Billionaire's Matchmaker (Titans)

by Sierra Cartwright

  Forcing himself to focus on her instead of the stunning images of her pregnant, he withdrew his fingers from her tightest hole.

  She exhaled with a shuddering sigh.

  “Stay there.”

  “Oh, there’s nowhere I can go yet, Sir.”

  Sassy little Hope was getting so much better at this submission thing. There might have been irony in her statement, but the honorific had slid out of her mouth without hesitation. He was sure some deep part of her recognized this was right. But would the rest of her mind catch up?

  He reached for the showerhead and detached it from its holder and cleaned both of them before sliding out his cock.

  She allowed her head to fall back. While she relaxed, he moved the showerhead between her legs.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  With complete fascination, he watched his cum combine with the warm water and drizzle down the inside of her thigh.

  Even if she decided submission wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t let her go without one hell of a fight.

  Nervous, Hope pulled on the hem of the black gown he’d given her. “It’s going to get me arrested for indecent exposure.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  Approval laced his words, making her stop tugging.

  “Come with me.”

  Reluctantly, she followed him into the bathroom. He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her to stand in front of him near a mirror. The dress was made from a stretchy material and allowed no secrets. The front plunged into a sinful V. The back fell into a swoop at her hips. He’d permitted her no lingerie.

  “What do you think?”

  Everything about the garment was scandalous.

  “Get past that part,” he snapped with impatience as if reading her mind. “See it—and yourself—in a noncritical light.”

  She scowled. “You don’t ask for anything easy.” Hope appraised the whole package, focusing on the way the dress hugged her hips and revealed her cleavage. There was no doubt he’d chosen well on her behalf. Even though she was self-conscious, she had to admit the garment’s fit flattered her. Did she have the courage to be seen in public, though? Let others feast on her features the way he did?

  She kept her hands at her sides, resisting the urge to tug on the bottom or draw the fabric more fully across her breasts.

  “That’s better.” He waited for her answer.

  “It’s…” So different from what she’d brought. She’d thought her cocktail dress was risqué, but compared to this, it was a nun’s habit. Seeing approval in his gaze, she gave him an honest answer. “I love it.”

  “I imagined it would be spectacular.” He squeezed her shoulders. “It’s better than that.” She gave a tentative smile. Through her pounding heart, she admitted her fears. “Rafe, I’m not sure I have what it takes to wear it to dinner.”

  “No?” He eased the straps from her shoulders to cup her breasts in his large hands.

  Transfixed, she watched him squeeze her nipples, rolling each between his thumb and forefinger. Her flesh responded as it always did to him. Her knees weakened, and she laid her head back on his chest.

  “You may bring a wrap. But I wanted you to see the outfit as I’ve imagined.”

  She frowned.

  “Stay there for a moment.”

  He left her like that, giving her no choice but to stare at her full breasts, her nipples peaked and swollen. She’d spent so much time protecting herself, she’d never thought of herself as a sensual being.

  Rafe returned carrying something that she couldn’t see.

  He stood behind her once again and moved one of his hands in front of her chest. Her pulse slammed to a stop when she realized he held a collar. And nothing delicate. This was weighty, gold, and it had a padlock. “For tonight,” he said. “I want the world to see you.”

  He’d said those words before, but now they held a shocking power.

  “Wear my collar? It’s not a lifelong commitment. You can consider it an experiment.”

  An experiment. For one night. A fantasy. Something she could replay forever, keep with her, even when she told him it couldn’t work between them.

  Scared to say yes, even more scared to say no, she nodded. Her heart started again with a leap.

  “I need to hear the words.”

  It was a struggle, but she finally managed, “Yes, Sir.”

  Something dark flashed through his eyes. Relief? It couldn’t be. Rafe Sterling had cloaked himself in confidence, the same way he wore a suit.

  “Hold this.” He placed the lock in her left hand.

