“I need you,” I moaned as he pulled me up onto my knees, positioning my pussy where he wanted it. “I need you inside me.” I needed to feel him penetrating me deep, for him to complete me.
He entered me in one hard thrust, stretching me ruthlessly. “Mine,” he snarled, driving into me in harsh, fast strokes. This wasn’t slow seduction, but it was our own particularly dark brand of lovemaking. My pleasure crested as his cockhead dragged across my g-spot, delicious tension coiling low in my belly. His hand fisted in my hair at my nape, pulling my head back sharply so I was forced to arch into him. At the same time, he pinched my clit.
I screamed and shattered, my inner walls fluttering around him as he roared out his own release. His cum branded me with the heat I loved so much.
He held me in place as he emptied his seed deep inside me, keeping our bodies locked together as we both rode out the last of our ecstasy.
When he finally pulled out, he collapsed onto the bed and draped me over his chest so he could cuddle me and pet me. He needed to touch me as badly as I needed to be touched.
We lay there for several minutes, catching our breath while our fingers explored the lines of each other’s bodies. After a while, I trailed my hand down his abs, making my way to his cock. It jerked beneath my soft touch, his desire for me rising to meet my own craving for him.
He sat up, propping his back against the pillows as I straddled his hips and guided him inside me once again. He hissed out a long breath as I slowly lowered myself onto him.
“Te amo, mí sirenita,” he said on a rough whisper. “Te amo.”
“I love you, my Master. My Andrés.”
I leaned into him and captured his lips, claiming him as he’d claimed me. Andrés was mine, and I would never let him go.
* * *
She was brought into my home when we were teenagers, her virgin body sold to my father to pay a debt. She became the only light in my dark criminal underworld, and I couldn't help loving her.
Read Stealing Beauty HERE>
Sexiest Billionaire
By
Sierra Cartwright
Chapter One
What in the actual fuck…?
Jaxon Mills froze. The woman who’d just pushed through the frosted-glass door that separated the reception area of the Quarter from the main dungeon resembled his biggest investor’s only daughter.
He shook his head. It couldn’t be her.
As far as he knew, Willow Henderson was tucked away at an expensive New York college earning a master’s degree in social work. She sure as hell couldn’t be standing in the middle of one of New Orleans’s most exclusive BDSM clubs.
But holy hell, the resemblance between the two was startling, at least on the surface.
Both were tall and slender. Each time he’d seen her, Willow’s hair had been in a messy bun. She dressed in soft, comfortable jeans, often with artistic rips in the fabric, and tank tops beneath long-sleeved men’s shirts.
She was very different from the woman who paused to watch a submissive receiving a flogging on a nearby Saint Andrew’s cross.
He lowered his sparkling water to the table as he swept his gaze over the look-alike. Her blonde hair was lit by fiery highlights and danced around her shoulders in feminine waves. She wore a black leather crop top with sexy cap sleeves that left her midriff bare. Her asymmetrical skirt was short enough to slam his imagination into dangerous territory. He pictured himself lifting the hem as she grabbed her ankles and took a deep breath before he caressed her then used his bare hand to paint her buttocks a tantalizing shade of pink. It would be even better if she was panting and screaming his name.
The woman took a step forward, perhaps to get a better view of the scene. He glanced around to see if she was with anyone. Prospective members of the Quarter were required to attend with a sponsor on their first three visits. Since she appeared to be alone, it meant she’d been here a number of times.
When the flogging ended, she turned toward the bar area. Aviana, the club’s owner and respected businesswoman, had been persuaded to add one about a year ago when it was pointed out that she could open at lunchtime for members who wished to have a discreet place for business meetings. Serving lunch had been another stroke of genius—and financial gain.
Since most clubs of this nature didn’t serve alcohol, it had taken her some time to establish a policy. Members or guests who imbibed at all had their hand marked with an X, which forbade play for the rest of the evening. And she had a strict two-drink rule for everyone.
