I moved my hand higher. “Did you like what you saw?” I asked. Although I knew that the delightful champagne had gone to my head and made me bold, I couldn’t stop my fingers from doing their dance on his thigh. Besides, the portrait on the wall proved what I had suspected in the first place. I was definitely his type.
He continued to ignore my hand.
“Come on,” I wheedled. “Don’t you know? Nothing takes your mind off a girl like another girl?”
“Terry, my wife died. She didn’t run away with the plumber. If you can’t control your impulses when you drink, then perhaps you should consider quitting.”
Suitably chastised, I withdrew my hand from his thigh.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “Maybe you need to loosen up. Why don’t you have a drink yourself?”
“I haven’t had a drink since the night my wife died,” he said.
“John, I hope that I’m not prying. How did your wife pass away?”
“She was the passenger in a car that was involved in a drunk driving accident,” he said. “The driver was more than twice the legal limit.”
“That’s horrible,” I exclaimed. “I hope he was punished for his actions.”
“Every day,” John said.
“It wasn’t you, was it?” I asked. The look on his face told me everything. “John, I didn’t know. How could I know? You must think I’m terrible.”
“I don’t think you’re terrible at all,” he said. “You’re just unrefined. I’m going to pour the rest of this champagne down the sink. Perhaps we can make tonight the last time you indulge in alcoholic beverages. I don’t think they agree with you.” As he walked from the room, I spotted the label on the bottle. It read Armand de Brignac. Four-hundred dollars’ worth of champagne was about to flow into the New York sewer system. It seemed like such a waste.
He returned within minutes. “I know it’s late, but I’d like to give you the tour of the rest of the house. Where would you like to begin?”
“Let’s begin with the dungeon.” I laughed, thinking that I was being clever. Surely this refined billionaire with his clients of foreign royalty and overpriced bottles of champagne didn’t have a dungeon in his basement. He was far more likely to have bats in the proverbial belfry.
“As you wish,” he said. John ushered me to an elevator. Within seconds, we had descended into the basement of his mansion. We exited the elevator into a long hallway covered with plush red carpeting that nearly sucked my cowboy boots off like quicksand.
“This is some carpet you have here,” I commented.
“It’s better when you’re barefoot,” John answered. He unlocked a thick metal door at the end of the hallway and flipped on a long row of lights set in the ceiling. “After you,” he said, stepping aside to allow me entrance.
When I walked into the so-called dungeon, I was struck by how comfortable it seemed. There was an enormous round bed with satiny black bedcovers that gleamed under the lights. The floor beneath our feet was covered with more of that ridiculously plush red carpeting, and the walls were painted matte black.
I looked up at the ceiling, half expecting it to be covered in a facsimile of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Instead there was a series of hooks and tracks running across the ceiling in rows and circles. “That’s weird,” I mused out loud. My eyes took in the various padded benches, hanging contraptions, neatly coiled ropes and silver chains in various lengths and thicknesses. I didn’t even know the names of half the objects in the room. “Weird,” I repeated.
“It’s not as weird as you might think,” he said. “In fact, I predict that there will come a time soon enough when you find them quite natural indeed.”
I took a step backward and tripped squarely over a padded bench. The breath was knocked out of me. I lay on the floor panting, but I didn’t know whether I was breathless from my reaction to this strange dungeon or from the fall. On second thought, I was likely breathless from being in such close proximity to a man who was breathtakingly handsome, mind-bogglingly rich and in possession of a mansion with a built-in dungeon.
John gallantly helped me to my feet and guided me to sit on the padded bench over which I’d unceremoniously fallen. “This is the first time a woman has had such a dramatic reaction to my little hobby,” he said.
“Is that so?” I asked. “Just how many women have you shared this hobby with?”
“Since my wife passed away, there have been a few,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, none of them were really my type. You, on the other hand, are someone I can really sink my teeth into.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re a vampire?” I asked.
He laughed. “I’m definitely not a vampire, but I do like to bite.” His eyes turned serious. “May I kiss you, Terry?”
“Yes,” I said. My voice was barely a whisper, but he heard me. Thank goodness. I closed my eyes as his hot mouth came crashing down on mine. His kiss was relentless. By the time he finished, I was grateful for the padded bench beneath me. It was the only thing keeping me from falling to the plush red carpet. I suddenly felt like I was boneless and limp like a cooked lasagna noodle only with less common sense. Beneath the expert touch of his tongue, I felt like I was melting into a hot puddle of wax.
“You kiss just like my wife,” he sighed. “May I make love to you, Terry?”
“Please,” I said.
“Please what, Terry? I’d really like to hear you say it.”
“Please make love to me, John. If you don’t, I fear that I’ll explode into a billion pieces.”
He leaned over and scooped me into his arms. Then he carried me effortlessly to the big, round bed and laid me upon it. From my supine position, I had an excellent view of the metal tracks and thick steel hooks protruding from the ceiling. “You’re not going to do anything weird to me, are you?” I asked, suddenly worried.
“Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight, I just want to find out what it feels like to be inside you. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Just so you know, you don’t have to whisper. The walls are padded and soundproofed. You can even scream if you want to.”
“Duly noted,” I replied.
I lay alone on the big round bed awaiting John’s next move. Then I watched as he undressed himself efficiently, removing one article of clothing at a time, folding it neatly and placing it on the padded bench that had made me tumble to the floor. His body was exactly what I had expected. He was rippling with thick muscle from his neck to his calves. John was a hunk.
He removed his underwear last, sliding them gracefully down his thickly muscled legs and removing them with a flourish. Once they were folded, they joined the rest of his clothes on the bench. “It’s your turn, Terry. Would you like to undress for me?”
Getting undressed in front of a beautiful man is one of the rare occasions when my confidence level dips threateningly low. “Can you dim the lights?” I asked hopefully.
“No,” he answered sternly. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Okay,” I said in a small voice. I began my reclining striptease by kicking off my cowboy boots one at a time, using my heels to push the boot off the opposite foot. Then I unzipped the side of my short skirt, dug my heels into the satin-covered mattress and lifted my rump to slide the skirt free. This wasn’t so bad. I was still wearing black pantyhose over red panties, plus my shirt and bra.
“The clock is ticking, Terry,” John said.
I pulled my black sequined top over my head and dropped it over the side of the round mattress. Then I unfastened my bra in the front and let my breasts pour out of the confining garment. My soft breasts and pink nipples burst into view, looking very much like I would never be able to contain them back into their satin cage.
John was standing motionless. His enormous erect member was standing at attention while I finishing disrobing in a hurry. I wriggled free of my unfastened brassiere and shimmied out of my pantie
s and pantyhose like I was peeling a giant, chubby banana. Finally, I was entirely naked, slightly embarrassed and more than a little moist in the secret place between my thighs.
My new friend climbed gracefully onto the bed and arranged his strong body atop my softer form. Without further preamble, he kissed the side of my neck with his plump lips, breathing his hot breath on my skin in a way that made my body instantly respond. I moaned loudly, remembering that no one would hear me thanks to the padded and soundproofed walls in this complete stranger’s own personal den of iniquity.
His perfectly straight teeth bit down on my lower lip, making me whimper. He still hadn’t entered me, but he parted my thighs with his knees and lay between my legs so that I could feel his manhood pushing hard against the needy entrance to my body.
Soft full lips pressed against my neck again while an exquisite hardness began its slow journey into my channel. Hot kisses rained over my throat and chest. He kissed my collarbones and the slight dip at the base of my throat. With his teeth scraping periodically against my skin and my lower lip still smarting from being bitten, I braced myself for the next bite.
“Relax, Terry,” he murmured into my neck as he pushed himself deep inside my body. “Wrap your legs around my back,” he ordered.
I did as I was told, bending my knees and moving my feet around his back until my soles touched each other. My breath was already coming in short, labored gasps, and I had a feeling that I was going to burst into flames. I closed my eyes tightly in concentration. “John, I think I’m going to—”
“No,” he roared. “Not yet.”
My eyes popped open in surprise, but I did as I was told. Somehow, I held back my body’s response so that I stayed on the brink of an orgasm until I thought I would pass out from the anticipation and the delayed release. I groaned loudly when John picked up the pace, crashing hard into my body while I rocked my hips upward to meet his thrusts.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
Once again, I did as I was told.
“Let yourself go, Annabelle,” John said. “It’s time.”
At that moment, I didn’t really care that my name wasn’t Annabelle. I climaxed hard. My lower body erupted into repeated waves of pleasure that rolled through me with the power of a tornado. I jerked my hips upward against John’s magnificent body and arched my back. Without thinking about it, I screamed as I came. My climax was all the more powerful because I’d had to wait for John’s permission.
Deep inside my quivering body, John unleashed his hot, wet passion while I was still reeling from my orgasm. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was open in a silent scream. He collapsed on top of me. We were both breathing hard. “Was it good for you?” he asked.
“It was the best,” I admitted.
“I’m glad to hear it. Next time we’ll spice things up a bit.”
I looked up at the ceiling and wondered what exactly he meant by spice. “By the way, who’s Annabelle?” I asked, but I had a feeling that I already knew the answer.
Chapter 2
“Terry, you’re late.” Sarah looked up at me in surprise. “I don’t think you’ve ever been late for work before.” Sarah shook her head, sending waves of shining blond curls cascading back and forth like a waterfall in the wind.
“They didn’t promote you to management since last night, did they?” I snapped. “Besides, we’re cocktail waitresses, not brain surgeons. I think you and the other girls can manage without me for five minutes.” I momentarily compared my own curvier figure with Sarah’s lean body, but I dismissed the comparison in short order. There was no way I would ever starve myself into a size two. It just wasn’t my style.
Sarah laughed. She was too good natured to take my biting words seriously. “You know why I’m so interested. I saw you get into that guy’s limousine last night. Did you know he was rich?” Sarah looked at me expectantly.