  Since her hair was already pinned up, she remained where she was. He reached around her. The snap clicked. Cold metal snuggled her skin, making her nipples swell even more.

  “I fantasized about this.”

  She reached up to touch the collar, and her fingers found his.

  He closed his hand around hers, warm and reassuring. “This is mine.” He thumbed the collar. “And so is this.” He traced the column of her throat. Then, keeping her gaze captive, he stroked down and circled beneath each of her breasts.

  All her emotions softened.

  “The lock, please.”

  She unfurled her fingers. From behind her, he reached across her body, the material of his suit coat dragging across her erect nipples.

  He fastened the padlock through the collar with a click so sharp it bounced off the walls. Then he dropped the key on the counter. The metal bounced and clattered before settling.

  In the first second after it slid to a stop, she felt trapped. In the next, she was liberated.

  “Let me see you.” He pinched her nipples viciously, making her yelp and shooting a torrent of wicked desire through her. He lifted the straps back into place. Her nipples were visible and sexy as hell as they pressed against the fabric. “Tell me what you think.”

  Now that the collar was in place, the dress was somehow less revealing. It was the gold, she realized, eye catching, drawing attention. “You were right.”

  “Those may be my three favorite words.” He smiled. Then he turned her to face him. “This means a great deal to me.”

  It was easy to be brave when he was so encouraging.

  Before they left the bathroom, she glanced at the key. “Are you leaving it there?”

  “I’d prefer to, yes. But until you are formally collared, I can carry it in my wallet.”

  She didn’t want to give in and be a scaredy-cat. “I trust you.”

  “Thank you, Hope.”

  He did indeed have a wrap for her. As he wanted, she folded it and placed it in her purse. She could do this.

  The drive to the restaurant took forty-five minutes. Again, this place wasn’t easy to find. The GPS screen showed the road meandering along the Mississippi River. Lush vegetation obscured signs, and nothing indicated there was a restaurant nearby.

  Hope’s body was tender from his rough handling in the shower, and her ass burned in a way that ensured she’d spend the evening thinking about the reaming he’d given her. No matter how she shifted, she couldn’t ease the ache.

  “Problem?”

  “No, Sir,” she replied.

  His smile called her a liar. And the smirk that followed told her he wasn’t apologetic. He was happy.

  The valet parked the car, and once again he instructed the doorman not to assist her. Though impatient, she waited for him. This part of submission, with him taking such exquisite care of her, was wonderful. Well, she had to admit, so far, most of it had been.

  This time it was more natural to accept his help, and when he offered his elbow, she accepted. Together, they walked up the stairs toward the large building.

  The owner, who Rafe introduced as Bastien Cauchon, greeted them. He rounded the stand and swooped Rafe into a brief bear hug.

  “Mademoiselle”—he raised her hand to kiss it—“welcome to Vieille Rivière.”

  Old River. Appropriate. “Thank you, Mr. Cauchon.” Neither her dress nor h
er collar caused him to furrow his eyebrows.

  “Your table is prepared, Rafael.”

  Rafe turned to her and placed his fingers against the small of her back. His touch was cool against her heated skin.

  “Please.” He nodded for her to follow Bastien.

  When she entered the main dining room, her pulse slammed into hyperdrive. Many of the tables were full. A couple had people kneeling next to the table, one a man, another a woman. Submissives? Oh God, would he demand that of her? Frantic, she turned to him for reassurance. With tight lips, he nodded at her to continue walking.

  Gulping for air, she did so.

  In the middle of the room, Bastien stopped. There were plenty of empty tables around the outside, but Rafe wanted her in the center of everything?

  The owner pulled back a chair for her, but Rafe said, “Thank you, Bastien. I’ll see to Ms. Malloy from here.”

  “Most certainly, sir. Enjoy your evening.”

  In a nearby ice bucket, champagne chilled. Would it be inappropriate for her to just grab the bottle and drink from it?

  “You’re doing fine,” he assured her against her ear as he scooted in her chair for her.

