The Billionaire's Secret: Enemies to Lovers Fake Marriage Romance (Big Bad Billionaires Book 2)

by L. Steele

  He grins down at me, "Go on, don’t let me stop you."

  I grit my teeth, hold his burning gaze. How had I thought there was passion in his eyes? It’s a need to get even. To get revenge. That’s all this is about. Retribution. I am a pawn caught between two opposing forces, and by the time this charade is over, there may be nothing left of me—nothing but this burning need to avenge myself. With Saint. With the Mafia. With Antonio… With everyone who has taken advantage of me. I’ve had enough of being backed into a corner, of being underestimated. I am going to make sure this brute realizes it too, by the time I am done.

  I direct my next words at him with deadly intent, "I wish that I had asked someone else to be my Dom."

  His gaze sharpens and his fingers dig into the curve of my hip.

  "You dare say that to my face?" His nostrils flare. Color sears his cheeks, and damn it, but my sex clenches instantly. Goosebumps flare on my skin and a shiver runs down my back. This...this is what I want. Saint—angry, blinded with jealousy, coming for me, taking me with no quarter. This language I understand. This passion is what we have in common and I am going to make the most of it.

  "Why, worried you won’t measure up to Adam Rhodes?’

  A vein pops at his temple. "You know how to push me over the edge, don’t you?"

  "Maybe I should have asked one of your friends." I glance past him to where Damian is watching us. He raises the bouquet of flowers. I smile, shake my head, "Yeah, who better than a rock star god to take my virgin ass?"

  "You cunt," he bares his teeth, and a little thrill shudders down my spine. This is it. I’ve done it now. I’ve broken through his control. What is he going to do next?

  Saint doesn’t disappoint.

  He bends his knees, peers into my eyes, "I think it’s time we consummated this marriage, don’t you?"

  27

  Saint

  * * *

  "Turn around and hug the post."

  She tips up her head and glares at me.

  I'd rushed her up here to my suite in the penthouse of the hotel, without bothering to say goodbye to my friends. If they thought I was in a hurry to get her alone in a room, well, that’s too bad. I don't give a fuck what kind of impression I left behind. All that matters is getting her to obey. To bend her to my will, to lean her over the bed and teach her a lesson. But first— "Do it," I growl from my position near the doorway.

  She hesitates, twists her fingers. The emerald of her ring catches the light from above and sparkles. Fucking hell. I’d given her the ring that had belonged to my mother. The one she had given to me before she'd left me and my father.

  I’d held onto it, the last reminder of the only parent who had loved me. Why had I given it to her? Why had I carried it around with me since I’d met her? Had I subconsciously known that the occasion would present itself, and had wanted to be prepared? No matter. It is done. No going back now. Not that it means anything, of course. An empty gesture. It had been the most convenient solution to send a message to the Mafia that this is serious. They’ll believe I’ve swallowed their bait. They’ll see me as a sitting patsy, ready to be reeled in by them. Really, it’s a way to lure them into reveal their next hand… Meanwhile I have more pressing matters. Namely, a wife who insists on baiting me, throwing her past in my face, daring me to do the one thing I swore I wouldn’t—fuck her like I mean it.

  Do I want to go through with it? Am I so taken in by her that I’ll throw all caution to the wind and transform this into a real wedding night?

  She draws herself up to her full height.

  I jerk my chin in the direction of the massive four-poster bed. The best money can buy, of course. I had it flown in from Russia. It belonged to some fucking Czar or the other… The fuck I care? I’d seen it at Christie’s and wanted it. The only piece of furniture in the entire suite that I had chosen. All with an eye for my relaxation, of course. I smirk.

  The pillars are made of solid oak and wide enough for the purpose I have in mind.

  I hadn't meant to sleep with her tonight, but she had eviscerated my carefully calculated control, something she is surprisingly skilled at doing. Too bad. She'll have to cope with the fall-out. She is going to need all that gutsiness she's shown so far to get her through the night.

  "Don’t keep me waiting," I snarl.

  She pales, then marches across the room to the closest post.