“I didn’t know he was rich until he picked me up in a stretch limo. I was expecting him to show up in a Ford Pinto,” I said. I rubbed a smudge of dirt from the toe of my cowboy boot. “I don’t know how you can run around in high heels all night long,” I said. “I’d have to quit my job if they took away my cowboy boots.”
“Stop trying to change the subject and tell me all about your new lover,” Sarah begged. “What was it like?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and we’re not going to make any tips standing in the back room talking about my night.” I pretended to be annoyed, but Sarah was harmless. I actually enjoyed the younger girl’s company. At thirty, I was nearly a decade older than the petite blonde.
“Some things are more important than tips,” Sarah said. “Now start at the beginning and don’t stop until the part where you show up late for work for the first time.”
I sighed. “Fine, I’ll tell you. Pull up a chair, but it’s your fault if we get into trouble.”
Sarah sat down on a battered old chair and waited.
“His name is John Goldman, and he’s an unbelievably wealthy attorney for some Middle Eastern royalty or something. Anyway, his house is like a castle, and he has these oil paintings of his late wife. She looked exactly like me. I mean exactly like me. For a minute, I was sure he was some creeper who had been stalking me or something.”
“Maybe he is a creeper,” Sarah said helpfully.
“You never know,” I said. “He showed me around the house, and it was all animal print, crystal chandeliers, expensive artwork and vaulted ceilings. There’s even an elevator. Well, he took me on a tour of the house, and we ended up in a room in the basement. Get this. He actually called it the dungeon.”
Sarah nearly fell off her chair. “Was it full of iron maidens and tramp’s chairs and stuff?”
“There weren’t any iron maidens or tramp chairs, and I’m surprised you know about those things anyway.”
“I watch the History Channel,” Sarah explained.
“So, there we were in this room with plush red carpeting up to my ankles and metal hooks hanging from the ceiling. It was like something you would see in a horror movie,” I said.
“Or a porno,” Sarah supplied.
“That’s true, I guess. There were padded benches and all kinds of chains, ropes and restraints. There was a round bed covered in black satin. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”
“I would totally have had a heart attack,” Sarah said. Her eyes were big and round like saucers.
“He was kind of bossy, but he was mesmerizing” I said. “We made love—”
“Did he tie you down? Were you blindfolded? Did he whip you?” Sarah was bouncing up and down excitedly on her chair.
I laughed. “He didn’t do any of those things, but he made me climax until I screamed,” I said. “Then he called me Annabelle.”
“Who the heck is Annabelle?” Sarah looked confused.
“Annabelle was his wife. She died in a drunk-driving accident. That’s why he ordered bottled water when he came here. He doesn’t drink.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I think he’s the one who was driving when she died.”
“Are you going to see him again?” Sarah asked.
“I think so. He said the sex is going to be spicier next time,” I said.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Sarah asked.
“The room was filled with whips and chains,” I said. “So I’m assuming that spicy means hanging me from the ceiling and paddling my ass with a bullwhip.”
Sarah shrieked with laughter. She had to hold onto the sides of the chair to keep from tumbling onto the floor. When she finally caught her breath, she looked at me with a serious expression on her face. “If he’s using a bullwhip, doesn’t that mean he would be whipping you, not paddling you?”
We both exploded into laughter. “I have no idea,” I admitted. “There’s probably a book about this stuff that I should read.”
“I totally read a book about that,” Sarah said. “But I can’t remember how it ended.”
“Hopefully the heroine wound up living happily ever after,” I said wistfully.
“I’m sure she did,” Sarah said. “That’s the only way those stories ever end.”
“Do you think we should get to work now?” I asked.
“I guess so. Just try not to steal all the big tippers tonight,” Sarah said.
“Sarah, you know the men can’t control themselves around my curves. You should probably eat a cheeseburger every now and then.”
She wrinkled her nose in my direction. “You know I’m a vegan, right?” she asked.
“Sure,” I agreed. “You know your shoes are made of leather, right?
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not planning to eat my shoes,” she said.
We made our way into the bar. Thirsty men immediately began clamoring for attention. “Where have you been?” a voice demanded. It was John Goldman himself.
“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.
“You’re late,” he said.
“You didn’t buy the place since last night, did you?” I asked.
“That’s not very funny. Although I could buy this place and shut it down if I wanted to,” he said. “Of course, that would be just plain silly. I don’t care if these other girls want to shake their curves in skimpy outfits for tips, but I’d appreciate it if you wore just a little more fabric when you were out in public.”
“Pardon me,” I said politely. “First of all, look around you. None of the other girls have curves. Second of all, if memory serves me correctly, we only met last night. It was actually early this morning, if you want to get specific. What on Earth makes you think that it’s appropriate to tell me what to do?”
He looked stunned. Perhaps his Annabelle never talked back. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you won’t listen to reason, maybe you’ll listen to money. So I’ll pay you twice your salary if you quit.”
Cocktails and Curves: A BBW Billionaire Romance Page 2
