by Amy Valenti
HOT, RICH AND DOMINANT 2: LEARNING CURVE
Amy Valenti
Copyright 2012 Amy Valenti
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
* * * *
Dinner with a dominant billionaire…
Nell has enjoyed a mind-blowing afternoon of hedonistic discovery in Marc Cassidy’s office. The heir to the Cassidy Corporation is nothing like the irresponsible, cocksure type she imagined he would be, and what’s more, he’s got his sights set on more than just one office tryst. They’ve arranged a dinner date, and she’s out of her depth…
Skipping dessert…
Nell can’t be sure of much where Marc is concerned, but she knows one thing—he wants her. Not just in his bed, but in his private dungeon. She’s a newbie to all things kinky, but she can’t deny that although she likes to provoke Marc, her submissive streak runs deeper than she thought. Can she bear a more intense session of BDSM? More importantly, can she keep herself from falling for him too fast, especially when he seems determined to get to know her as a person as well as a submissive?
HOT, RICH AND DOMINANT 2: LEARNING CURVE
Amy Valenti
Chapter One
Dear Diary,
The billion-dollar question—what do you wear out to a dinner date with the handsome, dominant, just-arrogant-enough-to-count heir to the Cassidy Corporation, one of the biggest businesses in the United States?
I’ve been wiggling in and out of outfits for the past two hours. I’m stressed and mussed and I only have an hour until Marc picks me up, and how the hell do you impress a guy who could choose any woman in the world on a whim, anyway?
Argh! I should just cancel. I’m so far out of my league, it’s not even funny. Okay, so the sex was great. Great? Understatement of the century—it was beyond amazing, hotter than I’d ever dreamed sex could be. But that doesn’t mean we’re right for each other…
Who am I kidding? I’m not going to cancel. One lunchtime spanking followed by mind-blowing sex, and I’m totally hooked.
I should get back to obsessing over what I’m going to wear…
* * * *
My room was a mess. Clothing was strewn over every surface, I’d dumped out my jewellery box in the middle of the bed, half of my shoe collection was piled up next to the door… and I was still no closer to finding the perfect outfit for my dinner date with Marc Cassidy.
I should have called a couple of friends for their opinions. Maybe I could have raided their closets and come up with something a little classier than the contents of my meagre wardrobe. But if I was totally honest with myself, this was my dirty little secret, and I didn’t want to share it just yet.
The doorbell rang, and I sent a panicked glance towards the clock before sighing with relief. I still had a while until Marc arrived to pick me up, so this couldn’t be him.
So far, I’d gotten as far as deciding to wear my sexiest lingerie—black with purple lace trim, plus sheer black stockings. I threw my bathrobe on over the top for modesty’s sake and headed to my apartment door to speak into the intercom. “Hello?”
“Parcel delivery for Eleanor West.”
I buzzed the delivery guy into the building automatically, then frowned. I couldn’t remember having ordered anything recently…
As I racked my brains, trying to pinpoint what the delivery might be, a quick knock signalled the guy’s arrival at my door. When I opened it, a large, shallow box was thrust into my face, and I took it, even more baffled. “Hang on a sec, I’m not sure I ordered this…”
When I saw the sender’s name and address, though, everything became clear. M. Cassidy.
“Oh,” I murmured, setting the box on my side table carefully while the delivery guy smirked. “Thanks.”
“Sign here,” he said, and I did, hoping I didn’t look as flustered as I felt. Was this really what I thought it was?
Once the guy had left, I was left alone to contemplate the box. Part of me was afraid to open it because, surely, it could only be one thing. I was afraid to think what kind of outfit a kinky billionaire would deem appropriate for a dinner date.
Probably something that’s easy to strip you out of afterwards, a small, cynical voice at the back of my head offered.
I took a deep breath and opened the box… and gasped. “Oh, my god.”
Apparently, to a dinner date with Marc Cassidy, you wear a short, clinging black dress made of a leather-like fabric, with chains fed through the back in a criss-cross corset-style pattern, giving the illusion that they’re lacing up the dress. I stared at it for a moment, torn. Were we going to a restaurant, or a rock concert?
Straight to his dungeon. And you know you’ll look right at home in this dress…
I frowned at the outfit. It was beautiful, in a really kinky way. And I knew without trying it on that it’d fit me. I just wasn’t sure I dared step outside the apartment wearing it.
I took a deep breath in, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly. I was going to need heavier makeup to carry off the rock chick look, that much was for sure. And I’d have to ditch the bra. But the least I could do was see how it looked on me—as if I could refuse.
* * * *
Marc arrived right on time, and although I told him I’d be right down, he insisted I buzz him into the apartment building. I waited for him to arrive at my door with a heady mix of nerves and anticipation.
What’s wrong with you? You already know he likes you. What is there to worry about?
His knock was quiet, yet somehow authoritative. I tugged down the hem of the dress one more time, then opened the door.
“You look stunning.”
