The British Billionaire Bachelor

by Maggie Carpenter

  She thought for a brief moment she would conceive some kind of excuse. Perhaps tell him that her very old phone sometimes didn’t perform at 100%, but even before the idea fully formed in her mind she knew it was ridiculous. Not only had he made it clear he would not tolerate dishonesty, she could not bear to lie to anyone, especially not to him.

  “I see it now, Simon. I’m so terribly sorry.”

  “The text asked you to call me around eight tonight. I’ve been very worried. Why didn’t you see it earlier?”

  Belle, who had been standing during the short, sharp conversation, plopped down on her couch.

  “I don’t know,” she answered, rubbing her head. “My phone is really old. If I don’t unlock it I don’t see the text icon. I checked a couple of times to see if you had called and I didn’t see that I missed you...” she said hastily, knowing her words didn’t come close to explaining her lack of response.

  “I don’t understand. Are you telling me your phone doesn’t alert you when you have a text?”

  “Um, yes, but if I don’t hear the chime I won’t see the icon until I make a call, or a call comes in.”

  Simon wanted to throttle her. How could a woman in a business such as high-end real estate, have such an antiquated communications device? As the thought raced through his head, he recalled having the same observation when he had first seen it.

  “You’re angry with me,” she murmured, her voice sad and sorry.

  “I have been very concerned Belle, and it’s inexcusable that you have such an outmoded cell phone, especially considering your work.”

  She sighed deeply. He was right.

  “At least you’re all right and nothing dreadful has happened to you,” he continued, realizing just how worried he had been.

  Belle saw her mother’s letter laying in front of her.

  “Not really,” she mumbled.

  “What do you mean, not really?” he asked.

  Something had happened. Something that mattered.

  “Nothing–nothing terribly important,” she replied, not wanting to get into the distressing family situation facing her.

  Simon glanced at his watch. It was late, but he wanted, and needed, to see her. In spite of his resolve to spend the night away from her, the subtle dolefulness in her voice and his own desire made it impossible.

  “I suspect it is something important. Please take a shower and get dressed. Parker will be there to pick you up by the time you’re ready.”

  Belle’s heart jumped in joy!

  “You don’t have to send Parker. I can drive,” she offered,

  “My goodness! Do as you’re told. You’re in enough trouble without debating this small issue.”

  “Oh,” she stammered, gulping at his reprimand. “Yes, Simon. I’ll be ready.”

  “See that you are. Did you have any dinner?”

  “Um–not exactly,” she admitted.

  “I’ll have something for you when you get here. Goodbye Belle.”

  “Goodbye Simon.”

  Simon’s enveloping hug made the long day and the unpleasant news of her mother and sister’s pending arrival, magically disappear. The moment she had walked in the door and he had opened his arms to greet her, she had literally fallen into them. Never had a man’s embrace engulfed her with such an outpouring of reassurance and safety.

  “Naughty girl,” he scolded, pushing her back and shaking his head as he looked intensely into her eyes.

  “Sorry, Simon. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

  “Well, you did, now sit down at the table,” he said firmly, taking her hand and leading her to a chair. “I ordered you some chicken soup.”

  “That sounds perfect,” she declared, and for the first time since her meager sandwich earlier that day, felt that she could eat something. “I brought the rest of the forms you have to sign,” she added, pointing to her briefcase.

  “Excellent. I’ll go through them while you eat.”

  “The repairs were all good. Do you want to inspect them yourself.”

  “I will tomorrow, with you,” he replied. “Just not sure what time.”

  Belle was making short work of her soup. Like everything else she’d consumed at the hotel, it was delicious, and she supped it up gratefully as Simon went through the paperwork. Along with the soup there was a plate of vegetables and a small loaf of multigrain bread. Once finished she discovered a slice of marble cheesecake sitting innocently under a silver cover.

  “Wow. That looks caloric,” she smiled.

