Always My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance

by Jane Henry

  My patience is waning. “Sit down.”

  Her eyes narrow on me for one beat before she obeys.

  No one will ever call Miranda Montague spineless.

  I’m fucking this up. I’ve been watching her now for months, biding my time until I had the opportunity to have her alone, to get to know her, and I’m doing a great job at making sure I push her away and she never comes back.

  The waiter comes with the bill, and I pay it quickly, keeping my gaze fixed on Miranda. I sign my name with a flourish, stand, and throw the bill down on the table. I’m angry. At the circumstances, our inability to talk this through, and not knowing what happens next or how I’ll orchestrate this evening without being a class-A douchebag.

  I reach for her hand. She gives me a scornful look, folds her napkin, places it on the table beside her, then gets to her feet, turning away from my hand.

  “Take my hand.”

  She purses her lips. “No.”

  She’s playing with fire. The daddy tendencies I’ve obviously been harboring rise to the surface. I’ve booked her for this evening. She agreed to that. And just because she doesn’t like how things are going doesn’t give her the freedom to turn away from me now. Tell me no? That’s going to get you over my lap, little girl.

  I come closer to her, take her by the elbow, and tug her over to me so I can whisper in her ear.

  “Are you or are you not a representative of the Sugar Daddies Escort service?”

  She swallows hard and her jaw clenches. “I am the representative of Sugar Daddies.”

  I nod. “Then you ought to know, Miss Montague. Need I remind you what happens to little girls who don’t do what their daddies tell them?”

  Her cheeks heat and she holds her head up high. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Lord, but I daresay you have a completely different concept of what our agency is about.”

  I won’t allow her to sidestep.

  “Then why don’t you and I go upstairs and have a little chat about this?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a ‘chat,’ and I’m starting to get a little wary about what exactly that entails.”

  “Then perhaps it’s best we get to a place where we can discuss matters at length, and privately.”

  She’s so close, I can smell the mesmerizing scent of her perfume, flowery and just a bit spicy, exquisitely feminine. A stray strand of blonde hair falls onto her forehead. I brush it off, lean in, and kiss her, a chaste brush of my lips where her hair fell on her forehead. Her eyes widen, and her mouth parts.

  “Are you with me?”

  A beat passes before she swallows and nods. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.”

  She flushes even deeper.

  The ride up on the elevator takes too long. I want her alone. Naked. On her knees before me, ready to do what I tell her. I want that contract signed, sealed, and delivered.

  Now.

  We finally arrive on my floor. I take her by the hand. It’s cold and clammy in mine, and I give her a sharp look.

  “Are you nervous?”

  She huffs out a laugh. “Who, me? Now why would I be nervous? There isn’t anything at all intimidating about a very massive, obviously jacked, somehow furious, sexy man who’s hired me to have sex with him, who’s outrageously furious at me for having the nerve to be a virgin?” She rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “Piece of cake.”

  I narrow my eyes on her, which only makes her huff out again. “Definitely not helping my unease, if you were concerned about that or anything,” she mutters.

  I don’t respond but take her to the entrance, slide my key card against the lock, then shove the door open when the little light turns green.

  “Oh, wow,” she murmurs.

  I give her a curious look. She shrugs. “I forgot for a minute we were in a hotel.” She looks around. “Is Darius Morrow nearby?”

  “He is. What do you know about Morrow?”

  “He married a friend of mine,” she says. “But I’ve never been to the penthouse.”

  Good.

  The more I learn about her, the more I want her for myself. I don’t share well, never have, and I don’t plan on changing that.

  “Darius’s primary residence is here at the casino,” I explain, ushering her in. The door clicks shut behind her, as her eyes take in every detail. “So yes, he lives in the penthouse, though that’s on the other side of the casino. This is just a suite I rent.”

  “Not your primary residence?” she asks, one elegant eyebrow arched.

  I walk in, shrug out of my suit coat, and hang it up on the coat rack. “No.”

