Training Her Curves - London (A BBW Billionaire Domination & Submission Romance) (8 page)

I started to bound off the bed when I remembered the prior evening's promise -- no chance of sex until the morning tea.

My gaze darted in his direction to find a fat grin on his handsome face. He arched one dark blond brow, the narrow strip of daylight sneaking into the room dancing mischievously in his eyes. "Unless you want to skip the tea and get straight to the cream?"

I gasped, a little surprised despite everything that had happened. Surprised and pleased, heat spreading across my skin at the thought of crawling back into bed.

Without answering him, I hopped up, snatched the bedside robe and disappeared into the bathroom. With the door shut, I pushed my panties down to my ankles and relieved the pressure that had built overnight. I wiped, squirming because my flesh was very sensitive to the touch. Sensitive and coated with arousal that had started flow from inside me, my juices clear and sticky from the idea of a morning with Simon -- in his Vault.

Heart thumping, I washed my hands then soaked a washcloth with hot water. I ran it over my face then peeled off the nightgown, rinsed more hot water through the cloth and ran it over my shoulders. I knew I wanted Simon, but complications remained.

In the middle of my twenties, I shouldn't have even thought about talking to my oldest brother before having sex with a man I desired. If I had to talk to Dylan first, I didn't know how long I would be waiting because I absolutely couldn't pull his attention away from Mishka.

Lost in thought, I refreshed the washcloth several more times, giving myself a bird bath when I could have stepped into the shower instead. I ran the steaming fabric over my aching nipples, across my stomach, between my thighs. A shiver ran through me, my entire body starting to shake.

That decided the matter. Talking to Dylan would have to wait. He didn't have a veto right, anyway. Things would be smoothed over -- eventually. His opinion of Simon would have to change because mine wouldn't.

Finished freshening up, I returned to the bedroom, the nightgown and my panties abandoned on the bathroom floor. I had a moment to scan the room and find Simon absent before I almost had a stroke at the sound of a well-oiled cart being wheeled into the outer room.

The paintings!

I was about to race back into the bathroom to hide for the rest of my life when Simon returned to the bedroom, his body wrapped in a thin silk robe as black as the room hiding behind the big screen TV.

"Pudding, what's wrong?"

"I heard the service cart. Please tell me..." I couldn't bring myself to even speak the possibility that one of the staff had seen the paintings.

"I met the bellboy at the elevator." Softly smiling, Simon pushed against me, his hands sliding into the robe to find my flesh. He planted one palm against the small of my back. The other cupped one cheek, the fingers squeezing at my bottom as his mouth covered mine.

Oh, my sweet, merciful...

My brain started to melt at his kiss, the furnace between my legs kicking into action. His hand moved from my back to my front, his persuasive fingers coaxing me into parting my thighs. Stroking at my clit, he walked me backwards. The bend of my knees met the frame of the bed and I started to fold.

Down I went, my bottom hitting the mattress and the robe falling open as Simon's kiss descended. Bypassing my breasts, he wound his arms around my hips and nudged my legs apart. Lips fastened on my clit and then his tongue began to move.

I shattered a few heartbeats later, my release erupting with a scream that echoed in the king-sized bedroom. I writhed along the mattress, my cunt locked in pleasure that was almost painful from how strong the contractions were that ran through me. I strained, trying to control it, to retreat, but the contractions kept rolling through me. I screamed again, hips jerking. My hands seized my head, my fingers knotting in my hair as Simon continued sucking and another bucking wave rolled through my body.

"Oh, pudding, I promise you're going to take much, much longer the next time," Simon chuckled before biting lightly at my hip as he moved up my body.

I blushed over how I had come so quick and so hard. My thighs were a wet mess, the flesh heated and shiny. My pussy still spasmed, pushing out more clear cream that his fingers played in.

"Not if you don't stop touching me," I whispered, wanting anything other than the cessation of his hand against my sex.

"Mmmm..." Simon nuzzled my neck as he pressed a thumb against my clit and pushed three fingers deep into me. "Maybe we'll go for a high count this morning and practice restraint tonight."

Feeling the sweet tension repossess my cunt, I knew restraint would be impossible. I wanted his cock out, wanted to ride it. I felt like a wild woman unleashed, dripping with need, every inch of my flesh hypersensitive.

Until my phone started vibrating within my clutch, the small purse threatening to dance off the edge of the nightstand.

"I'm so sorry..." My hands wrapped around Simon's shoulders to urge him away.

"Last night's 'business'?" he asked.

I nodded, reaching for my purse and feeling a million shades of rude. Pulling the cell phone out, I saw that the call was Dylan.

"I'll prepare the tea service," Simon offered, planting a quick kiss on my shoulder before exiting the room.

I pressed the icon to accept Dylan's call and cautiously placed the phone against my ear, my whispered greeting barely audible.

Hearing nothing but a sigh from Dylan, my heart started pounding.

"What's wrong?" His silence after I answered caused two scenarios to run rampant inside my head. Either some tattletale at the hotel had contacted Dylan or there was bad news on Mishka. I didn't care how much of an ass chewing I was in for if someone had ratted me and Simon out, I just wanted Dylan's sigh not to be about the big Russian.

"Sorry, baby girl," Dylan answered. "I'm just exhausted. Jo-Jo wanted to keep you up-to-date, but she can't talk about Mishka without crying this morning."

Tears sprung immediately to my eyes. "What did you hear?"