  "Lean in, Gigi. Wrap your arms around it."

  She does.

  I approach her and she stiffens.

  I press my palm into the small of her back and her entire body trembles. I apply enough pressure for her breasts to flatten against the surface of the post.

  "Stay there," I growl.

  She stands motionless.

  I step toward the walk-in closet, choose a couple of ties, then turn and stalk toward her.

  "What are you doing?" She half turns.

  "Don’t," I command.

  She pauses, then faces forward.

  I cup the back of her head, turn her face, until her cheek is pressed into the wood.

  "Like that. Don’t want to hurt you now, do we?"

  "You’re concerned about me?"

  "Only because you’re my property. You serve a purpose."

  "And what’s that?"

  "Haven’t you figured it out, Gigi?"

  I reach over her, twist one tie around her wrists. She stiffens. "Why are you—?"

  "No questions," I snap.

  She purses her lips together, gazes up at me as I test the knots. Good. There’s enough leverage for her to move her wrists, so the blood circulation will not get cut off. At the same time, it’s secure enough that she can’t escape.

  I step back, then twist the other around her eyes. "No, Saint—"

  "Any more talking and I’ll stuff your panties in your mouth."

  She wheezes. "B…but."

  "Take what’s coming to you. Don’t you want to show me how good a submissive you can be?"

  "You’re supposed to be taking care of my needs, you asshole."

  I slap her butt.

  "What the fuck—?" she howls.

  "Language Gigi."

  "What?"

  "If you want to curse, I prefer alphahole, I’ve told you that. I won’t repeat myself again. And taking care of your desires is exactly what I’m doing.”

  "Not," she huffs.

  "Don’t mock it ‘til you try it, darling."

  She firms her lips.

  I step back, then survey my handiwork. Her back is stiff, her shoulders straight. Good. I want her to fight this. Need her to resist this. Hope she understands that this is the only way. For her? For me? Of course, I am being selfish. I get off on her pain, on how I’ll feel when I have her broken and begging and trusting only me to take care of her needs. That there is no going back now. I am her salvation. Her only hope. She has to give up her secrets to me, has to tell me why she is here. That is the only way for me to accept her… And I want that. I drag my fingers through my hair. More than anything else.

  Turning, I march to the desk by the window, rummage around in the drawer, until I find what I am looking for. Clasping the pair of scissors, I walk back to stand behind her.

  "Wha…what are you going to do?"

  "Shh," I lean forward and lick her lips. "Trust me."

  "Why…why are you saying that?" She swallows.

  "You’ll see." I squat down, then take the scissors to the hem of her dress. I drag the blades upward, cutting through the fabric. I straighten, snipping away at the cloth and it parts all the way to the neckline. A final snip and the dress parts.

  "If this is some warped way of punishing me—"

  I laugh. "Punishing? I haven’t even started, my lovely wife."

  She swallows. "Don’t…don’t call me that."

  "Why not?" I switch the scissors to my other hand, then drag my knuckles across her ring.

  Her fingers tremble.

  "We were just married."

  "I
was there, you…you brute."

  "Finally, your vocabulary is expanding."

  I step back, then cut through the sleeves. The dress pools around her feet. Another snip, and her bra drops off. I return the scissors to the drawer, then turn back to her. The long slender column of her back meets the flare of her hips. Her long, toned legs end in those fuck-me stilettos she so favors.

  I move closer. "The first time I saw you, I swore I’d have you naked and begging for my touch."

  "Fuck you."

  "You bet, but first—" I reach down, tear off her panties.

  She screams. Her entire body curves. Her butt trembles. Her thigh muscles coil. I kick her legs apart and she wheezes, "Untie me, you scoundrel."

  I chuckle, "If those are the extent of your insults, I fear there’s much I have to teach you."

  "Bastard."

  "Technically, I am not. Though my father would have wished otherwise."

  "I don’t want to hear your sob story."

  "But I want your sobs, little Gigi." I drop to my haunches in between her parted thighs, lower my head and swipe my tongue up between her pussy lips.

  She cries out.

  My breath catches, "Fuck, you’re soaking."