  “I think you can afford it,” he grinned, shuffling the papers and placing them back in her briefcase. “Everything looks in order. Bring that cheesecake over here.”

  Picking it up from the table, along with two spoons, she ambled over and sat next to him, feeling a thousand times better than she had all day.

  “So young lady,” he began, taking a mouthful of the rich, creamy dessert, “tell me why I shouldn’t punish you.”

  “You mean for not seeing your text?” she replied, her voice dropping to a subdued tone as the familiar submissive wave engulfed her.

  “For that, and for not having an up-to-date cell phone, one of the most important pieces of equipment you should own, or do you think I’m wrong about that?”

  He was frowning. Not a deep, angry frown. A frown born of bewilderment, a frown that said something made no sense.

  “No. You’re not wrong,” she admitted. “I should have a smartphone.”

  “Tomorrow when we go back to the house, time allowing of course, we’ll swing by a store that sells such things and get you one. Consider it a bonus for doing such a great job finding the house.”

  “Simon, you don’t have to buy me...”

  “Excuse me?” he glowered, interrupting her.

  She bit her lip.

  “Next time you debate something like this with me, your bottom will pay the price. Do you understand?”

  His blue eyes were shooting sparks at her, and she nodded obediently.

  “Yes, Simon.”

  “Now have some cheesecake and tell me what happened today that upset you, and then why you shouldn’t be punished.”

  “Nothing is bothering me. I’m just a bit...” she started, but stopped before finishing. It was clear by the look on his face he wasn’t buying it.

  “Belle, if you want to shut me out of your life that’s up to you,” he stated, his voice serious. “I’ve done my best to show you how much I care about you. I want to help you, I want to support you and share your troubles whatever they may be, but if you don’t want my help, or support...” his voice trailed off, allowing the unfinished sentence to hang in the air.

  Belle reached across and took a spoonful of the cake, not because she wanted it, but because she didn’t know what else to do or what to say. Life had taught her how to be alone, but much like the man who was offering her comfort and aid, she wasn’t sure if she knew how to lean on another. Neither of them had yet come to understand it was something they had in common. A heady streak of independence.

  “I see,” he breathed, interpreting her silence as a rejection.

  “No!” she exclaimed. “No–it’s–just–”

  “Just what?”

  “I’m not used to, that is, I don’t want to burden you. I’m sure you have a million things going on.”

  “Nothing as important as you, right here, right now,” he said firmly.

  Belle took a deep breath. It was going to be embarrassing, telling him about her spoiled, indulged sister.

  “I want to tell you–I mean–I will tell you what’s happened,” she promised. “First though, I want to answer your question about why I shouldn’t be punished.”

  “Very well,” he replied.

  Simon had been leaning forward, holding her in his energy, and he slouched back, resting his head on the pillowy, soft sofa cushions.

  “I can’t give you a reason not to punish me,” she said, lowering her eyes. “The truth is, I want you to.
I was distracted by a bunch of things, but that’s no excuse for not checking my messages, and I’ve been putting off buying a new phone for ages. The truth is, I can be a terrible procrastinator. It’s one of my faults, one I want to fix.”

  She flicked her eyes up and looked at him, asking for discipline with her gaze as much as her words.

  “Go into my bedroom, select a crop and bring it back to me. They’re under the bed.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said meekly, and nervously stood up and scurried away.

  Simon picked up the cheesecake and returned it to the table, then stood at the back of the sofa waiting for her return. When she reappeared she did so carrying the crop with the longest stem.

  “Give it to me and bend over the couch,” he said sternly.

  Her heart was pumping, and a hot energy was invading her sex. She knew this was going to hurt. It was punishment, but she wanted it, needed it, and was at peace with her confession and the discipline she was about to endure.

  Silently she took up her position, her hip bones sinking into the pillowy top of the couch, her bottom jutting out as if asking for chastisement. She was wearing a long black skirt, and in an instant he had it up and over her back, and was sliding down her black, French-cut, lace panties.

