The Billionaire Submissive (Billionaires in Bondage) (9 page)

Torn between comforting him and helping him face what he was, she waited to see what he’d say. If he’d ask her to keep their relationship secret.
Maybe that’s why he wanted a prostitute. He thought he could buy my secrecy along with my body.

“Does he think I’m a client?”

“No. I made it clear that I work for you. I told him about the stained glass commission. As far as he’s concerned, we’re just on a date.”

He nodded but didn’t completely relax. Not like before. Because if the Mistress was on a date, then it would still imply he was a submissive.

“Are we on a date, Donovan?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to take me home with you after dinner?”

His head whipped up and he pinned her with the intensity of his desire. “Absolutely.”

“Then stop worrying about it. Besides, if you’d wanted to be inconspicuous, you shouldn’t have arrived in a boat of a limousine.”

His mouth quirked and he finally took a drink from his glass. “Very true. I only thought to impress you. I didn’t realize what a stir it would cause.”

“I can’t date you if you’re not going to be completely honest with me and I couldn’t care less about being impressed. I want you. Not Mr. Moneybags with the big shiny car.”

He grimaced at the nickname but didn’t withdraw again. “I’m not too keen about people knowing the truth. About me.”

“I have no intention of buying an advertisement in the
Star
Tribune
anytime soon.”

She finally got a laugh out of him. “I thought the
Enquirer
was more your style.”

“You wish,” she retorted and even pouted playfully. “You didn’t even comment on my dress.”

He smiled lazily, his eyes heavy and dark with sensual heat. “That’s because I was too busy drooling over the shoes.”

“These old things?” She turned in her chair and lifted her foot so he could see the red platform stiletto. If the dress wasn’t so tight, she might have managed to put her foot in his lap. “I think I bought them at a yard sale.”

“That’s one hell of a yard sale. Your dress is sinfully wicked too. It makes me think about cherry pie. And whipped cream. Lots of whipped cream.” Taking a cue from their earlier discussion, he leaned closer and whispered, “The real stuff. No can. No Cool Whip.”

Letting out a sigh, she reached over and squeezed his thigh. “Like I said, dessert will be at your place.”

So far, the food and service were as impeccably good as she’d promised. After the main course was mostly consumed—Lilly was on her second basket of bread—Donovan had finally built up enough courage to reach into the inside pocket of his coat and remove his surprise for her. Without looking at her, he slid the folded pieces of paper closer to her plate. “Your questionnaire. Plus a little something extra I found on the Internet.”

He’d even gotten the health screening done and rushed the test results so he could provide proof he was disease free.

“You did your homework,” she replied with a pleased smile. “Very good, Donovan.”

He concentrated on his glass, though he watched her unfold the paper out of the corner of his eye. Just knowing she was reading all his dirty little secret desires made his cheeks flush and he had to fight not to squirm like an excited puppy. Irritated at his inability to remain cool and detached with even a simple praise from the Mistress, he scowled at the wine glass and fought not to curse out loud.

Her questionnaire had been easy enough to answer. There wasn’t much on the discipline scale that didn’t appeal to him, while the humiliation elements were easy enough to decline. It was the second questionnaire that worried him.

The sexual limits questions she hadn’t bothered to ask her other clients. Some of the things it’d asked he didn’t even know existed.

She glanced around to make sure the extremely expedient waiter was nowhere close. “Are you sure about bondage?”

Surprised, Donovan shrugged. Out of all the shockingly kinky things on those papers, that’s what she was worried about? “As sure as I am about anything. In my limited experience, it was…” He couldn’t finish the sentence but simply looked into her eyes, letting her see his reaction. The thought of having her tying him up, making him helpless…

“Even a collar?”

He nodded jerkily without looking away. He wanted her control. Whatever that meant. Especially on his throat.

“I see. It’s just… I noticed that your shirt isn’t buttoned around your neck. You also had to loosen your tie the other night. I thought you might have a problem with constriction around your throat.”

“No.” His voice was hoarse, so he took a drink of wine, even though his hand shook enough he almost sloshed wine on the linens. “Sorry. I know I’m rather informal for our first date.”

“I’m far from offended by the tantalizing glimpse of skin at your neck, Donovan. But I am concerned for your wellbeing.”

“It won’t be a problem,” he promised, despite the furious storm of need threatening to overwhelm his control.

“Ah,” she breathed out softly. “I see. You want it. Maybe too much.”

He nodded again and forced the words through his strangled throat. “As long as said collar hasn’t been used on anyone else.”

“I understand,” she said softly, with such honesty and acceptance that his eyes burned. He looked away, unwilling to let her see how close he was to falling apart. “Are you a leather man? Or would some kind of chain suit you better?” She kept her voice soft and gentle, as if she were musing aloud and he just happened to overhear, while she tucked the papers into her small red pocketbook. “A chain, I think. As gorgeous and elegant as you. Something you could wear all the time if you wanted and no one would bat an eye. Would you like that, Donovan? A beautiful collar you could wear tight around your throat beneath your shirt and tie all day?”

“Yes.” The shaking had expanded to his entire body. It was embarrassing how easily she affected him. How completely. Brought to the edge just by the thought of her slipping a necklace around his throat. Was she as affected by him? If he slipped his hand beneath the sexy tight dress, would he find her as bare and wet as she’d been in his office? Mistake. Huge. Because now he wanted her hot, wet bare pussy in his hand. While she put a collar on his throat.
I’ll die on the spot.
“Mistress.”

It came out more of a plea for help than he cared to admit. A warning, in case she didn’t realize how close he was. The last thing he wanted to do was come in public. The thought of having to excuse himself and rush to the bathroom to clean up mortified him.
Not here. Not now. This is her world. Her friends. I don’t want to humiliate myself here!