Warmth heated my cheeks and pooled between my thighs. The admiration in his voice and face was a total turn-on.
“Thank you. So do you.”
“May I?” He raised an eyebrow, gesturing into the apartment, and I stepped back self-consciously to let him in. The place wasn’t the tidiest it had ever been—the bedroom in particular looked as if the wardrobe had vomited its entire contents out over the room—but the living room wasn’t too bad. Just as long as he didn’t throw me over his shoulder and head for the bedroom, things would be fine. I wouldn’t relish being taken with belt buckles and stiletto heels digging into my back, even if it was Marc doing the taking.
As soon as I’d closed the door behind me, he stepped in close and pressed me back against it. Lightheaded from desire, I inhaled the subtle scent of his cologne and the man underneath, tilting my head up for his kiss.
He took a slow, lingering taste of my lips, then sighed against my ear, cupping my breast in his hand and teasing the nipple to hardness through the fabric of my dress. “I must be a masochist—suggesting we go out to dinner when I can barely control myself around you.”
As he pressed harder against me, I moaned at the feel of his erection against my abdomen. “We could skip dinner…”
“Are you wet for me already, Eleanor?” he growled, sliding his fingers up the inside of my thigh.
I nodded, my cheeks on fire, and widened my stance instinctively, giving him access to check for himself. He rubbed me through the fabric of my panties and I clutched his shoulders, burying my face against his suit jacket to hide the intensity of my reaction. Pleasure rushed through me as he teased my clit with a touch s
o light, it was barely there. My thong, already damp with arousal, became soaked within a minute, and my knees shook with the effort to remain standing.
“I don’t think you need to wear these, do you?”
Was he seriously suggesting I go out in public wearing a short dress and no panties? I was so wet that I felt as if my juices might start rolling down the insides of my thighs if things got any more intense.
I raised my head to protest that yes, I needed my underwear. The words died on my lips at the lust and amusement in his expression. It was a look that could have sent any woman with inclinations towards men swooning, and I didn’t even bother to play it cool. He’d already seen me writhing and moaning in his lap—to act as if I wasn’t his for the taking now would be a little redundant, especially since his fingers were just a thin layer of cloth away from plunging into my saturated pussy.
I kissed him, pulling his head down to mine and taking control. His breath caught, and if I hadn’t been so busy flicking my tongue out to taste his, I would have grinned at his startled reaction. Evidently, he was used to rationing kisses the way he saw fit. Well, if he wanted to take control back, let him—I’d enjoy every second of it.
Marc yanked down my panties without breaking the kiss—I was the one who faltered, caught off guard by his direct approach and the shock of cooler air washing over my damp skin. Before I had even finished gasping against his lips, he’d run his fingers through my sensitive folds, coating the digits with the evidence of just how much I wanted him.
He rubbed wet fingertips over my clit, skin to skin with nothing in the way. I cried out, sagging back against the wall and tilting my hips to allow him better access.
“We’re going out to dinner, Eleanor. No matter how much you try to tempt me to just fuck you now.” He pressed against my entrance, pushing just slightly so I knew exactly how close I was to being impaled on his fingers.
I wasn’t hungry for food, and he knew it. I reached out and rubbed my palm over the ridge in his pants, gratified when he leaned against my hand, relishing the friction.
“Let me take care of this, Sir.” Hearing me call him that was what had driven him to put me on my knees in the first place. I was counting on the same weakness now.
“Minx,” he murmured, and looked me over with more affection than I ever would have expected from him. Lust, yes. But this was far more. “Do you think I make a habit of letting my subs manipulate me like that without punishing them later? And I’m not talking about spanking, Eleanor. There are consequences you won’t like for trying to top from the bottom.”
A tremor of apprehension ran through me, but was swiftly followed by need as his cock twitched under my hand. I couldn’t help but reach for his belt buckle, longing to stroke the velvety skin of his steel-hard shaft rather than the cloth that separated us.
“I’ll take my punishment later, Sir. Just let me suck you, please…”
Marc pushed his fingers deep inside my pussy in one smooth glide, smothering my desire-laden cry with his lips. His kiss was hard, dominant, and it demanded my attention and immediate response. I’d barely had time to lean in to it when he ended it and batted my hand away from his belt buckle, beginning to slowly draw his fingers from inside me at the same time.
“You don’t know what you’re agreeing to, Nell. You’re new to this. The punishment I gave you in my office wasn’t real. It was foreplay.”
That he’d called me Nell and not Eleanor meant something, I knew that much—but my mind was too hazy with want to think too much about it at that moment. “I’m not as naïve as you think I am. I know people who do BDSM. I know that punishment is punishment—it isn’t supposed to be sexy and fun. I know. I know. I know, and I can handle it, and I want it all.”
He cupped my cheek in his hand, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You have no idea how much I want to make you scream for me right now.” With a twitch of his fingers, which were still—just barely—inside me, he set my body alight with need. Before I’d had chance to formulate a reply, he pulled his hand free and casually tasted the clear fluid coating his skin. I closed my eyes, imagining how it would feel if his tongue were buried in the cleft between my thighs.
