Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (77 page)

By the end of the day, I was
tired and overwhelmed. I collapsed in the middle of the massive bed when we
returned to the hotel, closing my eyes against the lights. A few minutes later,
I felt the mattress dip as Daniel sat down beside me.

“I was thinking we might go
out for dinner,” he said. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

“Sure,” I said, because
I had no reason not to. But really, all I wanted was to curl up in bed and be alone
for the rest of the night.

We ended up going out for sushi,
at a five-star place of course. I was actually starting to feel comfortable in
places like this. I’d grown to realize that no one was actually staring at me,
like I’d assumed. As long as I held my head high and acted like I belonged,
everything would be just fine.

Daniel used chopsticks like an
old pro. I don’t know why that surprised me. When we got back to the hotel, I
was feeling in a considerably better mood - whether because of the good sushi
or the good sake, I didn’t really care. We laughed and joked on the way back to
the hotel, tumbling into bed just like a real honeymooning couple. We kissed
and undressed each other slowly, and that night I saw him naked for the first
time. I let my eyes wander all over him, memorizing every inch of his skin. I
didn’t know what was going to happen when we got back, but I realized it was
foolish not to enjoy this while it lasted.

I couldn’t remember the last time
I’d just relaxed in bed with a lover like this; not in any particular hurry,
just letting the moments drag themselves out. I remembered to breathe. Long,
slow breaths.

“Where did you learn that
thing?” I asked him, letting my nails drag lightly up and down his chest.
“About breathing?”

He smiled. “If you ask me,
too many men have a fixed mindset about sex. They believe they’re pretty much
born instinctively knowing everything they need to know, and if they have to
seek any kind of outside knowledge, that’s somehow a form of failure. I never
bought into that. I fumbled through things when I was a teenager like everyone
else, but once I grew up, I wanted to really learn how to do it right. So I did
what I’d do for anything else - I took lessons from an expert.”

“A sexpert.” I had to
admit, it was a smart thing to do - but the idea still made me giggle.

“Laugh all you want,”
he said. “But she taught me how to get the most out of every experience.
For me and my partners.”

“I’m not laughing at
you,” I lied. “I just…it’s pretty cool. Most guys won’t do that, like
you said. Unless somebody drags them there.”

“It’s silly,” he said,
as I ran my hand up and down his thigh. “The odd hang-ups people have
about trying to improve themselves, sexually. I mean, why not? We take lessons
for everything else. Nobody expects that you’ll be a prodigy at anything else
without some training.”

I got up on my knees and
straddled him, carefully, reaching for the condom sitting on the bedside table.
“Do you usually tell your partners about your…training?”

“My work speaks for itself,”
he said, his breath hitching a little when I grabbed his rapidly hardening
manhood by the base and squeezed a little.

“And so humble, too,” I
said, rolling the condom down over his velvety-soft skin.

“To answer your
question…” he paused as I sank down onto him, my inner heat enveloping him
eagerly. “….no. I don’t think….” He exhaled. “….they’d
necessarily understand.”

I nodded in agreement before
throwing my head back and losing myself in the rhythm of riding him. He
couldn’t tell any woman he actually cared about, because they might shrink at
the idea of a man purposefully taking sex lessons. But with me, it didn’t
matter. With me, there was no risk.

With me? Nothing to lose.

I banished these thoughts from my
head, focusing all my efforts on grinding my hips, watching for the particular
movements that made his jaw clench and his eyelids flutter. When I purposefully
tightened my inner muscles around him, he groaned softly. I’d forgotten how
much fun this was, having a man completely at my mercy.

Suddenly, his expression changed.
He was refocused. Watching me carefully. His eyes narrowed.

“You’re enjoying this a
little too much, aren’t you?”

Chapter Twelve

I gaped at him.

“You’re enjoying this a
little too much, aren’t you?”

What on earth was that supposed
to mean?

“You’re enjoying it
too,” I said. “…aren’t you?” He obviously was, but I had no idea
what he was driving at.

“Being on top,” he
said. “Literally and figuratively.”

