Tied to the Billionaire(12)

It could have been the tantalising notion of his punishment that tipped the scales. It could have been the exquisite swirl of his finger around her clit. It may well have been the fact that even on the brink of his own climax, Andrew was aware of her and her desperate need. Whatever the cause, as he exploded and filled her with his spunk, she came as well, in a rainbow-tinged cataract of sensation that left her trembling and breathless.

He slumped on top of her, a welcome weight. His jism leaked from her cleft to dribble down her thighs. Her shoulders ached from pulling against the bonds. Her ass throbbed in the aftermath of her strapping. Olivia realised that her face was stretched into a silly grin. She felt ridiculously happy—no, more than happy, full of joy at the marvellous way she and Andrew fitted.

Her lover—her master, at least for the moment—stirred and moaned.

“By God, Olivia! Are you trying to kill me?”

She struggled to suppress a giggle. “Of course not, sir!”

He clambered off her, then circled around to plant an energetic kiss on her lips. “You’re an amazing woman. I had no idea…”

“I thought you said you knew, when you saw me…”

“Minx!” He leaned over to pinch a welt. “You’ll pay for your insolence. But let’s get these ropes off first.”

Her muscles screamed in protest as she brought them down to her sides. Her fingers and toes were numb. Shaking his head, he chafed her wrists and ankles to stimulate the blood flow. “My apologies. I should not have kept you tied for such a long time.” His manner was almost tender as he boosted her body onto the bed. She rolled onto her side to spare her wounded ass the friction from the bedclothes.

“I didn’t mind, sir.”

“It’s my responsibility to see that you come to no harm.”

He stretched out along her body, facing her. Caressing her cheek, he searched her eyes. “You really didn’t mind, did you?” She heard wonder in his voice.

“No, sir.” Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat. Honesty was the only alternative. “Actually, I liked it. I liked it all—the rope, the belt, the teasing, the roughness—the way you acted like you owned me.”

“What about the Russian?” Andrew’s voice caught, a signal of unaccustomed uncertainty.

“Dmitri is the past. That was more than four years ago. And I should never have trusted him. After six months together, he simply disappeared one day—taking most of my money with him, I should add.”

“Did you—did you love him?”

Olivia had the feeling her companion didn’t want the real answer, but she felt compelled to tell the truth.

“I did, at the time. He was the first person to see—well, who I am. What I want. When he left me, I thought I’d die. I spent more than one night leaning on the railing of a bridge over the Seine.”

“The bastard didn’t deserve you, Olivia.” Andrew gathered her to his chest and took possession of her mouth in a kiss that brooked no refusal. Not that Olivia had the slightest inclination to refuse.

“I agree, sir,” she continued, when he finally permitted her to catch her breath. “But—ah—do you think that I went too far with him? When I admitted what he had done to me, you seemed upset—maybe even shocked. Does it disgust you, sir?”

Andrew rolled her nipples between his fingers and pulled them into tight, throbbing peaks. “You’ve got to be joking, Olivia. I wasn’t disgusted. Just terribly envious. So many firsts that you and I will never have.”

A little thrill skittered through her. He sounded as though he was expecting their relationship to extend beyond the weekend. Olivia pushed the tempting notion out of her mind. Aside from their carnal inclinations, they had nothing in common.

However, there were still many hours before sunrise. As she snuggled in the circle of his arms, enjoying the way he dragged his nails over her breasts and down her belly, she stifled a yawn.

“Sir?” she ventured after a long comfortable silence.

He trailed his fingers through her tangled hair. “Yes, slave?”

“What about the other ten strokes of my punishment?”

Andrew MacIntyre released a hearty laugh. “Don’t worry, Miss Alcott. You’ll get everything that’s owed to you.”



Chapter Seven





“I can’t do this, Andrew. I’m sorry.”

Andrew and Olivia paused together atop the mezzanine stairway that led down to the Great Hall. Music filtered up, along with the swell and ebb of conversation. Although it was barely nine p.m., Catherine MacIntyre’s ball was already in full swing. Her guests had arrived earlier than they would have under normal circumstances, eager to survey the competition—and to catch a glimpse of the unorthodox house guest Andrew had invited to participate in the closely scripted rituals of the wealthy. Gossip had spread the news far and wide. Functions at Wavecrest were usually well-attended in any case, but no one wanted to miss tonight’s festivities.


“Of course you can.” He tucked her arm under his and pulled her body closer. The French perfume he’d bought surrounded her with an aura of roses, but underneath, he thought he caught a whiff of her feminine musk. “You look exquisite—the gown is perfection—and you’re far cleverer than any other girl attending. You’ll charm everyone.”