to it?”

  One side of his mouth twitched up like he was trying to smile, but didn’t have the strength. “You’re probably right. I hate to waste it, though. I didn’t even get a bite.”

  She grinned. “It was very, very good. I am sorry, though. I meant to scoop out some for each of us—that’s why I sent you after dishes. I just forgot.”

  “The cream’s still good, isn’t it?”

  “Runny but tasty.”

  “Not as tasty as you will be.” His breathing evened out enough for him to watch her as carefully as she’d watched him earlier. Assessing her reactions.
Judging what to do next. He was a very astute man; she feared few of her secrets would remain once he started digging. “If that’s allowed, Mistress.”

  “I didn’t see a problem with oral sex on your questionnaire.” She kept her voice light, her eyes on his, her finger doodling on his chest. Even while aching need spread through her core. She was well used to controlling her own desire. It wasn’t often that she had a date like Donovan, a handsome, attentive man who was more than eager to figure out what would make her scream and claw his back.

  If I dare show him. It became difficult to breathe, and not because of the corset, which was more decorative than constrictive. Because if I show him…I’ll lose him as my submissive.

  “I’ve come twice tonight, both times harder than I ever dreamed possible. When are you going to come, Mistress?”

  Her hand stilled despite her determination to not show any response or weakness. “We have plenty of time.”

  “You spend one hour a week for each client making sure their submissive needs are met. Who makes sure Lilly’s needs are met?”

  It took all her will not to back away from this conversation. It wasn’t safe ground. I’m not ready to lose him so quickly. Oh, my wild sexy beast. I’d hoped to play with you a bit longer. I should have known it wouldn’t last. “The Mistress—”

  “Not the Mistress,” he interrupted. “You.”

  Stalling, she gave an experimental tug on his chest hairs. Some men couldn’t stand it. The pain was too sharp and intense, even if she was gentle. His eyes flared and his hand cupped her fingers to stop her, but she had a feeling it wasn’t because of the small pain. He’d seen through her effort to distract him.