Love In Handcuffs: The Secret Billionaire (Part One) (BDSM And Domination Erotic Romance Novelette) (3 page)

He pulled back from me, breaking away from the kiss last, and carefully unwrapped my legs from around his hips, settling back into a kneeling position. He smiled slightly as he brought my legs up, draping them around his shoulders and picking up his pace. I cried out again as he found my g-spot with his cock, hammering against it in quick thrusts. I was panting and gasping, my body drenched in sweat and my head swimming as jolts of pleasure fired through my nerves, blotting out everything but the sensation of his cock inside me. Then he reached down between our bodies and spread my labia, finding my clit quickly with his fingers and rubbing it in firm circles. I was gripping the sheets as tightly as possible, trying to move my hips even though he had all the leverage. I writhed and arched, wanting more than anything to feel him come, to hear him moan out as he reached orgasm. “Oh, oh—oh!” I shouted, almost sobbing from the intense pleasure as I came close to climax again so soon. The mysterious man was panting, his bright eyes closed. I could feel his cock beginning to twitch inside of me and knew he was close to his own finish. I reached out and managed to find his hand, bringing it to my mouth and slipping one of his fingers past my lips. I sucked on his forefinger as he pounded me, letting him feel my teeth graze along the tip, pretending it was his dick in my mouth instead of his finger. He let out a long, low groan, and I felt him come, a flood of sticky heat spreading up through my pussy as I followed him into orgasm, my muscles clenching around him, trying to keep him inside of me.

He fell to the bed next to me, wrapping one arm around my waist as he came to rest. My whole body was electric with pleasure, humming and buzzing like a power line in the rain. My legs, tangled up in the sheets, felt unreal—I wasn’t convinced I had bones in them still. I curled up on my side, feeling the tenderness of my pussy as something that didn’t quite matter; I felt so good all over that I wanted to laugh. “Why did you do that?” I asked him, still catching my breath. The man turned onto his side, panting from his exertions, and grinned.

“You looked like you needed it.” I giggled, feeling almost drunk from the sense of peace and satisfaction that was bone-deep. I couldn’t keep it up, though, and subsided in a pile of happy, breathless pleasure. I looked up at the mysterious man, coming out of the haze of my intense orgasm, and suddenly I found myself laughing outright. “What is it?” he asked me. I curled up on my side, towards him, and lifted myself up on my elbow, propping my head up on my hand.

“I just realized that I don’t even know your name.” The man laughed, reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. I was almost surprised at how different his eyes looked when he laughed; not as cold, more the brilliant blue of a swimming pool in the middle of summer.

“My name is Michael.” I poked him in the ribs, sitting up in the bed and looking down at him as he relaxed among the pillows.

“You know practically my whole life story,” I told him, crossing my arms over my chest. He pushed my arms away easily, reaching up to play with my breasts, running his thumb over one of my nipples slowly.

“Oh, so I understand you were born a few months ago, just before you started embezzling from your employer?” he said, a slight smile curving his lips. He gave one of my nipples a pinch, twisting it slightly and making me gasp.

“You know what I mean,” I managed to say, though Michael was doing a good job of distracting me from my point. He reached one hand down between my legs and began stroking my pussy slowly; my hips began moving almost automatically. He was watching me intently, the way I writhed between his touches. I shook my head, trying to get past the distraction of so much pleasure. “I don’t know anything at all about you, other than the fact that—at least I assume—this is your stateroom, and now that your name is—is Michael.” I gasped as he plunged a finger inside of me, his thumb rubbing my clit in firm circles.

Suddenly, he stopped; his hands left my breasts and pussy both and I unwillingly let out a little needy whimper, opening my eyes without being sure when I had closed them. Michael was still smiling, apparently enjoying the sight of me getting off from his attentions. He brought his fingers up to my lips and, without even considering it, I licked them clean, able to taste the mixture of my own fluids and his.