I stopped moving. “All
right,” I said. “Did you…did you want to switch positions? Or
what?”

Suddenly, he grabbed onto my hips
and flipped us both over. I shrieked a little. Once he was on top of me, he
captured my wrists and held them above my head, much like he’d done when we
kissed the night before. I melted into it. As much fun as it had been to feel
like I was in charge of him, this was better.

“There we are,” he
murmured, in between kisses. “That’s the Maddy I know.”

“I don’t know what you
mean,” I gasped, as he thrust deep inside of me and sent a jolt of sharp
pleasure up my spine.

“You don’t?” He smiled.
“The first time I saw you, I had you pegged for the kind of girl just
aching for man to come into her life and order her around.” I must have
made a face, because he leaned in and chastened me with a quick kiss. “In
the bedroom, I mean.”

“I…suppose?” I managed.
I certainly wasn’t going to argue with him, as long as he was making me feel
like this.

“Of course you are,” he
said. “I saw how you reacted just now. I felt it. You can’t hide the way
your body responds to me, Maddy.”

I moaned, wrapping my legs around
him tightly. I didn’t even care what kind of ridiculousness he was spouting. He
was filling me up so perfectly, as if our bodies had been expertly molded
together.

“Say my name,” he
murmured, his eyes fixed on mine. They were so dark.

“Daniel,” I said.

He shook his head. For all his
posturing, though, he was starting to get a little breathless. “Not that
one,” he said. “What you used to call me before. When I was your
boss.”

“Mr. Thorne,” I
whimpered. “Oh…Mr. Thorne…”

It felt surprisingly good to call
him that, after all this time, all this forced intimacy. That was how I thought
of him still, sometimes - when I looked at him and remembered - he was my boss.
He was my boss, for Christ’s sake, a man who’d been essentially a stranger to
me until I agreed to marry him. A man who was a stranger still, in many ways,
even while he was buried inside me on our honeymoon.

“Mr. Thorne,” I
whispered. He was smiling. A ripple of pleasure went through my chest.

“Are you close?” he intoned,
inches from my ear.

I realized that I was. I nodded.

“Don’t,” he said.
“Not until I say you can.”

I stared at him. “I can’t…I
can’t stop it.”

“Of course you can.” He
paused in his movements. “It’s simple. If you get too close, just tell me
to stop, and I’ll stop.”

“But I don’t want you to
stop,” I whined, feeling helpless. Why was he playing games with me?

“I don’t want to stop
either,” he replied. “But more than that, I want you to gain control
of your body. It won’t be hard, if you remember what I taught you. Breathe. Be
present.”

“Fine.” I felt
frustrated already, but this was obviously something he got off on. I’d try to
play along.

I took a deep breath, and
focused. I realized that by concentrating, I could actually control my
responses more than I’d realized. I might not understand why he wanted to do
this, but it was interesting to know that I could.

I started to relax.

Just then, he slid his hand down
to where we were joined.

I shuddered as he caressed me
with his fingers. “So I take it I’m allowed now?” I said, shakily.

“No,” he said,
smilingly. But I could see he was beginning to lose his perfect composure.
“Not until I say.”

“That’s not fair!” I
felt like I was seconds away from losing all control.

“I never said I was going to
make it easy on you.”

I glared at him, but I couldn’t
keep my eyes open for long. It was like he knew exactly how to touch me. I
didn’t know how long I could keep this up.

“I don’t understand why
you’re doing this,” I gasped.

“You don’t?” Sweat was
beginning to trickle down the sides of his face. I noticed a muscle in his jaw
twitch, and I realized he was actually delaying his own pleasure in order to
delay mine. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. What on earth
did he get out of this?

“Please, please,” I
heard myself say. “Please Mr. Thorne, please…”

“Yes,” I dimly heard
him growl. “Beg.”

“Please…please…Mr. Thorne,
please…”

“Yes,” he said, after
what felt like a thousand years. “Yes. Do it. Come for me.”