  She looks around the place without a word. To our right is the massive king-bed, with its gilded ivory headboard and matching linens. The bedroom opens up to a large sitting room with chocolate brown leather furniture, accented with ivories and creams. A small end table holds a vase of white roses.

  In front of us, the large window opens to a balcony, giving us a view of the Vegas skyline with magnificent twinkling lights and large skyscrapers.

  “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  I smile at her. “Thank you.” I take one of my hands out of my pocket and point to the sofa. “Have a seat, Miranda.”

  She walks unsteadily on her high heels and sits on the very edge of the sofa, as if she’s prepared to run at any moment. I pace in front of her. Thinking. Planning.

  “Say something.”

  I turn my head to look at her. “Excuse me?”

  “Well, don’t just pace there like someone’s about to die. Just make up your mind and say it already.”

  “Say what?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Anything.”

  Anything?

  “So you don’t want me to filter myself?”

  “I suppose conversation for polite company would be appropriate.”

  I raise a brow at her. “I suppose. I’m not polite company, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “You’re not?”

  Not if the toys I have hidden in the closet have anything to do with it.

  I walk over to her, taking in every detail. I love the way her fingertips graze her collarbone when she’s nervous, the way her lips part just so.

  “I’m not. You haven’t surmised that yet, then?”

  I turn toward the bar and pour myself a scotch.

  “Drink?”

  She nods. “Yes, please.”

  “Any preference?”

  She shakes her head.

  It was only a polite question. I already know exactly what she likes and had it brought up for tonight. I pour her a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and bring it over to her.

  “Thank you.” She eyes the large glass of wine, and her eyes flit up to mine as she takes a sip. “Oh, that’s delicious.”

  “Glad you like it. My family owns a vineyard in France, and this is one of their most popular varieties.”

  “Really?”

  I nod, and sit beside her. “Really.”

  She exhales. “Listen, Gabriel, if I’m going to—”

  I’ve had quite enough. “If you’re going to avoid a spanking, you’ll call me sir or daddy from now on.”

  She downs the wine like she’s in a desert dying of thirst, then places the empty glass in front of her. Wordlessly, I pour her another glass.

  When she speaks, her voice is a little high and squeaky.

  “Can you… repeat that one more time?”

  I take a deliberately slow sip of my drink, then lean back and cross one ankle over my knee.

  “Of course. I said from now on, you’ll call me sir or daddy.”

  “There was another part to that.”

  “Ah, yes. That is, if you’d like to avoid a spanking.”

  I could get lost in the endless blue of her eyes, staring at me with a mixture of apprehension and arousal. I lean closer to her and place one of my hands on her knee. Just a gentle touch. I left a small window behind us open, and a little wisp of her hair flutters when a breeze rustl
es through.

  “Unless that’s what you want, Miranda?”

  “I… I have no idea what I want, sir,” she says, in that throaty voice that makes me hard. I swallow, then squeeze her leg.

  “First, we talk about the terms of our arrangement.”

  Her bold look disappears, and she suddenly resembles a little girl. Afraid?

  “So, you don’t want another woman for the evening?”

  She winces, and I realize I’m gripping her knee harder, as if intuitively reminding her she must stay.

  “Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “I want you.”

  “But you weren’t impressed when I… told you I was a virgin.”

  I shake my head. “You misunderstood. I was just surprised is all, not displeased. So, you’ve never had any sex?”

  She shakes her head from side to side. “No, sir. I’ve coached my girls, of course. I run a successful business, but I have had to rely on heavy... research.”

  According to my research, she hasn’t dated in years. And now that I go over the mental tally of all the very many things I know about her, I have no record of her ever taking on a client. She never mixes business with pleasure. She runs a tight ship, and she makes everyone follow strict, ironclad rules.

  Including herself.