  "I…it’s a mistake."

  "Tell that to your body. You want me, Gigi. You know how that makes me feel?"

  I wrap my fingers around her thighs, then thrust my tongue inside her soaking channel.

  "Oh, my god," she moans.

  My dick lengthens. My groin hardens. I tilt my face, then thrust my tongue inside her cunt again and again. I lick up her pussy juice, swipe my tongue all the way up into the valley between her arsecheeks. I curl my tongue inside her puckered hole and she whines. "Oh, Saint, please…"

  "Like that, Gigi," I mutter against the most forbidden part of her. "Tell me what you want."

  "You…" she gasps. "I want you…"

  I rise to my feet, unzip my pants; shove my hand down my boxers and take out my cock. My blood throbs at my temples, in my balls. "Where..." I clear my throat, "where do you want me?"

  She bites on her lower lip.

  "Where Gigi?"

  "I … I.." she stutters.

  My vision tunnels. I swipe my throbbing cock across the valley between her arsecheeks. She shudders.

  "Do you want me here?"

  She nods.

  "Say it aloud."

  "Take me, Saint. Please."

  Thank Fuck. I draw back, then insert my thumb inside her puckered hole. She groans. I ease my finger inside. She bangs her forehead against the pillar. With my remaining fingers I scoop up some more of the moisture from her pussy, then add a finger to my thumb.

  "Oh." Her shoulders hunch. "It’s… it’s…"

  What?"

  "Different," she huffs.

  "No shit." I set my jaw, "I am going to ensure you never forget our first time."

  I dip my other palm between her thighs. I cup her pussy, shove three fingers inside her soaking channel, and her entire body bucks. She throws her head back, her hair rippling about her shoulders. "Ohmigod," she gasps. "Saint… I… I…" A trembling sweeps up her legs. Her breathing goes shallow. A whine spills from her lips. "I’m…going to come—" she gasps.

  The doorbell sounds and I pull out my fingers.

  "No!" Her body jerks as if she’s unable to stop herself. She whips her head in my direction. "Don’t you dare leave me—"

  The bell sounds again.

  "Sorry, sweetheart, no choice."

  I take a step back, lose my footing and stumble. Shit. I’m as off balance as she is. Truth be told… If the doorbell hadn't rung—as I’d planned for it to—I’d have taken her right then, in the arse, then proceeded to tear into her pussy too. Good thing I don’t trust myself around her anymore. Since when have I needed checks and balances around another person, huh?

  Since I met her.

  Since she’d flipped the entire situation by proposing the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything—to take her as mine, to make her submit, to bend her will to mine, have her shatter around me. Fuck. I drag my fingers through my hair. Who is breaking whom here? I’m no longer sure.

  The bell rings again. She straightens, "Saint…?"

  I don’t reply. I pivot on my heels, push my dick back into my pants as I walk out of the bedroom, past the living room, and wrench the door open.

  A room service attendant straightens. Her face pales. On the cart in front of her is a bottle of Champagne, a bowl of strawberries, and a variety of cheeses and dips.

  "Should I wheel this in?" Her voice trembles.

  "No," I growl.

  "Ah…compliments of the—"

  "Leave," I pull the cart into the room.

  "The staff and the management wish you—"

  "Fuck off—"

  "But… Damian wanted me to tell you—"

  I glower at her.

  She pales, opens her mouth again.

  "The fuck?" I jerk my chin over her head. "You tell that motherfucker to stay away from me and my wife and one more thing—"

  "Wh…what?"

  Sweat beads her upper lip. Good god, isn’t there anyone who can talk to me without looking like they are about to have a coronary? Yeah, that’s where the Seven come in. Fuckers can be counted on taking me down a notch at any time. And her, of course. She can go toe to toe with me. I frown. How dare she? She is going to be taught a lesson, all right.

  "Uh… Mr. Caldwell," the waitress stutters.

  "Make sure I’m not disturbed again."

