The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Three (15 page)

Simon stood completely still, then slowly slithered into her, and resisting the almost overwhelming urge to fuck her hard, he closed his eyes, allowing her pulsing pussy and the scintillating vibrations to massage his cock. Moving his hands to her cheeks, he gripped them, squeezing the thick, spongy moons, and opening his eyes, stared down at the sight before him.

It was stunning in its beauty, the small black vibrating dildo nestled in her unholy cavern, her naked, round, perfect bottom framed by the black leggings and sweater, and her cunt lips, swollen around his cock, all served to create an intoxicating picture. He could sense his orgasm slowly building, and fighting the urge to pump, he slowly and lightly began to slap her full, round, beckoning cheeks.

Her pussy grabbed at him, pleading with him to move, but he didn’t, determined to climax from just the intense, tantalizing pleasure, but as the minutes ticked slowly by, he began to wonder if it was possible, then she suddenly cried out her orgasmic joy.

It happened unexpectedly, a gush of energy that traveled from her cunt, through his loins and around his cock like hot lava, and as he began streaming forth, his exclamations of release echoed through the dungeon. He could feel every inch of her, the hungry demand for his cream that would not be denied, his cock jerking of its own accord, releasing his life force, until flaccid and empty, it slipped from her depths, leaving him breathless and tingling.

Weak and giddy from his powerful climax, and unsteady on his feet, he managed to gently withdraw the buzzing dildo, and throwing it aside, dropped down, leaning back against the bench, panting heavily.

“Sir, are you all right?” she mumbled.

Carefully rising to his feet he unstrapped her binds, then softly brought her into his arms.

“I believe I’m more all right than I’ve ever been,” he managed.

With his arm around her, he led her slowly back to the bed, and climbing on the soft, forgiving mattress, they laid back, resting their drained bodies.

“How are you?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“I think I’m more all right than I’ve ever been,” she sighed.

I
t was late afternoon, and following a long nap back in their bedroom, they awoke to find the rain had stopped. Though the sun was still hidden behind ominous clouds and the air was chilly, they decided to take a hike down to Bert Walker’s cottage, and after calling ahead to make sure it was convenient, they each grabbed an umbrella, donned warm parkas and set out.

As they trudged down the wet gravel road towards the trees, Belle looped her arm through his.

“Simon, I’m curious. Why don’t you have the dungeon connected to the rest of the heating in the house?”

“It would have been a huge job, but outside of that, if something went wrong I’d have to have repairmen down there, and…”

“Aaah, right,” she grinned. “That wouldn’t be good.”

“No, it wouldn’t be good,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“It seems as if you think of everything. I wish I could do that.”

“Not everything,” he replied. “I can make mistakes just like everyone else.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” she remarked.

They started through the trees, the canopy of stark branches evidence of the season.

“I keep thinking I’m going to find a gingerbread cottage in here one day,” she giggled, “with a real live wicked witch.”

“No wicked witches here,” Simon said, hugging her.

“Just a wicked warlock named Darren Hardcastle, and an evil sister back in London,” she remarked.

“We’re not talking about that business right now, remember?”

“Ooops, sorry.”

The sound of yapping dogs caught their attention, and as they neared the cottage, two puppies, along with their mother, Bonny, came prancing up to greet them. Of the six that Belle had seen on her first visit to Chatsworth Hall, four had been adopted, and the last two were bounding towards her, one brown, the other golden.

“Mr. Sinclair, come in out of the cold, Sir,” Bert Walker called, standing in his yard. “How are you, Miss Somers, delighted to see you again.”

They hurried forward and entered the inviting living room, and to Belle’s delight, tea and scones had been set out on the table.

“This is very kind of you, Bert,” Simon declared.

“My pleasure. Clara just made those scones this morning.”

“They look delicious,” Belle remarked, realizing just how hungry she was.

“Mr. Sinclair, may I have a word?” Bert asked, tilting his head to the hallway.