He shouldn’t have underestimated her.

She squeezed his thigh hard beneath the table, digging her nails into him so that his breath rushed out on a gasp. “You will
not
come, Donovan.”

His thigh trembled beneath her hand, his muscles corded with effort. The waiter returned and she whispered something low to him. Hopefully to buy Donovan a little privacy. Sweat trickled down his back and his chest heaved with effort, but he didn’t come. He concentrated on breathing in and out, slow and deep. The Mistress’s hand remained firm on his thigh. She knew he could do it. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in her voice.

So he did.

“That’s it, Donovan. You’re doing fine. Can you walk now?”

He blinked, surprised and ashamed that she felt the need to leave on account of him. “I’m all right. I don’t want you to miss dessert.”

She laughed softly and took his hand, drawing him up with her. “You’re my dessert tonight. Dmitri said there’s someone asking about you at the front door. He thinks it’s a reporter. He sent them away but they’re probably casing the building. Hopefully we can get out the back before they realize it.”

“A reporter? Here? How…” It hit him, then. “The limo. Of all the stupid, ostentatious…”

“Shhh.” She led him through the swinging kitchen doors. He managed to walk, albeit stiffly and uncomfortably. Hopefully no one looked too closely at his crotch. “Can you call your driver and tell him to draw them off the opposite direction?”

“Sure.” He did so, sending the limo back toward the airport. If they were lucky, the reporter was already racing down the road after it.

Unlike her drab, boring kitchen, these stoves gleamed polished steel. Everything was white or stainless steel, modern and top of the line. Dmitri’s must be doing well indeed.

The owner met them at the back door. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Mr. Morgan. They won’t get a word out of any of us.”

“The bill…” he began, but the man waved his hand.

“We can take care of it tomorrow. Not a problem. Here.” He handed Lilly a cardboard box with a built-in handle. “I was inspired by your dress. A little something to enjoy later,” he said with a wink.

For once, it didn’t embarrass Donovan that someone might have a clue about what he was into. Not when the man smiled so warmly with open affection for the lady in question.

Lilly kissed his cheek and they made their escape through the back door. The employee lot was small and tucked off Robert Street, the main thoroughfare through this part of town. Luckily an alley led through another parking area to a side street.

Her car beeped as she unlocked the doors, and he barely managed to snag the keys she tossed his direction without warning. Somehow he didn’t think a Mistress would ever let the sub drive. “You trust me to drive your car?”

In the darkness, her dress glowed like a beacon. Almost as bright as her smile. “For your safety, I think that’s best. I drive even worse than I cook.”

She waited for him to open her door, which meant he had to come in close. Close enough to smell the spice of her skin. He took the box from her hand and set it behind the passenger seat, and then her hand settled on his chest. Making him look at her.

“Do you need me to help you now? Or can you wait until we’re at your house?”

He could picture exactly what she’d do. She’d flatten him back against the door of her car, unzip his pants, and one touch of her magnificent, feminine hand and he’d explode. Over and done. Easy. It was dark and secluded enough no one would see, and he wouldn’t have to worry about walking through the restaurant with a load in his pants since they were already safely outside.

He shook his head despite the very loud and bitter complaints from his swollen cock.
We’ve already had someone sniffing around. The last thing I need is someone coming out the back door for a cigarette and getting a shot of her jacking me off.
“I’m good.”

She let her hand drop but didn’t slide into the waiting seat quite yet. “I don’t like the idea of you suffering, Donovan, at least if it’s not by my deliberate doing. Do you live close?”

Again, the Mistress surprised him. She didn’t want him to suffer. At least not until she was the one doing the punishment. It was twisted, in a way, and he loved it. Shaking his head, he helped her into her seat. “One of my homes is in downtown St. Paul. We’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”

“
One
of your homes,” she said flatly after he settled into the driver’s seat. “How many homes do you have?”

He adjusted all the mirrors and then backed out. Christ, her windshield was a mess of bug guts and pollen that looked like it’d been gathering gunk for years. “In the country, or out?”

She blew out a sigh. “I knew you were filthy rich but it didn’t dawn on me you’d have homes abroad.”

“I have a condo at Galtier Plaza. It makes it easy to work at my office when I’m in town. For the summer weekends, I like to go up to my lake house on Lake Minnetonka. I have apartments in Chicago and New York. A beach house in Miami and another in L.A. Most of an island in the Bahamas. A swanky Paris apartment when I really need to show off. And a villa in Rome. I think that’s it.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t forget a castle in England?”

“My bad.”

She frowned at him which slowly turned into incredulity. “You do?”

“More of a manor house, actually. The castle’s in Scotland.” The car ran unevenly. He couldn’t tell if it needed an alignment, or if the engine was skipping. “When’s the last time you had your tires aired up?”

“Um… When I bought the car? Two or three years ago. Maybe?”

“Oil change?”

“What does the sticker say?”

He had to rub at the glass with the heel of his hand to make out a date. “Good lord, Lilly. Your last oil change was nearly a year ago. You’re supposed to change it every three months.”

“I forget.” She shrugged. “I hardly ever get behind the wheel.”

“I’m beginning to think it’s a very good thing,” he muttered.

“You haven’t even seen me drive yet,” she teased. “I can’t do freeways. I don’t make left-hand turns across traffic. I’m terrified of messing up in a parking garage and getting stuck behind the bar with everyone shouting at me. And I avoid downtown Minneapolis like the plague. I can do St. Paul, though, so I ought to be able to find my way home in the morning.”

“How’d you make it to my office building, then? There’s no place to park in downtown unless you have a pass or use the parking ramps.”