  “Take a cushion in case you need to squeal,” he directed.

  Reaching across she picked up one of the loose throw pillows, burying her face, cringing as the cool, hard crop rested against her skin. The long seconds ticked by, and then she remembered...

  “I’m ready, Sir,” she announced, her voice muffled by the pillow.

  “You shall receive three strokes. One for not checking your messages, one for procrastinating, and one, and listen carefully to this please, for arguing whenever I offer to do something for you.”

  Instantly the crop was lifted and cracked back down. It was a sharp, stinging, piercing blow, and she involuntarily kicked out a leg, yelping into the soft, comforting, feathery cushion.

  Simon stared at the angry red line. He had held back somewhat, doubtful that she’d experienced a cane or a rod. He didn’t want to shock or scare her, but he wanted to be sure the three strokes were ones she would not soon forget. Laying the crop a few inches below the mark, he pulled it back and swished it back down. Again the kick, again the yelp.

  “This last one, Belle, is for continually debating me. It must stop. I derive great pleasure in doing for you, giving to you, and while I respect your independence, treasure it, you will learn how to accept what I offer.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she cried, lifting her head from the pillow. “It’s a fault. I know. Not accepting.”

  “Glad to hear you admit it. Hopefully this will be the first and last stroke regarding this particular matter,” he admonished, then laying the crop against the sensitive area of her seat, cracked it against her white, tender skin.

  Though the stroke was delivered with the same degree of intensity as the previous two, the delicacy of the target caused a greater sting and she squealed loudly, her cry muffled by the cushion as she wiggled and squirmed, writhing her hips from side to side. Simon dropped the crop next to her and ran his hand over her scalded behind, caressing and smoothing. When her gyrations ceased and she lifted her head, he pulled her up and brought her into his chest.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she stammered between gasps. “I don’t know why I need it but I do. I won’t procrastinate and will always check my messages, and I promise not to argue with you when you want to do something for me, not ever again.”

  “Good girl. Now let’s go to bed, and you can tell me all about what’s bothering you.”

  With an arm around her shoulders he walked her into the bedroom, softly and tenderly undressed her, then helped her slip between the sheets.

  “I’ll be right back,” he smiled, and bottom stinging, Belle curled up, hugging a pillow, wondering how she could explain the drama-filled phenomenon that was her mother and sister. A few minutes later Simon slid next to her, and Belle curled up against his chest.

  “So my dear, Belle, how are you feeling?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  “Why do I need what I need?” she breathed. “I feel better. It’s so weird.”

  “I stopped analyzing our kink years ago,” he replied. “It is what it is and I have embraced it. There’s no cure, so...”

  Belle sighed deeply.

  “You’re right. Are you always right?” she smiled, nuzzling against his wiry, scattered chest hair.

  “Pretty much,” he chuckled. “Now what happened today that upset you?”

  She sighed again.

  “I got a letter from my mother. She and my evil young sister are coming to Los Angeles,” she said simply.

  “Ah–an evil sister. So obviously this is a bad thing! Do you not get along with your mother?”

  “I do. It’s just that Lucinda, that’s my sister, she’s not a normal girl. She is immensely talented and absolutely gorgeous, and from the day she was born she was totally catered to. She’s coming out to screen test for a movie and mom wants me to find them a condo. Apparently it’s been decided that Lucinda’s career is here in LA,” she exclaimed, throwing her arm in the air with a grand gesture.

  “So you feel that your life is being invaded.”

  “Exactly!” she exclaimed. “I moved out here to get away from them. Oh Lord, I can’t stand it. You don’t know my sister. She has a vile temper, literally throws things, and she’s incredibly demanding. I can’t imagine how I can drive them around and show them condos and put up with it all. They’ll expect me to devote every waking moment to them. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “When are they coming?” he asked, a vague seed germinating in his head.

  “Oh, I think, a week or so? Something like that,” she answered, her happy mood evaporating with the thought of it.