  I slam the door in her ashen face. Good, no one should be happy today. This wedding isn’t a cause for celebration. It is…a fucking massacre. Mine…and hers. I am sinking into a maelstrom of emotions, caught in a quicksand that threatens to overwhelm me. Soon, I will be in over my head. Only thing? I am taking her down with me.

  I shove the cart into the bedroom.

  "Saint?" Victoria gasps, "Who…was that?"

  "Not your concern."

  "Why do you sound angry?" she scowls.

  "I’m not angry."

  "Are you hungry?"

  "Are you?"

  "So, you’re hungry." She nods.

  "I’m not, and I told you to keep your mouth shut, didn’t I?"

  "Definitely hangry."

  "I’m not a fucking child," I scowl.

  "You’re acting like one." Her lips curve. The glistening flesh calls to me. I could forget all this. I could walk over, kiss her, untie her, throw her on the bed, climb on top of the bed and bury my aching cock inside her soft, gorgeous, heated pussy. I could—

  "Saint."

  "What?" I growl, shaking my head. Jesus, being this close to her is doing weird things to my head. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am hungry. Is that why I am feeling lightheaded?

  She shuffles her feet, "Did you order us something to eat."

  I sneer, "I ordered something all right."

  28

  Victoria

  * * *

  He prowls closer, his footsteps muffled by the carpet as he approaches. The creaking of wheels gets louder—he definitely ordered something. That is a food cart, isn’t it? The clank of silverware, of plates being moved around, reaches me.

  I sense him shift his weight. There’s silence then a pop. I jump. "What the—?"

  "Relax," he laughs. "Thought the occasion called for some bubbles, don’t you think?"

  I worry my lower lip. Should I agree? I swallow and my throat protests. Cold, bubbly champagne. I hadn’t managed to nick a glass at the wedding— at my own wedding. I worry the ring on my left ring finger. The weight is already familiar. Damn, that’s not good. I won’t be wearing it for much longer, after all.

  The sound of liquid hitting a glass reaches me. My tongue swells. I lick my lips.

  "Want a sip, darlin’?"

  It’s fine. It won’t hurt. Besides I could do with some Dutch courage about now. "Yes, please."

  "You’re forgetting something."

  Am I
? What… Oh! "Yes, please, Sir!"

  "That’s my girl."

  I flush. Shit, why does that make me so happy? I’m not going to pander to the ego of this over-the-top, tyrannical, motherfucker of a guy who is…my husband. Bloody hell. "Can I get that champagne?" I whisper.

  "Of course."

  His footsteps grow closer. Something cool touches my lips. The cold liquid fills my mouth. Bubbles break on my tongue. Yum. I swallow it down, open my mouth again. More of the bubbles flow in, overflow my chin. Coldness hits my chest.

  "Oops."

  More liquid slides down my skin. I shiver.

  "Sorry, babe."

  "No, you’re not." I lick the remaining liquid from my lower lip.

  "Do that again and I won’t be responsible for what happens next."

  "Oh," I swallow.

  "Not that either," he groans. "When you form your mouth into that shape, all I can think of is having it wrapped around my cock."

  Wetness pools between my legs...and it’s not from the champagne. My nipples pebble and my sex clenches. I chafe my thighs, try to hold in the ache. Shit, this is crazy. Perhaps it’s the forced not-being-able-to-climax thing that has me wound so tightly. I am on the edge of the precipice. One more touch, one more caress of those fingers in the most intimate of my places, one more kiss, one more nip on my clit, a tug on my nipples and I’ll shatter.

  "Saint," I whine.

  "I know."

  A wetness curls around my nipple. I gasp, "What are you doing?"

  "What does it feel like?" He licks the cold champagne off the curve of my breast.

  I whimper.

  He swipes his way down the underside of my breast. His large palms descend on either side of my hips. He holds me down as I mentally follow the progress of his tongue, down my belly, to my navel. He dips his tongue inside my belly button. My pussy seems to fold in on itself.

  "Damn you," I huff.

  He nips on the sensitive skin above my pussy. I jump.

  "You’re forgetting something again, babe."

  Right.

  He presses a kiss to the top of my aching, throbbing, trembling core.

  "Say it. Go on."