“Yes, please,” Belle replied.
Carrying their champagne, he escorted her into the large, formal dining room, and Belle found the long, mahogany table set with two ornate candelabra, and a magnificent red rose bouquet. There were two placings, one at the head of the table, and one to the side, and as she sat down she saw an envelope sporting her name, sitting propped up against a glass of water.
“What’s this?” she frowned.
“I suggest you open it and find out.”
The back of the envelope was sealed with red wax, a large S in the middle, and she looked over at him and smiled.
“Love the seal,” she remarked.
“Goes with the house,” he winked.
Withdrawing the folded piece of paper, she began to read.
My Dearest Belle:
These are the rules you must follow during our dinner. Any wavering from them will result in discipline.
You will eat only when I eat, and wait two-seconds before picking up your fork.
You will drink only when I drink, and wait two-seconds before lifting your glass.
If you desire something that is not on the table, you will ask me and I will extend your wishes to the waiter.
If you have any questions you may ask them now.
Simon
“I do have a question,” she said quietly.
“That is?”
“Must I eat and drink every time you do?”
“Tonight, yes, but in the future that will change. Anything else?”
“No, Sir,” except I would love to tell you how much this is turning me on.
“Good, then we shall begin,” he smiled, and picking up a small bell sitting to his right, he rang, signaling service should begin.
The butterflies were flying around frantically, and Belle wondered how she could possibly eat feeling so excited, but when the first course was placed in front of her, a rich tomato-basil soup, she found she had no problem whatsoever. The afternoon tea at Bert’s had been the only food she’d eaten since breakfast, and the hot, rich, spicy, creamy soup was ideal for the wintery night.
Simon tested her throughout the dinner. On a few occasions Belle had reached for her glass and caught herself just in time, and had almost missed picking up her fork more than once, but by the time the last plate was cleared, and dessert and a glass of brandy had been placed in front of them, the behavior felt almost natural.
“You may leave now,” Simon told the waiter, “and as arranged with your manager, please return tomorrow after 10 a.m. to clean up,” Simon instructed. “The meal was superb.”
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair, thank you, Sir. I’ll pass along your compliments to the chef.”
Simon waited until the man had left, then reaching across the table he wrapped his fingers around Belle’s hand.
“We’re going to have dessert, but I’m going to have what’s here, and you’re going to have what’s under the table,” he declared.
“Under the table?” she frowned, “I don’t understand.”
“When we hear the cars depart, which should be any minute now, and I believe…yes…I hear the crunching of the gravel. Excellent, we are quite alone. Crawl under the table, take out my cock and worship me. When you’re finished, rest your head against my leg until I pat you on the head, then you may come out.”
The edict startled her, but a sensual shudder darted down her spine and she wriggled in her seat, feeling the hot rush between her legs.
“Now, Belle,” he said firmly.
She immediately dropped on her hands and knees, feeling the dress ride up, and she paused as his fingertip traced the slit of her pussy peeking between her thighs.
“Sir,” she gasped.
“Sssshh,” he said, slapping her lightly, and raising her skirt all the way to her waist, he ran his palm over her bottom.
“Now you may proceed,” he announced, smacking her forward.
The carpet was soft and warm, and as she crawled forward she was reminded of times as a child when she found comfort under the dining room table, and a soft smile crossed her lips. Kneeling up between his legs she carefully unzipped his trousers and gently withdrew his swollen manhood.
Feeling cloaked in the odd but familiar comfort, she dropped her mouth over his hardness, recalling all he had taught her. She loved worshipping him, and lost herself in her work, relishing the feel of his powerful cock between her lips, sucking back the small drops of pre-come that fell against her tongue.
Simon lifted the warm brandy to his lips, closed his eyes and sipped. He was experiencing many firsts with Belle, and this was another long-held fantasy; his sweet submissive pleasuring him under the table after a delicious dinner. As he luxuriated in her mouth’s soft, sensual attention, his moment slowly building, he was deeply grateful he’d never succumbed to the temptation of pursuing this particular joy with any of his former lovers.