“Of course, Bert. Belle, why don’t you pour the tea. We’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” she replied, reaching for a scone, and as she hurriedly spread on the butter and jam, the golden colored puppy sat next to her, looking up with large, appealing eyes.

“Oh, you are so cute. I’d give you some if I knew it was okay, but it’s human food.”

The young dog let out a small whine, and rested its chin on her leg.

“No fair, that’s way too adorable,” she giggled, stroking its head, then turning her attention back to the table, she poured out the three cups of tea.

A few minutes later, Simon and Bert returned, Simon wearing a bemused expression as he sat down.

“Is something going on?” she asked, thinking the two men were sharing an amusing secret.

“You might say that,” Simon replied.

“Am I allowed to know?” she asked tentatively.

“Since it concerns you, I would say you are,” Simon smiled. “Bert has been housebreaking and training the two pups, the brown one will be staying with him, and that golden one there, she’s yours, Belle.”

“Whaaat?” she exclaimed. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, though Henry is going to have my head,” he laughed.

“This is fantastic. I’m absolutely thrilled. Thank you. Oh, my gosh, thank you. Come here, you little darling,” she beamed, bending down and rubbing the dog who hadn’t moved from her side. “Can we take her back with us when we go home?”

“That’s why I’m telling you,” Simon declared. “We’ll pick her up on our way home tomorrow, and Bert will go over the things you need to know.”

“She was the smartest of the bunch,” Bert remarked. “Learned everything real quick.”

“What’s her name?” Belle asked.

“That’s up to you. I’ve just been calling her Goldie, because of her color.”

“Goldie sounds good to me, at least until something else pops into my head.”

The happy trio drank their tea and ate their scones, chatting happily, mostly about the dog and what they could expect, and when it came time to leave, Belle was hard-pressed not to take the lovable puppy with them. Donning their coats they headed back to the house in the quickly descending darkness, and as they passed through the trees, Belle leaned into him, thrilled with the thought of having Goldie in their home.

“I can’t tell you how excited I am,” she declared.

“The truth is, I told Bert I wanted her for you on our first visit,” he admitted.

“You’re kidding? You knew back then that you and I would be together?”

“I hoped we would be. I thought having a dog would be great company for you. I’m gone all day, and I worry about you, especially when you go on those walks of yours. She’ll be fun, and I’ll feel happier with you having a loyal dog at your side to keep you-”

“You are amazing, Simon Sinclair,” she interrupted. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve wanted a dog for ages. It’s a wonderful surprise.”

They walked up the gravel drive and into the house, pulling off their coats in the welcoming warmth.

“What are we doing about dinner?” she asked.

“Dinner has been arranged,” he answered.

“Why am I not surprised?” Belle giggled. “May I ask?”

“You certainly may, especially since the timing is just right,” he remarked. “Wait down in the living room for five minutes, then come up to the bedroom.”

“Sounds intriguing,” she winked.

He responded by kissing her lightly, then strode off towards the stairs. Wandering into the comfortable lounge, she started the fire then ambled across to the windows, staring out at the front of the house.

Tall lamps that replicated old-fashioned street lights were shedding their glow across the expansive entrance, but the grass lawns beyond were barely visible. The nights in the country were dark, and she wondered what it must have been like for the residents of the house before electricity. She could easily imagine the horse-drawn carriages pulling up, the servants in their uniforms rushing around, and the lavish balls and parties the house would have seen.

Life has changed so much,
she mused.
I think I would have liked to have been here during those days.

Realizing she’d been daydreaming and had lost track of time, she hurried from the room and trotted up the stairs, but when she entered the bedroom, she found Simon as she had been, staring out the window.

“I was just doing that,” she remarked.

“What? Looking out at the night?”

“Yes, wondering about this house, and the lives of the people who lived here a hundred years ago.”

“How odd,” he frowned. “That’s just what I was doing.”

“Maybe our connection is deeper than we thought,” she said softly.