  I can’t believe I know everything about her, from her history, her alma mater, her family tree, and her blood type. I know what she’s done for work, what her favorite hobbies are, and that she’s got a particular quirk about wearing pink when she works out.

  How could I have missed the fact that she’s a virgin? I suppose it isn’t something someone puts down in a record book, but still.

  Still.

  I feel as if I don’t know her at all.

  “Why, Miranda?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why have you never had sex?”

  She looks away. “I suppose it’s cliché, but I… well, I just never met the right guy.”

  The need to possess her flares in me so hot and fast, I have to school my reaction. I don’t speak. I’m not sure what I’d say if I could. But the next moment, I’ve got her pinned beneath me on the sofa, the sweet, soft, supple skin of her wrists pressed against my fingers as I hold her arms by her side and kiss her.

  I kiss her hard, marking her, so hard she’ll remember me when her lips are bruised in the morning. I slide my tongue against hers, sending a frisson of awareness right through me. When she moans, I get hard.

  I press her more firmly onto the sofa, sliding my hand up the length of her dress until I palm her breast straight through the satin fabric. She whimpers when I drag my thumb over her clothed but hardened nipple, until she’s moaning with need and the scent of her arousal fills my senses. For a virgin, she’s so fucking responsive. Hell, maybe it’s because she is a virgin.

  I’ll be her first everything.

  I kiss her until she arches her back. I glide my hand from her breast, down the length of her body, until I reach the hem of her skirt. Gently, so gently she trembles in anticipation, I slide my hand up her thighs. I moan into her mouth at the feel of her soft, warm, supple skin. She parts her legs, and I drag my finger to the apex of her thighs, and I groan when I find she’s not wearing any panties.

  “You didn’t wear panties,” I scold.

  She shakes her head, seemingly unable to speak. She’s boneless beneath me, speechless as I stroke my fingers through her soaked pussy.

  “I never do,” she whispers.

  I shake my head and cluck my tongue. “Naughty little girl. I’ll have to spank you for that. Someone ought to feel my palm good and hard for being so naughty.”

  “Is that a rule? The no panties thing?”

  She gives me a look that dares me to take this to where we both know we’re going.

  “It is now.”

  She moans. She likes that.

  I stroke her again, relishing the feel of her shaved pussy and damp folds, as she arches her back and jerks her hips for more. I lower my mouth to her breast and bite her straight through the fabric.

  “God,” she groans. “That feels so good.”

  “Part your legs.”

  She obeys, and her legs part enough for me to stroke her more fully. I circle her clit and suckle her neck, as she moans and her breathing hitches. When I feel she’s on the edge of coming, I take my hand away.

  “No,” she moans.

  I take my finger and place it in my mouth. Christ, I want to taste her for real.

  “Your first time coming for me won’t be like this.”

  “Coming… for you?” she asks. “You’ve hired me as your escort, sir. You’re supposed to…”

  “Do whatever the hell I want.”

  She grins wickedly and nods.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take off your clothes, please.”

  I can see how she swallows, her hand at her neck again, trying to keep herself calm. She stands and makes quick work of removing her clothing. They fall onto the floor. She looks at me with wide, curious eyes, as I let my gaze roam over her.

  The gentle slope of her shoulders and slight curve of her belly. Her breasts are full and pert with lovely strawberry-colored nipples I want to suckle, but this time with nothing between us. Her waist narrows then flares to perfect hips and voluptuous thighs.

  Her hand hovers over her side. Hiding.

  I want to see, to know all of her. “Put your hands down by your side.”

  A flash of pain shoots through her gaze. She breaks our gaze, her eyes lowering with her hand. There’s a circular silver scar on the side of her abdomen. Obviously, an old injury and one she doesn’t want to dwell on. I ignore it.

  “You’re breathtaking. Beautiful.”

  Her gaze reaches mine once more. “Thank you.”

  “Stand right there in front of me,” I order, as I pour myself another scotch. “I want you to touch yourself.”

  “Sir?”