Belle was ‘the one’ and he’d known it from their first meeting, but in disbelief that it could be so, he’d struggled in his denial. Tyler’s reprimand had pushed him forward, Belle’s leap of faith, arriving at the private airport in Los Angeles and joining him on the jet, had elated him, and that was when the epiphany had washed over him and he had relinquished his fears; he could be loved for who he was, no agenda attached, and the stunning revelation had almost bowled him over.
She may have been the submissive, but his surrender was just as great, if not greater, than hers. Simon Sinclair was about control, and there was no greater lack of control than loving someone with the heart and passion with which he loved her.
Opening his eyes, gazing around the room in which his ancestors had roamed, Belle on her knees, worshipping him, he felt complete, as if he’d finally come home.
The dessert in front of him was a cream-filled pastry, drizzled with chocolate sauce. As he felt his moment near, he sliced off the end with his small fork, bringing it to his lips, and as his orgasm took hold and his cock jerked in her mouth, the cool filling and flaky crust melted against his tongue. He swallowed as she swallowed, the deep spasms squeezing his eyes shut and causing his fists to clench.
Moments later her soft mouth was cleaning him tenderly, and leaning back, he opened his eyes, sighing with a deep and satisfying pleasure.
Resting her head against his knee, the warm intimacy flooding her senses, her arms wrapped around his leg, she waited patiently for the pat on her head, and when it came she carefully crawled out, but did not return to her chair, feeling the desire to kneel beside him.
“Hello there,” he smiled, as her head popped up from under the table.
Her eyes were sparkling, full of delight and hunger, and rising from his chair, he helped her to her feet, engulfing her with his arms.
“That was beautiful, Belle,” he whispered, nuzzling her hair.
“It was? I’m so glad I pleased you. I loved being under there,” she whispered back.
“We will repeat this dinner the last Saturday night of every month, whether we’re here or in town, though I’d prefer it be here,” he announced.
“Oh, Simon, I’d love that. I love all these rituals you’ve started.”
“I’m glad, I’ve waited a long time for them,” he confessed, “and now I have a very important question. Do you dance?”
Pulling back, Belle looked up at him.
“Dance? You mean, like, ballet, or dancing in a club, or-”
“No, I mean dancing as in, the waltz, the fox trot, real couples dancing.”
“We had lessons one year in school, but otherwise, not so much,” she replied.
“Come with me, you’re going to learn,” he proclaimed, and taking her hand, led her out of the dining room and down the wide hallway towards a salon at the back of the house.
“This kind of dancing is being lost. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to past eras, but I am, and dancing is one of those things that is no longer being taught to the children of the world, and I think it’s a tragedy,” he finished, usheri
ng her forward.
The furniture and rugs had already been cleared from the center of the room, leaving a large open area of polished wood.
“Take off your shoes, I’m going to put on the music,” he smiled.
“I’ll probably make a complete fool of myself,” she complained, watching him lift the top of a cabinet.
“No, you won’t,” he promised. “I think you’ll find this really fun.”
Belle wasn’t so sure, but as she pulled off her high heels, her feet feeling great relief, she realized he was playing an LP record on an actual record player.
“Nothing like vinyl,” he grinned, walking back to her.
The sound of the Blue Danube pulsed through the room, and Belle was struck by the beat.
“I’ll never be able to-”
“Don’t look so worried,” he laughed. “Stand on my feet.”
“What, I don’t understand?” she replied, worried she’d disappoint him.
“Belle, take a deep breath, step on my toes, and relax,” he directed, raising his voice over the sound of the rousing melody. “I’m going to take you for a ride.”
“If you say so,” she remarked, and nervously did as he said, perching the balls of her feet on top of his shoe leather.
Placing her arms in the correct position, he began to move, and it only took a few seconds for her worried frown to transform into a giddy smile, her natural balance keeping her steady as he moved her smoothly around the room.