“Maybe it is,” he smiled. “Now then, about dinner. In the first bedroom on the left down the hall are the clothes I want you to wear. You’ll shower and get dressed there, and then wait for me to tap on the door. Give me a minute to get downstairs, then you can come back to this bedroom and finish your hair and makeup. When you hear the front door chime, you’re to come down and present yourself to me in the formal reception room. You know that room? It’s off the formal dining room.”

“I do,” she breathed, slightly overwhelmed by the instructions.

“More than you expected?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, this is another wonderful surprise,” she beamed. “You’re full of wonderful surprises, Mr. Sinclair.”

“As are you, Miss Somers,” he grinned. “I would suggest a long, warm bubble bath. You have about forty-five minutes until the doorbell will ring.”

“Simon?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for all this.”

“You’re giving my life meaning, more meaning that I’d ever hoped for,” he replied quietly.
I didn’t know how alone I was until you walked into that hotel room in Beverly Hills, and swept into my heart.

A wave of emotion surged through her heart, and sighing deeply, she walked across to him and kissed him on the cheek.

“I guess I’ll see you downstairs,” she whispered.

“Yes, you will,” he whispered back.

Turning and walking from the room, she thought, I
didn’t know how alone I was until I walked into that hotel room in Beverly Hills, and you swept into my heart.

T
he dress Simon had left for her was midnight blue, very short, very tight, and made from a shimmering stretchy fabric. The shoes were high-heeled stilettos, the dark stockings weren’t plain stockings, but suspender stockings, and as she’d struggled into the dress and pulled down the hem, she discovered it barely covered the lace tops. The outfit was modern and sexy, and made her feel that way.

Back in their bedroom, having finished her makeup and hair, she was sitting nervously in the large armchair by the fireplace waiting for the chime of the front door bell, and when it echoed through the house, her butterflies burst to life. She wasn’t nervous as much as she was filled with an edgy, sexy anticipation. The morning’s ‘training’ had taken her breath away, and she couldn’t imagine what might be in store over dinner.

Deciding to take the lift, she headed down the hallway and stepped inside the cab, pulling the door closed. It was a work of art, with highly polished brass and ornate engraving, and each time she’d been inside she’d marveled at its beauty, but as it descended, all she could think about was how slowly it was moving.

When it finally reached the ground floor she took a deep breath and told herself to relax, then stepping out, she headed down the wide hallway to the formal reception room. As she drew nearer she could hear distant sounds from the kitchen; Simon was having their dinner catered.

Pushing open the door to the elegant room, aware that her nipples were straining against the fabric, and her bottom was wrapped in a way that revealed her full, round curves, she found Simon waiting by the elegant Italian mantle that surrounded the fireplace, a bottle of champagne chilling in a freestanding, silver ice bucket nearby. As he turned and faced her, she broke into a wide smile. He was dressed in a midnight blue tuxedo with a stark white shirt and navy bow tie.

“James Bond?” she grinned, stepping forward.

“James couldn’t be here tonight,” he grinned back, “just me, I’m afraid. Simon Sinclair. Care for champagne?”

“Yes, please, kind Sir,” she replied with a slight curtsy.

“You look magnificent,” he remarked, expertly popping the cork and pouring the bubbly.

“Thank you. Might I say the same about you?” she replied.

“Thank you, here you go,” he grinned, handing her the crystal flute. “Dinner will be served shortly. You will find it very French and very sexy.”

“Two ingredients for an exceptional meal,” she remarked.

“Indeed. If I may make a toast?”

“Please do,” she nodded.

“The first toast I ever made with you, do you recall what it was?”

Belle stared at him, the memory stirring.

“On the plane, when we were leaving Los Angeles. It was…may your dreams…no…may your hopes…”

“May the most you wish for, be the least you receive,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she sighed.

“As we move forward now, I again say to you, Miss Somers, may the most you wish for, be the least you receive.”

“Thank you, Simon, but I’d like to change that just a bit.”

“Be my guest,” he nodded.

“May the most we wish for, be the least we receive,” she stated.

“Well said, and I stand corrected,” he winked, and clinking glasses, they sipped their cold, sparkling wine.

“Stand a few steps back and let me look at you,” he said softly.