  “Now.”

  She stands in front of me and gently lowers her fingers to her pussy.

  “I can’t,” she whispers.

  I shake my head, as if it pains me to have to pronounce what I do, but I’ve been waiting for an excuse for this.

  “That’s not the correct answer.” I slide my drink onto a coaster, and reach for the cuff of my sleeve. My eyes on hers, I roll up first one, then the other. I can hear the way her breathing shallows, and see the way her pupils dilate.

  When one sleeve is rolled up, I reach for the second, then I pat my knee.

  “Come here, please. Lie over my lap for your spanking.”

  Chapter Six

  Miranda

  “I… I can’t do that either.” Goosebumps rise on my flesh. Shame, humiliation, and failure wash over me. There’s no way in hell I can cross this room and lay myself over his lap.

  Not that I don’t want to. I do. A part of me is dying to know what it’s like to be spanked. I can already imagine my belly pressed over his knee. Then what’s my issue? I’m the owner of the fucking escort service. In business, a freaking sex goddess. And I can’t force myself to do any of the things he’s asked me.

  He gives me a hard look. “You can, and you will, young lady, or this gets a lot more serious.”

  His hands go to the buckle of his belt. The muscles of his perfect forearm ripple, visible to me beneath the cuff of his perfectly rolled up sleeve.

  He wants to spank me with a belt? My knees go to jelly. “You don’t mean?”

  “Yes. I do. I’m going to count to five and if you aren’t laid over my lap, you’ll have a taste of my belt striped across your perfect ass.”

  I don’t know what’s more terrifying. Pleasuring myself as he watches. Putting myself over his lap to be spanked. Or being whipped by his belt. I can hardly think straight.

  He unlatches the buckle.

  I freeze. I can’t tear my gaze from his hands at his waist. Yes, I do know what’s most terrifying. The belt. The belt is the scariest of the three.
>
  He raises that perfectly sculpted dark brow at me. “One… two… three…”

  I scurry across the carpet. I’ve never laid myself over someone’s lap before. How do I do this?

  His open palm—that big, rough, masculine palm of his—pats his thigh. “Four.”

  Hands and knees on the couch, I crawl across it. Lay down over his thighs. My naked breasts press into the cushion. My ass is perfectly centered over the edge of his lap. My legs spread behind me, supported by the leather cushions.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m going to be spanked. It’s almost more intimidating than the idea of having sex for the first time.

  “Good girl. I didn’t get to five.” The weight of his hand rests on my ass. He gives it a little pat, a prelude of what’s to come, and my sex pulses. Oh my God, this man has me in his absolute control. “Now, what should a very naughty girl do for her daddy when she needs to be punished?”

  What does he want? A blow job? A hand job? Seems impossible from the position he’s got me in.

  Think, boss lady. What does this man want from you the most?

  Billionaire. Type-A. In control.

  Submission. He wants me to submit to him. He wants me to ask for it.

  I barely recognize my own voice as it comes out in a mousy squeak. “You want me to… ask you to spank me?”

  His hand slides over my ass, increasing the goosebumps on my tingling skin by twofold. “Good girl. You’re a fast learner. When daddy tells you to do something, like touch your pretty pussy, I expect you to obey. If you disobey, you need to be punished. Now, ask daddy for what you need.”

  My face flames, matching the burning heat growing between my thighs. My throat tight, I swallow back my fears. “Please. Spank me.”

  His hand lifts. My breath catches in my throat as he pauses, and I imagine his hand hovering over me. His hand comes down, hard and stinging on my ass. Harder than I expected.

  It fucking hurts.

  He pulls me from my thoughts with icy words. “Did you forget something?”

  The sting spreads on my ass. He waits. I know what he wants to hear. My tongue swells in my mouth. My chest tightens.

  I can’t do it.

  But… I kinda want to.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Take in a breath. And say the words I’ve longed to say, just never had the right man to say them to.