I heard someone yelling hoarsely,
and I realized afterwards that it was me. The pleasure swept me up like a
hurricane, and when I landed again I felt like I’d traveled a hundred miles. I
was spent and panting, and Daniel was trembling on top of me, and I realized he
must have finished too.

He rolled off of me, similarly
breathless, collapsing on the mattress beside me. Every nerve ending in my body
was shuddering with aftershocks. Never - not once in my entire life - had I
felt like this.

Okay, so maybe now I understood
what he got out of it.

“Thank you for…indulging
me,” he said, after a few moments of silence.

I rolled over onto my side and
looked at him. “Is that all it was?”

He kept his eyes on the ceiling.
“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this wasn’t just
some whim, was it?”

He looked mildly uncomfortable with
my questioning, but he finally answered. “No. Why, does that bother
you?”

“Not at all,” I said.
“Obviously.”

He smiled. “Sometimes people
don’t really…like what they like,” he said. “If that makes any
sense.”

“It does.”

I slept much more easily that night,
curled up in Daniel’s embrace. The next day of astronaut training promised to
be more exciting - zero gravity simulations and practice launches, everything
we’d need to prepare for the “moon landing” at the end of it. If Sam
noticed we were more relaxed and happy around each other, laughing and touching
and exchanging little glances more like a real couple, she didn’t show any sign
of it.

It was great fun. I didn’t even
get sick in the motion simulators. I could have sworn Daniel was having almost
as good of a time as I was, and by the time we got back to the hotel I had
almost succeeded in forgetting that he wasn’t really my husband.

At dinner, the subject didn’t
even come up. It was unusual for us to get through an entire conversation
without someone even alluding to our arrangement, but we both seemed content to
ignore it for now. I wasn’t sure if that was a good plan, in the long term. In
fact, I knew it wasn’t. But just for the honeymoon, I didn’t care.

I’d assumed we would be gone for
whole week at least, but Daniel told me that three days was the longest he
could be away from work. I wasn’t too happy about the idea of our time being
cut short - especially if it meant things between us were going to change. But
there was no use in thinking about that now.

Instead, I focused on what we did
have. Even after just a few days, I’d grown used to waking up beside him,
seeing him while his eyes were still unfocused and his hair was askew. I’d
always thought it was ridiculously corny when people talked about how someone
could be more attractive when they were groggy and unkempt, but now, I
understood. There was nothing intimidating about him when he’d first woken up -
everything from his slightly puffy eyes to his sleepy, crooked smile was
downright approachable, and I never thought I’d say that about a man like Mr.
Thorne.

On the last day, it was time for
my “moon landing.” I was strangely giddy about it, maybe because it
was something to focus on besides the reality of our honeymoon ending. After a
simulated launch and orbit - during which I admittedly did open a bag of
Funyuns and then try to catch them all in my mouth - it was time.

They had outfitted a whole room
to appear like the moon’s surface, with walls and ceilings speckled with stars,
and an image of the earth on one side. The suits we were wearing were heavy and
uncomfortable, though certainly not as bad as the real thing. I resisted the
urge to quote Neil Armstrong as I stepped out onto the rocky surface.

If I stood there for long enough,
I could almost convince myself it was real.

It wasn’t, of course - much like
my marriage to the man who was currently hopping back towards the lunar lander.

We had to catch a flight early
the next morning, but once we got back to the hotel, it was clear that neither
one of us felt like sleeping. It started with a smile, on his part - a crooked
little number with a secret meaning that I now understood. Next thing I knew he
was nibbling on my ear and telling me I’d been bad, which I wasn’t sure I had
been, but his voice was playful and I didn’t really mind in the least.

“Bad girls get
spankings,” he said, and I cooed.

I stretched out over his lap,
arching my back. I’d had boyfriends spank me playfully before, and I’d always
found it gave me a pleasant tingle. But I’d always been too shy to ask for
more. His hand was warm and strong, and even though it stung, the hits
reverberated in my core, turning it molten-hot, making me quiver. I was moaning
for him by the time he flipped me over and took me hard and fast, slapping his
hand over my mouth when I got too loud.