My God, this is incredible. I feel as if I’m in a movie, like I’m Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady.
She’d grown up watching the film several times a year. It was her mother’s favorite, and the domineering woman would insist Lucinda sing the songs as the movie played.
Lost in his swirling expertise, she could imagine herself dressed in a long, flowing gown, other couples waltzing with them, the room filled with the glamor of a glittering party, waiters dressed in tails and bow ties, serving champagne in round glasses, not flutes, and when the record finally came to its end, their dance over, she stepped back, looked up at him and laughed out loud.
“That was absolutely brilliant,” she exclaimed. “Can you teach me? I want to do this.”
“I knew you’d love it,” he grinned. “Of course I can teach you. You just had your first lesson. It won’t take you long at all.”
“This has been the most magical night,” she sighed. “Magical day,” she corrected herself.
“It’s not over yet,” he promised, and grabbing her hair, he leaned in and kissed her, devouring her mouth, then lingered his lips over hers, making her pulse race. “Put your shoes back on,” he smiled, breaking away, and moving to the record cabinet he carefully lifted off the vinyl disc and returned it to its protective sleeve.
“You look very sexy in high heels,” he commented as they walked from the room towards the lift. “Your legs are gorgeous, and the heels show them off.”
“Thank you, Simon. That’s how it feels, sexy,” she smiled.
The vintage elevator carried them up, depositing them on the second floor, and walking towards the bedroom Belle felt a tingle of anticipation. Entering, he immediately switched off the lights, leaving the golden glow of the dancing fire to fill their room.
“Hold on to the post of the bed,” he said softly. “Bend over and arch your back.”
Belle moved to the nearest post, and as she bent forward she felt her very short dress ride up for the second time that night.
“Perfect,” he sighed, and stepping forward, he slid it up to her waist, the lace strips that served as garters framing her delicious derriere.
Running his hands down her legs, he traced the fine contours of her calves, ran his fingers across her ankles as he would a finely boned thoroughbred, tickled the skin just above her stocking tops, and when she moved he slapped her backside, insisting she remain perfectly still.
He knew when she wiggled, while it was disobedience, it was also her request to feel his hot palm on her seat, and he acquiesced, allowing her the small, transparent manipulation.
When he finally pushed his finger deep inside her glorious cavern, touching the magic button that lived deep within, she groaned loudly, the delicious sensation swimming through her sex, then he clutched her hips and turned her around, pushing her back on the bed.
“Knees up,” he growled.
The glossy stilettos still graced her feet, and sitting on the bed he gently removed them, placing the high-fashion shoes carefully on the floor, then rubbed her feet, moving his strong fingers across her sole.
“Now, Miss Belle, time for my second dessert.”
Rarely did he drop his mouth between her legs, not because he didn’t care to, but because he chose to keep the practice for special occasions, and as he pulled her hips to the edge of the bed and knelt before her luscious temple, her anticipatory moans told him how deeply she’d been aching for his attention.
Parting her lips, exposing her sweet, swollen nub, he began to flick his tongue. Belle, already in a heightened state of arousal, squealed in pleasure, but when his fingers returned, searching out and finding that internal treasure, the squeal became a writhing wail. Spurred on by her euphoria, he buried his mouth across her cunt, all the while gently massaging her inner sanctum, but when he began sucking on her clit, and pulling back with his lips, she tumbled over the cliff.
One minute her body was taut, her back arching, then abruptly she was writhing, swept up by the winds of her ecstasy, and her cries weren’t cries at all, but screams of splendor. Simon didn’t let up, sucking and fingering, milking her magic moment, until an unexpected shudder trembled through her and she fell limp and silent.
Gently kissing her thighs, he sidled on to the mattress and stretched out next to her, pulling her against him. She was whimpering softly, murmuring something he couldn’t make out, and when he spoke her name she didn’t react. Simon smiled; she was flying, lost in her subspace.