“You’re right. What would you like to know?” I couldn’t quite make myself think, particularly not when I noticed that he was beginning to get hard again. I shifted away from him and made myself look up at his face, instead of down at his cock.

“
Well, for starters, this
is
your stateroom, right?” Michael laughed again, throwing his head back among the pillows.

“Yes, it is. While I may be the kind to kidnap young women, I certainly wouldn’t be the kind to bring my kidnapping victims to someone else’s room.” He pulled me down next to him in the bed, his hands wandering over my body slowly. “What else would you like to know?” I considered what it was I wanted to know about this mysterious man, who was clearly not a fed—at least, if some strange course of events led to me finding it out, I had some serious leverage. But no fed would put himself in that position in the first place. While I’m certainly not bad to look at, I am far from the kind of woman any self-respecting person would risk his job over. The only reason that my boss had been so aggressive about groping me, I suspected, was that there was really nothing I could do about it, short of leaving—or so he thought.

“What do you do for a living?” I asked him. Michael’s hands were touching me all over with more than just musing curiosity. He was starting to play with my breasts again, and I could feel myself getting wet all over again.

“Oh, I’m a federal agent,” he said in such an offhand manner that I almost choked—until I started laughing. He grinned at me. “I do a lot of things, ultimately. You’ve noticed I’m not exactly poor—I run a business, a few varying interests.” He leaned in and kissed me on the lips. “If you’re going to be asking me questions, we might as well head up to the deck. It’ll be cooler, and if you’re dressed I certainly won’t be constantly distracted.” I rolled my eyes at the implied compliment, but agreed. Michael was plenty distracting enough, even when he wasn’t teasing me with his hands. I climbed out of the enormous bed and looked around for my clothes. Michael got dressed more quickly than I did, stepping over to a chest of drawers that he had apparently packed his clothes into—or more likely had someone else unpack his clothes into—and taking out a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt; it was more casual than his suit, but certainly it wasn’t jeans and a t-shirt. I got into my clothes, feeling his gaze on me as I slipped into my skirt and finished buttoning my blouse.

Chapter Three

It surprised me that I didn’t find him at all creepy. Sure, at first I had thought that he might be a creep, but even though he had basically swept me off my feet in my moment of greatest vulnerability, it felt completely natural that Michael would lead me out of the room, guiding me up to the deck to walk around as if we were a married couple. We would have to keep our conversation discreet, of course—since he had given the crewman the idea that we were married, my asking questions about his life would definitely be out of place—but we wandered around the deck, pausing every now and then to look out over the ocean. The good thing about being up against the railing was that the sound of the boat moving through the water obscured our conversation to some extent.

It was honestly interesting, learning about Michael’s life. I told myself to take his story with a grain of salt but the picture he painted was of a life that was all appearances. He was on the cruise, he told me, to get away from it. The constant pandering, the need to be on his guard at all times. He typically only slept a handful of hours per night—after all, there was always business being done somewhere in the world—and took very little time for himself in the normal course of things. “The miracle was that this cruise even happened at all. I kept waiting for someone to call me and tell me that something had gone wrong in one of the areas of my business, or that there was something that needed to be taken care of at home.” He grinned as he said that. “Fortunately, my phone is turned off, and will stay that way. Though I have to admit, noticing you and either rescuing or kidnapping you—depending on your perspective—probably saved me caving in early. If I hadn’t been intrigued by you, I probably would have gone back to my room hours ago and checked my phone.”

I told him about my life; getting my degree in liberal arts, thinking that I was going to go to grad school and become either a writer or an anthropologist, and then discovering that if I wanted to continue my education, I’d more or less have to go into enough debt that I could have bought a house for less. How I’d gotten the job I had been working for a few years now, stuck with it even though it was utterly soulless. I told him about writing in my spare time, about how I never seemed to be able to get the kind of push to do more than submit and receive rejection notices. I also told him about the incident at work that had spurred my actions. It seemed so neat and tidy, the way I explained it to him; but I knew deep down that it was more complex than I was making it out to be. I was honest enough to know that the biggest single factor in my decision to break the law and flee the country was that I was terrified that I’d be 40 years old and either still getting groped and hit on, or I’d find myself fired for some other 20-something who could be groped and hit on. And then what would the last 20 years of my life have amounted to?