The bar area was glassed in, making it much quieter than the dungeon. Jax appreciated having the opportunity to relax with a sub after a scene, providing them both a gradual transition from intensity back to the real world. At times, he’d used the space to negotiate with a new sub. On a couple of occasions, he’d even stopped by to relax after an evening out.
Aviana had decorated with a Louisiana flair. A picture of a tiger representing LSU hung from the wall, alongside an autographed New Orleans Saints football jersey, and neon signs from the thriving local brewery.
Tonight, he’d chosen his table with care. He had an excellent view of Aviana’s throne, a number of the Saint Andrew’s crosses, along with a few of the spanking benches. And of course, her. Captivated, curious, he stretched out his legs and watched her approach.
When she entered, she paused to scan the long, polished bar and the people seated there. A couple was snuggled together with their foreheads touching. Two stools were occupied by Doms without subs.
Obviously having made a decision, she walked toward the back of the space so she could sit alone, at the end of the bar, with an empty, inviting chair next to her.
About three feet away from him, she saw him and jerked to a stop, eyes wide. For a moment, their gazes locked.
Fuck it to hell. Shock, hot and white, pulsed through him.
The sexy temptress—with the parted, enticing mouth—was his friend’s daughter. Did Brian have any idea that his only child was more than a thousand miles from school and that she liked to get her ass spanked by men she might not know?
Willow blinked, severing their connection. Instead of saying anything, she squared her shoulders and continued past him.
Jesus. What the living hell was wrong with him? He was lusting after her.
Now that Jax knew who she was, he was torn between pretending he hadn’t seen her and paddling her ass himself.
If he were smart, he’d pay his bill, collect his play bag from the coat check, then go home where he could masturbate to some fantasy woman and forget he’d ever seen Willow. But he wasn’t sure he could walk away, despite the risks.
The Quarter had a strict code of conduct. Movie stars, musicians, politicians, and business tycoons needed a place free from scrutiny, which made privacy Aviana’s main priority. Many people opted to use a scene name, and unless there was an agreement between all parties, no one could acknowledge they knew one another outside the club. No doubt that was one of Willow’s reasons for joining.
At the very least, striding over to her and turning her over his knee would guarantee a suspension of membership privileges. There was a chance he’d be expelled. Since visiting the club on his rare trips to Louisiana provided a much-needed break from the grind of running his digital-media conglomerate, Jax valued his membership. So for the moment, he waited and watched, bouncing his leg with customary impatience.
She wriggled onto a barstool, exaggerating her movements—he was sure—to capture attention.
Stefan, one of the Doms at the bar—a man who was devouring his trust fund, sleeping all day, partying all night, and discarding a relationship a week—glanced toward Willow.
Jax mentally repeated the club’s rules.
Willow was at least twenty-one, capable of making her own decisions. She was also free to allow a Dom to tie her up, blindfold her, flog her.
What she did was none of his business.
Still watching her, Stefan grabbed a cane
from the top of the bar and tapped it against his open palm, as if in deep thought. Then he slid off his chair.
Jax snapped his back teeth together. No one was touching Willow. No one but him.
Fuck the club rules.
* * * * *
Shit.
The bartender slid a napkin in front of Willow. She snatched it close and shredded the edges.
“What will it be?”
Hemlock. “Something virgin.” Like she wished she wasn’t.
“Piña colada?”
“That sounds perfect.” She tried to smile, but her facial muscles seemed frozen. “Thanks.”
When she’d first started coming to the Quarter a little more than a year ago, she’d been wary, expecting to see someone who knew her father. The Quarter had a lot of members who moved in his circles, but as the months passed, she relaxed. She was comfortable flying down from grad school during breaks, and she’d become adept at navigating the intricacies of getting her needs met in a place far from home. Attending a club in New York would be easier, but after the disaster with Lawrence, she was on a break from romantic relationships. Traveling to New Orleans helped make that easier.