Sitting up, he watched her, filled with a deep sense of joie de vivre. Gently wiping the hair off her face, he softly called her name, guiding her back down. Finally fluttering her eyes open, she stared up at him in wonder.
“Welcome back,” he purred.
“Mountains, and sun, warm, healing sun,” she breathed.
Sighing, he laid back down and cradled her, closing his eyes, allowing her serenity to wash over him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Back in London, Joseph’s plans to take Lucinda to visit Oxfordshire or Cambridge had fallen by the wayside. Waking on Saturday morning, they’d cuddled and kissed and made love, fallen asleep, then started again, leaving their suite only once, late in the day for an early dinner.
Not getting out of bed until midmorning Sunday, they decided perhaps it might be best to appear somewhat civilized, so chose to have lunch in the dining room and read the Sunday papers. They had just finished their meal and were deciding how to spend their afternoon, when Joseph’s phone rang.
“It’s Hardcastle,” he announced, staring across at Lucinda as he pulled it from his pocket.
“How do you know it’s him?”
“Simon gave me this burner phone just for Hardcastle’s calls. He’s the only one with the number.”
Taking a deep breath, he flipped it open.
“Cardinelli,” he said casually.
“Joseph, Darren Hardcastle here. I’d like to have a chat. Are you available around one-o’clock?”
“Let me think. Yes, Lucinda has a reporter coming to the house for lunch at 12:30, so she’ll be tied up for at least an hour. I won’t have to worry about her,” he replied.
“Excellent, come to my house,” Darren decreed.
Joseph paused. ‘Always meet Hardcastle in a public place,’ Simon had told him. ‘I know you can take care of yourself, but he has a nasty reputation and I don’t want you to take any unnecessary chances.’
“Is there a problem?” Darren asked, sensing the hesitation.
“A bit. I need to
stay close by in case Lucinda needs me. There’s a cafe just around the corner from the house called, The Black Kettle. I could meet you there,” Joseph suggested.
“I’ll see you there at one,” Darren replied sharply.
The line went dead and Joseph let out a whistle.
“That was quick,” he remarked. “I thought it would take him a few days to check me out.”
“Not if he has an internet dick,” Lucinda replied.
“What’s an internet dick?” Joseph frowned.
“An internet detective, someone who knows how to find information on the internet,” she explained. “There’s no such thing as privacy anymore.”
“I guess you’re right,” Joseph grimaced.
“So it’s happening. You’re going to meet him. Please be careful.”
“Of course I will, and I’d better call Simon and fill him in.”
Across town Darren Hardcastle was sitting at his desk in his study rubbing the back of his neck. It was his habit, what he did when he was thinking. He’d been after Sinclair for years. Getting the better of the nobility and the rich was his reason for living, and his favorite method of draining them of their money was blackmail, but he’d never been able to find any dirt on Sinclair.
He’d once heard a rumor that the billionaire had installed a BDSM playroom at Chatsworth Hall, but he couldn’t find anyone to corroborate the story, and even though he’d put several women in Sinclair’s path, women who would happily allow themselves to be tied up and whipped for the money he’d paid them, Sinclair had never taken the bait, and Darren had assumed the rumors were just that, rumors.
If Darren couldn’t blackmail his targets, his Plan B was swindling them out of their money, creating a legitimate business deal that he could manipulate and exploit. The Duke of Chatsworth had been easy, almost too easy. It had taken time, of course, but the payoff had been huge. It was when Sinclair had bought the old man’s estate that Darren had decided Simon was to be one of his marks. The man had megabucks, and Darren wanted as much of it has he could get his hands on.
Overhearing the conversation between Joseph and the fetching young starlet at The Ivy had been a brilliant stroke of luck, and Darren was convinced if he could get his hands on the property Sinclair wanted, he could hold the rich man’s feet to the fire and squeeze an insane price out of him, assuming of course, what he’d overheard had been correct.
The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Three Page 13