Whether it was the walking, the incredible sex, or the sea air, as the older folks called it, eventually we both agreed that we were starving. Michael led me into a private restaurant onboard, and I fought against the sensation that I was underdressed. He must have noticed my moment of discomfort, because he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry; there are plenty of women who are more dressed down than you in here.” I glanced around and saw that it was true; there were some women in the designer equivalent of a nice shirt and jeans. My linen skirt-suit and heels was certainly not out of place in the tiny, intimate dining room.

Michael took the lead in ordering for us, and I tried not to laugh at the fact that the whole situation was more than a little like
Pretty Woman
. While I had taken French in high school, it had been years since I had cracked open a textbook, and there weren’t very many opportunities for me to practice the language after about my second year in college. My Spanish was much better, thankfully. The maître d’ brought us each aperitifs, a negroni cocktail and tiny one-bite canapés. I wondered briefly what I would have been eating if I hadn’t taken up with Michael; my stateroom would have let me into one of the nicer restaurants on board, but nothing so personalized, so deeply civil, as this place. There couldn’t be more than two dozen diners in the room, occupying tables with crisp white cloths, real silverware laid, crystal glasses, and low music floating through the air. Michael and I continued to chat through dinner; talking about our favorite films and music through the salad, discussing places we wanted to travel with the soup.

Course after course of food was brought to us, all perfectly seasoned and prepared, and I was torn between my enjoyment of the flavors and textures passing my lips and my fascination with Michael’s opinions about everything. Towards the end of the meal, he was critiquing the others in the dining room, some of whom he knew personally, and telling me tidbits of corporate or personal gossip. “When you have the chance to, take a look at the woman with the old man on my right,” Michael said, gesturing subtly to a couple a few tables away. I pretended to be looking around the dining room as a whole and spotted the couple he was referring to. I watched them as I took a long sip of wine. “The woman he’s here with is a Dutch prostitute. He has her on a retainer of sorts.” I tried not to choke on my wine at the revelation, and caught sight of Michael smiling.

“She must be something,” I commented, setting down my wineglass. Michael nodded, the smile still playing at the corners of his lips. I considered that, apart from the man being so old, being a companion for events like this might not be that bad. Then I got another glance at the man in question. He wasn’t completely ugly, but he didn’t seem to be the kind to take very good care of himself, either; apart from dressing well, he was running gradually too fat, and there was a puffy look about his face that looked like alcoholism. I wondered if he was even able to put the prostitute to her intended use. “She’s earning every penny.” Michael chuckled, pouring more wine for me.

Between the rich food and the copious alcohol in my system, by the time we finished dessert, my head was spinning. We stepped out onto the deck again and Michael lit a cigarette for me, though he didn’t smoke himself. The night was pitch dark around the bright lights of the ship, the ocean and sky melding together. I smoked my cigarette slowly, feeling Michael’s presence close to me all over my body; every shift of his clothing, every movement of his hand or foot, was like a pressure against my nerves in the best possible way. “We could go back up to my room,” Michael suggested quietly, his hand going to my hip. I could feel the warmth of his touch through my clothes. An errant breeze blew up my skirt and I could feel the cool ocean air against my still-wet pussy. “I have a balcony I haven’t even put to use yet.” He leaned in and kissed my neck softly, brushing his lips up to my earlobe. My heart was pounding again—but not with anxiety this time. Instead, I felt such a sudden, intense arousal that I almost couldn’t believe it. “Alternately, we could find a relatively secluded spot on the deck.” I was blushing, the blood rushing into my face. Part of me was intrigued by the possibility—and part of me was terrified. The balcony, with its mixture of seclusion and open air, was much more my speed.