“But,” he continued, and I blinked up at him to find him grinning, “we’re going to dinner, because I want to know more about you than just how you feel around my cock. Is that all right with you?”
Although I wanted him desperately, I had to admit his insistence that he wanted to get to know me as a person touched me. Trying to compose myself, I willed my pounding heart to slow and my breathing to return to normal.
“I think I can handle that.”
“Even without underwear?” He raised an eyebrow, looking down at the discarded thong at my feet.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Anything you say, Sir.”
Chapter Two
On the drive over to the restaurant in his sleek black Porsche 911 convertible—not that I was impressed, or anything—he asked me how I’d found my first few days of work at the Cassidy Corporation, his father’s company.
“Aside from being scared I’d be fired for offending you for most of the week?”
He glanced over at me, away from the road for a couple of seconds, and I gave an appreciative inward sigh at the surprised amusement on his face. “You were?”
I shrugged. “How was I to know you weren’t a spoilt little rich boy who’d have security eject me from the building for having the audacity to insult you?”
Marc shook his head. “Trust me, I’ve heard worse. The weird thing is, I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I do more than he does to keep the company running. The marketing campaign you’re working on was my idea.”
I must have looked a little sceptical, because he picked up on it. “What?”
“If you do more than your dad does, why don’t you get the credit for it?”
With a one-shouldered shrug, he gazed through the windshield. “Family politics.”
I got the sense it was better not to push.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I tried not to stare. “Oh, my god. We’re going to Della’s?”
Marc got out of the car and rolled his eyes when I did the same, out of habit. “Most girls would wait for me to open their door for them.”
“Wow, your previous girlfriends must have had really weak arms if they couldn’t even get a car door open,” I responded, speaking before my brain really had chance to think it through.
The valet smirked as he took Marc’s keys, but I couldn’t see if Marc reacted.
He took my arm and we walked towards the door to the restaurant. The warm night air created a breeze against my bare pussy, and I shivered.
“Cold?” Marc murmured with a knowing glance.
“You know I’m not,” I replied, just as softly.
He held the restaurant door open, and as I stepped through, he innocently said, “Then why are your nipples pressing so hard against your dress?”
I scowled, fighting the urge to cover my breasts with my hands and knowing that would bring more attention than just acting normal. Marc shot me the most angelic smile I’d ever seen on a man as devilish as I knew he was, then addressed the maître d’.
I wasn’t sure what was more humiliating—knowing I was naked under my dress, or knowing Marc knew it and was enjoying every second.
Della’s was probably the most exclusive restaurant in the entire state, and I stared around me, trying to process that I was about to eat there rather than think about my dirty little secret. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d charged twenty dollars for a glass of water—with this place’s reputation, they could have gotten away with it.
The maitre d’ seemed to know Marc, and he showed us to a table in a shadowy, romantic nook lit by candles. He left us with the menus, and out of habit I looked for prices, but there were none listed—a sign that everything was extortionately priced if I’d ever seen one.
“You know, you don’t h
ave to try to impress me with your wallet,” I said, without thinking.
He raised a brow. “What makes you think that’s what I’m doing?”
“I’m wearing designer dress and sitting at a table at Della’s.”
“I eat at Della’s a couple of times a month, and I wanted to see my new sub in a dress I’d take great pleasure in taking off later. Is that so bad?”
A waiter approached to take our wine order. I left the choice to Marc, and sat there hoping I wasn’t blushing too noticeably at the words ‘new sub’. How had I fallen into this crazy situation so quickly? Was he moving faster than I wanted to go?
I shifted slightly and remembered, for the umpteenth time, that I wasn’t wearing any underwear. That made me blush even more and by the time the waiter had left, I was pretty sure my cheeks were scarlet.
“Relax, Nell.” Marc was smiling, and under the table he brushed my leg with his, just for a second. “I’m not trying to knock all the sense out of your head by showering you with cash. I wanted to eat here tonight anyway, and I wanted you to feel comfortable, like you were dressed for the occasion.”
Part of me melted. It seemed so considerate, so sincere. “Thank you.”
Then I thought about it. Wait a minute… “So how comfortable am I supposed to feel sitting here without any—“
He kicked me gently under the table, his attention fixed somewhere over my head. I shut my mouth immediately as the waiter returned to let Marc taste the wine. He poured a glass for each of us at Marc’s approval.
When we were alone again, Marc leaned over the table, his expression intense. “I said I wanted you to feel comfortable—past tense. When I got there and remembered the hundred and one naughty little things I’m dying to do to you, I couldn’t resist upping the ante a little.” He paused for effect and shrugged. “You could have said no.”
It was true. I’d protested the first time he’d mentioned it, but by the time we’d been ready to leave the apartment I’d been willing to do anything he suggested.