She risked another glance at Jaxon Mills. He was staring at her. Of all people here, why, oh why did she have to come face-to-face with the cockiest damn billionaire on the planet?
Even though he was across the room, he unnerved her, and she tore the napkin in half.
Since the moment she saw the digital marketing entrepreneur, she’d disliked him. Four years ago, Willow and her father had been among a dozen or so people who crowded into Jax’s office while he recorded a video. In her naivete, she’d thought he’d be dressed in a business suit. Instead, a black T-shirt swaddled him, tight enough to show off his honed abs. Confidence and energy ignited his dark-green eyes. He spoke with rapid-fire speed, sharing strategies about how to connect on social media and build an empire like his. His presentation had been passionate and engaging, but then he’d told viewers to stop whining if they weren’t enjoying the success they wanted and ordered them to get off their fucking asses and make something happen.
Shock made her drop her purse. Once the camera stopped rolling, he stood, shook hands, and high-fived another successful Jaxon Media presentation. His staff offered accolades, and he drank them in as his due, everyone bowing before the king. Who the hell behaved like that?
From her mother, Willow had inherited a different worldview, where everyone was better off working together and being supportive. Motivation was crucial. She’d been taught to offer support or lend a helping hand. But beating people up? Everything in Willow despised his self-important approach.
After his crew filed out, her father introduced them, and she forced a polite nod. Jax turned his massive focus on her. He sought her hand, and when she reluctantly accepted, electricity arced through her. The physical awareness of his power had been unwelcome and left a memorable impression on her. He repeated her name, rolling it around on his tongue, seeming to taste the syllables. Willow had never forgotten the way the he’d seared her senses.
She had the exact same reaction when he’d looked at her a few seconds ago.
Even though her appearance was dramatically different, his pupils had dilated. He recognized her. Despite the Quarter’s rules, the way he leaned forward told her he intended to do something about it.
Her pulse had skidded.
Not only was the arrogant bastard at her favorite club—he was a freaking Dom. As much as she wanted to pretend that didn’t matter, her submissive instincts stirred. On an elemental level, she was compelled to respond to him. What would it be like to be claimed by a man with that level of confidence? And it wasn’t false bravado. A million people a day, maybe more, hung on his words, even when they were harsh. If he was as competent with a paddle as he was with a microphone…
Willow shook away the inane fantasy.
Deciding to be brave, she straightened her back in time to see a man headed her direction. He tapped a cane against his calf as he walked, and his gaze was fixed on her. Thank God. She could forget about Jaxon Mills and get on with her night.
“Good evening.” The stranger extended his hand. “May I join you?”
“That would be—”
“No. You may not. The young lady is with me.”
The atmosphere snapped around her, and she turned her head. Not that she needed to. His voice was unmistakable, as was his threatening tone. Jax. Of course.
Scowling, the Dom pivoted to face the taller and much more muscled Jax. In the years since she’d seen him, he’d gotten leaner. He wore his trademark black T-shirt and black boots, but tonight he’d switched out jeans for tailored black trousers.
Apparently he was not friends with a razor, and his hair was longer than she remembered. Willow twisted her fingers together to fight off the ridiculous urge to run them through his thick locks, maybe muss them to make him seem less formidable.
“She appears to be alone,” the Dom said.
“Ask her.” Jax shrugged.
Willow exhaled. They were having a ridiculous territorial battle, as if she was some sort of prize.
The bartender placed her drink on the remnants of the napkin. “Everything okay?”
She nodded a silent lie. Nothing about Jax was okay.
“The club code word is red,” he reminded her. “Use it and I’ll send both of these men home.” The bartender directed his gaze at the Dom then at Jax. “I’ll be right here.” He folded his arms and remained in place.
“What’s it going to be?” Jax asked, voice easy, apparently confident of her response.