  “I’m freaking out.”

  “I brought you here to be seen.”

  Quietly, frantically, she said, “I’m not kneeling in public.”

  “Agreed. Not until you’re ready.”

  “That’s never happening.”

  At the back of her neck, he flicked the lock. “You have a safe word, and nothing will happen without your permission.” He captured her chin. “But I will ask you this. Does anyone here appear unhappy? Are they concerned with anyone other than their dining companion? Is it possible there is joy for them in the action?”

  She wouldn’t admit it, but he had made excellent points, even if such behavior wasn’t for her.

  He dropped a kiss on her mouth. “Relax.” He took the napkin from the table, shook it open, and draped it across her lap before seating himself opposite from her.

  A bare-chested waiter with tight black pants bowed to Rafe and requested permission to pour the champagne.

  “Thank you.” Rafe sampled the vintage, then signaled for the flutes to be filled. “Give us some time to settle in, please. You can check back when our glasses are empty.”

  After she’d downed half a glass, he asked, “Better?”

  “It’s more than I expected.” The decor surprised her. The walls were covered in deep red silk. Paintings, some that appeared to be the work of the masters, hung from the picture rail.

  In addition to the people kneeling next to the tables, one of whom was on a leash and being fed pieces of cheese, there were bare-breasted women, one wearing a collar that appeared to be three or four inches thick. One gentleman with a slight paunch wore a leather harness along with a bow tie that matched one his companion wore. No one paid her any attention at all.

  For something so extreme, it was all rather…mundane. Respectful, even. “Is everyone here a Dom and sub?”

  “No. Some people enjoy dressing in fetish clothing. Many different kink lifestyles are represented. And all are welcome. Discretion is the key word here.”

  A group of men followed Bastien through the restaurant toward a table in the back. Each of them wore a summer-weight jacket and casual pants. They appeared to be the ones out of place here.

  “The owner, he called you Rafael. And your mother did too, that first day in your office.”

  “My given name, yes. Named after my maternal grandfather. He was Spanish, a descendent of the first settlers in the new world.”

  Which explained his dark skin and the glacial blue of his breathtaking eyes.

  “You have a storied background.” And the obligations to go with it, a world he had invited her to be part of.

  For a few minutes, she took in the atmosphere, the view of the lawns beyond, and the large berms of earth that perhaps served as a levee to keep the grand Mississippi within her banks. A woman strolled past, wearing a leash that a man held.

  Rafe reached into a pocket in his jacket and pulled out something that appeared to be fabric and slid it across the table.

  “If you prefer not to put them on in the dining room, you may utilize the ladies’ room.”

  No. It couldn’t be. She touched the fabric. Goose bumps raised on her arms as realization dawned. Vibrating panties.

  “Rafe…”

  In control, dominant, with an obvious, full expectation of her compliance, he sat back, steepled his hands in front of him, and waited.

  Hope went through her usual mental gymnastics, like she had with the rose at the Bluewater Grill. She wanted to say no, but she was also intrigued. The experiences with the butterfly had been awful, yet the orgasms had been worth the aggravation. The fact that they were in public gave her pause. What if she groaned so loud that others heard her? Then again, would anyone notice?

  She reached toward the panties, then dropped her hand in indecision again.

  Of course, there was the word she could use as a safety net, yet the wicked part of her that he’d uncovered flicked it to the side. If she did cry out, it would reflect on him.

  This time, when she reached for the garment, she did it with confidence. Then she grabbed her purse to tuck the small scrap of fabric inside.

  He shook his head.

  “What?”

  “No hiding.”

  “You don’t care if people know what we’re doing?”

  “Not in the least.” The rich timbre of his voice shot through her, reminding her of the dirty things he’d said to her in the shower. “In fact, I’d prefer that they did.”

  With a sigh, she pushed back her chair. Like a gentleman, he stood. “One day, sweet Hope, you’ll do what I ask without all this equivocation.”