  “Hmmm. I suspect Lucinda will get quite a wake-up call if she starts working in Hollywood. I can’t imagine any director or producer putting up with that kind of nonsense,” he commented. “At least, not from a new talent. Sounds to me like she just needs some old-fashioned straightening out.”

  “You don’t know her. She’s a nightmare,” Belle replied glumly, “but in my mother’s eyes, Lucinda is always right and everyone else is wrong.”

  “Would you like my advice?”

  “Yes, most definitely.”

  “Refer your mother to another agent. Tell her you’re involved in a big sale and cannot take time away from it.”

  “Perhaps that might work,” Belle replied thoughtfully, pondering the notion. “At least temporarily. There’s a really patient woman in my office who might be able to tolerate them.”

  “Poor Belle,” he crooned, raising himself up on one elbow to stare down at her. “Just over one wretched ordeal and now you have to deal with unwelcome visitors.”

  Belle smiled.

  “Unwelcome visitors. It sounds so trivial when you put it like that.”

  “I can’t stop your mother and sister from coming here,” he purred, leaning down and kissing her neck, “but I can think of a way to distract you...”

  “Mmmmm,” she moaned, surrendering all thought as his lips traveled across her clavicle.

  He pushed back the bed covers, meandering his tongue across her chest and slowly over her breasts, stopping at each nipple licking and nipping, then moving down her stomach he slithered between her legs. Belle groaned as he sucked her inner thighs, lifting her pelvis, inviting his attention. His fingers separated her moist lips, trembling as he blew on her clit, sending a shiver through her limbs. A finger slipped forward, searching its way into her depths, eliciting a hedonistic cry.

  “Ohhhh. That feels a-amazing,” she stammered.

  He smiled, kissed her belly button, and withdrawing his hand, rolled on his back to retrieve the condom from the bedside table.

  “Are you ready for me, my sweet girl?” he breathed, moving himself over her.

  “Always,” she whispered. “Always..
.”

  His cock slid between her legs, then paused, momentarily teasing before snaking its way home. Resting inside her, he dropped his weight on her body, grabbing her wrists and pulling them to the sides of her head, his mouth at her ear.

  “Bring your knees up. I’m going to take you on a wild ride...”

  “Oooh Simon,” she groaned, beside herself with wanton cravings. “Who are you?”

  “A man who knows what he’s doing,” he whispered.

  As she bent her knees he raised himself up, and gripping her calves, holding them in place, began to pump her slowly.

  “Oh Simon, I feel as if you’re touching the back of my throat,” she mewed.

  “I know, and you’re going to come very hard,” he promised.

  “I am?”

  “Yes, now close your eyes and surrender to my cock. You have permission to come whenever you’re ready.”

  She moaned in response, shutting her eyes tightly, feeling the immense pleasure his slow, powerful grinding offered. Her bottom was stinging, a hot tingling sensation that permeated her sex, and as his powerful member increased its pace she felt her body respond. Somehow his cock was brushing against that magic place he had pressed with his finger, shooting out glorious waves of scintillating sensation. She tried to move, to seek out the wild wizardry, but he was controlling her, allowing the magic to happen only when he chose for it to. His thrusts accelerated in speed and force and her bubble was looming, growing ever larger.

  “Simon!” she cried. “It’s...”

  “I know,” he replied, his voice husky. “I can feel you. Ride the wave...”

  That’s what it is. A huge amazing wave...she thought, and as he shifted ever so slightly, increasing his pressure on the wonderfully sensitive spot, all imagery and words vanished. He surged forward, a piston in a powerful engine.

  She had thought the balloon would burst with an abrupt violent explosion, but she was wrong. It was a long, powerful gushing of euphoria that was never-ending. Over and over again the shimmering sparks lit up her brain as her sex vibrated against him. Far away she heard his groans mingling with her cries, until the intensity of the waves abated, leaving her limp and weightless, and his arms were pulling her into his chest.