It was hot, quick, and explosive.
I thought that would be it for the night, but a little while later, after we’d
ordered a snack from room service, he wanted it again - sweet and slow now,
taking our time. When we finally went to sleep, I swear the sky was starting to
lighten.

*

The next morning, he was very
quiet. We packed slowly, and I didn’t bother trying to engage him in
conversation. I slept for most of the plane ride, again, and after we got into
our taxi back home, I remembered that I wouldn’t be going back to my apartment.

Ever.

Strangely, the thought didn’t
bother me as much as I thought it would.

As much as I’d like to say I was
productive for those first few days as Daniel’s stay-at-home wife, I spent most
of it wandering around aimlessly, watching terrible daytime T.V. and trying to
acquaint myself with the place. I unpacked some boxes, and shopped around for
art studio supplies online - an easel, maybe? A new desk? A nice chair? I could
spend as much as I wanted, and somehow that was more intimidating than
liberating. On the third day, when Daniel got home from work, I realized I’d
spent the last two hours clicking around the website for one
five-hundred-dollar working stool.

He kissed me chastely on the
forehead when he walked in, as he always did. We hadn’t made love again since
coming home, and I hadn’t pressed the issue.

“I’m having trouble deciding
what to get for my studio,” I said.

“Get it all,” he said,
smiling, just before he stuck his head in the fridge.

“I think we might have a
space issue.” I walked into the kitchen. “So, how was your day?”

“Fine.” He came up for
air with a carton of orange juice. “I submitted some forms to the
government today, so there’s a chance we’ll be called for an interview in the
next few weeks. Remember what we talked about?”

It felt like a thousand years had
passed since then. “Yeah,” I said. “I think so. Maybe we should
go over some of the details later.”

“Of course.” He was
pouring himself a glass. “I’m not worried. And you shouldn’t be either.
We’ll do just fine.”

“Sure,” I said.
“It’s nerve-wracking, though.” Not to mention, it was the first time
we’d talked about the nature of our arrangement since the honeymoon, and I
suppose I wasn’t quite prepared for it.

“Well, just try not to think
about it for now,” he said. “No use borrowing trouble.”

“Why’d you bring it up,
then?”

“Sorry,” he said,
grinning. “Greek for dinner?”

“Sure.” I sat down on a
stool at the breakfast bar. “One of these days I’m going to cook some real
food for us.”

“Why bother? We’ve got some
of the best restaurants in the country within a twenty-mile radius.” He
made a dismissive hand gesture as he opened his phone.

“Well, at least it would
give me something to do,” I muttered.

He set the phone down on the
counter and came over to me. “Anything you want to do, you can do
it,” he said. “You have your car. You have my credit card. Do
whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I
want.”

It was true, in more ways than
one.

Wisely, he walked away and left
me to think. I didn’t really want to think, but it was better than trying to
talk about it.

I successfully pushed thoughts of
the interview into the back of my mind, and the next day I ordered an easel and
a light table. Before long, I had actually set up a studio in the larger of the
two spare rooms. We got rid of the bed and superfluous furniture, and the place
was roomier than I expected it to be. With the curtains open, the windows even
let in a nice amount of natural light.

I started drawing in charcoal again.
Slowly, at first, because it had been a while. But before long I had a few
rough sketches, and one pretty good drawing of my childhood home. I’d always
done still life, mostly. I never liked the challenge of trying to capture the
nuance in people’s faces.

I came to bed every night when
Daniel turned in, but he never touched me beyond a peck on the lips. I wasn’t
sure if I expected it to change, but I suppose I thought it was worth the shot.

He got the call from the INS a
few weeks later.

After he told me, I spent a long
time pacing. There was no more drawing in the cards for me. I read everything I
could find on the internet about surviving marriage fraud interviews. But none
of the write-ups were particularly encouraging, because every single one of them
warned me that if I had a sham marriage, there was absolutely no chance I’d be
able to convince the INS otherwise.