  She doubted that. Clutching the underwear, she fled toward the restroom. And once again, no one paid any attention to her.

  The bathroom was elegant, in an old-world way, with gorgeous tiling and brass fixtures. There were a number of individual rooms, each with a heavy door that reached almost to the ceiling. Grateful for the privacy, she slipped into the silky panties. Then, filled with expectation, she stood there, waiting for something to happen.

  When it didn’t, she pulled the chain on the overhead tank to flush the toilet, just in case anyone noticed, then shook her head at her own ridiculousness.

  She paused to wash her hands at the vanity, and the sight of her reflection made her do a double take. Her eyes were more golden than ever before. Perhaps because of the collar? Hope traced it, marveling at the woman in the mirror. She was still herself, but so much more… More adventurous, more alive. Rafe had given her all that, and the more she received, the more she wanted, even when he shocked her with his requests.

  A woman, a Domme, if Hope was correct, entered and nodded. Jolted from her thoughts and knowing Rafe would soon send in a search party, or worse, walk in himself, Hope turned on the faucet. After washing and drying her hands, she left the restroom.

  As she entered the dining room, her panties buzzed. She froze. Not knowing what to do, she looked around for Rafe. He was studying a menu, paying no attention at all.

  Suddenly the vibration stopped. She closed her eyes in relief. Pretending everything was normal, she smoothed the front of her dress, then continued on.

  When she reached the table, he stood and pulled out her chair for her. As she was sitting, the panties danced again.

  She wasn’t sure she could endure an entire evening like this.

  Mercifully, he showed some restraint. In fact, he went long stretches without activating the remote control—long enough for her to relax and forget that she was even wearing the panties. Which made it all the more disconcerting when the vibration chased through her, sometimes for a few seconds, and once for much longer.

  After dinner, their server returned with coffee and the dessert Rafe had ordered—the best crème brûlée outside of Paris.

  She was a
dding sugar to her cup when Rafe turned on the panties. Her hand shook as she dumped the crystals, but she struggled to tolerate it, knowing he’d turn off the device in a couple of seconds.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he drizzled cream into his cup.

  She squirmed.

  He picked up his dessert spoon and dipped it into the dessert. “Bite?” he offered.

  Had he forgotten that he’d turned it on? She shook her head.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He took a mouthful. “As good as I remember. You’re sure?” He lifted another spoonful.

  She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

  Ignoring her reactions, he continued to savor his food. Breathless, she gripped the edge of the table.

  “Yours is getting cold.”

  Her pussy throbbed, and the burn in her ass where he’d finger-fucked her intensified.

  “Another thirty seconds.”

  “No. No.” Her damn betraying body started to dampen.

  “You can.” He leveled his gaze at her. “And you will. Count backward from thirty.”

  “It should be twenty by now.” She was miserable.

  “Thirty,” he reasserted. “Let me know when you’re ready to begin.”

  “Rafe!” She was losing her mind.

  He was implacable. Hope knew he didn’t give a damn how much attention she attracted. Perversely, she was glad that he didn’t let her off the hook. His resolve was something she could count on, and she drew comfort from that.

  The panties shot extra sensations into her cunt. “Oh God.” She squeezed her hands tighter on the table and spread her thighs as wide as the dress permitted, desperate for the underwear’s crotch area to have as little contact with her flesh as possible. “Thirty,” she managed, her voice little more than a hoarse croak.

  “Sorry?” He took a drink of coffee.

  “Thirty, Sir.”

  “Very good. Continue as you’re ready. If you forget where you are, or if you need a break, you will begin again.”

  Her attempts to dissuade him had cost her at least a minute. If she had gotten on with it, she would be done by now. “Twenty-nine.” She made it to fifteen before he dialed up the remote another notch. “Fourteen, thirteen…eleven!” Ten through five were a single gasped word. She reached beneath the tablecloth, yanked up her dress, and dragged the panties away from her pussy.