He loved being the center of attention. And in the end, he would win. All he had to do was call her dad. Then the wrath of hell would descend. Worse, if he told her mother, the gentle Andrea would collapse in a pile of disappointment. After all, Willow was their only child. For the first ten years of their marriage, Brian and Andrea had tried to have children. She’d spent agonizing years not conceiving, and when she finally did, she endured two miscarriages. To say they’d do anything to protect Willow from the world was an understatement. She sighed. With a smile so fake her teeth ached, she turned toward Stefan. “I’m with him.”
“Good night, Stefan.” Using his impressive frame, Jax nudged the other man aside to take possession of the seat next to her.
“Sorry to have interrupted.” With a firm scowl in place, Stefan nodded.
“Give my regards to Leah.”
“Fuck you, Mills.”
It took several seconds for Stefan to walk off. Then the bartender gave her another pointed look. “I’m here until eleven if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” She appreciated knowing the club’s staff and monitors paid attention to every interaction, no matter how important the member.
He rapped a knuckle on the bar top before leaving to pour a beer requested by another customer.
All of a sudden, she was alone with Jax. “Who’s Leah?”
“His girlfriend.”
“Oh my God.” She pulled her straw from the piña colada and stabbed it back in. “I didn’t know. I hate cheaters.” After being the one duped, it was especially painful. She’d never be a participant in hurting another woman.
“I figured it might make a difference to you.”
It did. She supposed she should be grateful to Jax for saving her from making a mistake. “Is his girlfriend a submissive?”
Jax lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He sat close enough that she inhaled his scent. Power spiced with arrogance. Jaxon Mills was a man who took what he wanted.
“Are you?” His approving gaze lingered on her.
“Am I…what?”
“Submissive?”
Even though she didn’t want to have a reaction other than disdain for him, her traitorous heart rapped out a dangerous sexual tattoo. “We’re not having this conversation.”
“No?”
“Look, Jax…” Desperate for a distr
action, she took a big drink of the nonalcoholic piña colada. The freezing cold gave her an instant headache at the back of her skull. “You think you’re being a hero, but I don’t need someone to cockblock for me. Thanks.“ If only he knew how ridiculous that idea was. For her BDSM had nothing to do with sex. She loved impact play. There was a lick of pain, followed by a rush of pleasure. Enough of it vanquished all other thoughts from her mind, sweeping away her worries and helping her lock away stress for days. Scening was better than a hot bath or a kick-ass cocktail. It was as meditative as it was restorative. And she wasn’t about to let Jax stand in her way. “Go find someone to play with, Jax.”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to do that, princess.”
Chapter Two
Damn him. His words, flat and emotionless, took her breath, even though she should have expected them. “Look…” Willow shoved away her drink. “There’s no reason for you to behave this way.”
“Which way?”
“As if…” You own me. He sat close to her. Too close for her comfort. A little more distance would make it easier for her to think. She desperately needed that, because right now, she wanted to be across his lap, pretending to be fighting to get away as he paddled her. And of course, he was so much bigger and stronger. She could struggle all she wanted, and he’d be able to subdue her.
Scandalized by her own thoughts, she inched back in her seat. Instantly she regretted it. The friction shot arousal through her.
“You’re the daughter of my biggest investor. A man who’s a trusted adviser. Someone I consider a friend.”
Pampered and protected. Unspoken, those words hung between them.
When she was at college in Houston, he’d assigned men to watch over her. He’d refused to use the term bodyguards, but that was exactly who they were. Once she’d realized he was having her followed, they’d had the biggest argument ever. Without telling her father, she’d applied for a scholarship to graduate school in New York and found a part-time job working in a crisis center so she didn’t have to touch her trust fund. Even though her mother had cried for days, Willow had remained resolute. She loved her parents dearly, but she needed to escape Houston and find her own place in the world. “Club rules prevent you from telling him. Your membership could be revoked.”
Falling For The Forbidden Page 153