"Nothing, nothing and more nothing," he answered. "I've got Austin Long involved now..."

I relaxed a fraction. The oilman not only knew Mishka and had close ties to Russia because of his company, but he was ex-Special Forces.

"That's good, right?" I asked, a begging inflection to my tone.

"It might get us ears and eyes in Moscow that we don't already have. What we really need is surveillance, some way to..."

He trailed off and I gave a small prompt. I knew what he was talking about but also that it wasn't wise to talk about such things over the phone. "I thought we had experts?"

"All the Russian experts are in Russia." Another sigh followed, heavier than the first. "We could offer them all the money in the world and they wouldn't lift a finger. And just asking could be a death warrant if it got back to the wrong group."

Seconds passed in silence before I heard Dylan's sharp intake of air. "That's enough doom and gloom. Nothing gets solved sobbing about it. I need you to rein Simon in so we can launch on time and then I need your butt home so I have one less body to worry about."

"I love you too, jerk," I said, knowing the conversation was over before the line went dead a second later.

Wrapping the robe around me, I went into the outer room to find Simon sipping on a cup of tea and reading the morning paper. Hearing me enter, he looked up and the serene set of his beautiful mouth collapsed.

"You've been crying." Setting down the cup and paper, he started to rise.

"Please, don't get up." I sat down next to him, tucked my feet under me and rested my head on his shoulder. My libido had fled and I didn't know when it would be returning.

Simon picked up his cup and handed it to me. "Drink this. I'll pour some more for both of us and fix you a plate."

I took a sip, pleased to find it heavy on the cream and sugar. My gaze surfed over his lean body as he stretched forward and arranged a few morning cakes on a piece of china. There were several blank spots on the tray, suggesting he had already eaten some while I was on the phone.

"I'm surprised you indulge," I said. "I figured you must be all protein smoothies and salads."

"Well," he answered, settling against me once more. "You'd be surprised at the number of calories you can consume when you don't sleep."

I frowned, all of the information from the day before rushing at me. "So you really haven't slept for twenty years? I can't wrap my head around the idea."

His shoulders lifted. "There are a few medical precedents before me. One is a disease mechanism some people inherit. It doesn't hit them until middle age, when they've already passed the genes on. They usually die within two years once their sleep center shuts down."

My chest tightened and I reminded myself that Simon had survived twenty years like this. Looking him, his body glowing with health, there wasn't any reason to believe he would be dead from his condition in the next two years.

"I was taught adaptive techniques six months after...the incident. Once they realized I wasn't sleeping. Meditation, biofeedback. I was down to sixty pounds before I could finally trick my brain chemistry into thinking I'd had sleep."

He stiffened against me. I put my plate and cup on the coffee table then placed my arm across his chest in a loose hug. "You don't have to talk about it -- any of it -- unless you want to."

"Thank you." He turned to face me, our arms around one another. "I would much rather know why you were crying."

I wanted to cry again but for a totally different reason. Or maybe the same reason. I was sad and happy at the same time. Sad because my friend was missing, sad because Simon had been hurt as a child, but happy that I was on the couch with him, that something inside me that had felt empty for so long was finally full, overflowing even.

"I am not supposed to talk about it," I explained. "We have a friend missing and Dylan is afraid that if word gets around, it's as good as a death sentence for Mi--"

I stopped myself before I said too much, if I hadn't already said too much.

"Nazarov," Simon said, his amazing brain instantly filling in the information I held back. "How can he be missing, and for so long, with all the resources at your brother's disposal?"

"He's not missing where we have resources." My face grew hot with the knowledge that I really wasn't supposed to be telling Simon anything at all. But, as smart as everyone around me was, I had the feeling he was the smartest, the one most adept at thinking of creative ways around obstacles.

"He's in Russia?" Simon asked, extracting himself from my embrace and leaving the couch. He left the room for a second and returned with a computer case.

"Yes." I put my hand over the case, blocking him from opening it. "What are you doing?"

He inhaled, then shook his head, as if ridding himself of an idea. His head inclined in my direction, his nose bumping against my cheek for a second before he spoke directly into my ear. "I was about to do something a little stupid."

I nodded then gripped the edge of his robe. "We're not supposed to do any web searches and it sounds like we can't hack into anything because of the differences with Russian computer networks and the language barrier."

"I figure I've lived about seven extra years," Simon said, the seeming change in topic almost giving me whiplash. "With all the not sleeping, that is. I speak six foreign languages, three of them quite fluently. I'm fluent in over a dozen programming languages."

Slowly, I started to understand what he was saying. "You mean you might be able to--"

I shook my head, rejecting the idea. Even if Simon could hack into the right Russian computer systems, it might get him killed. Pulling away from him, I buried my face in my hands, their surface quickly becoming wet with tears. I couldn't ask Simon to do something so dangerous -- but if I didn't, Mishka might die.

"I only said I was about to do something stupid because of where I was going to do it -- here, where it could be traced back to you." His arms surrounded me and then he drew me tight against him. "As much as I want to possess your body and spend another night sleeping in your arms, you're going back to the States. Immediately."

I tensed, my hands curled into fists to keep a tight hold on his silk robe.

"No arguments, Riona. And I'm leaving London, too, for the open seas."

Managing to wiggle free of Simon's fierce hug, I stared up at him, my head full of questions.

He grinned, his smile dazzling and his gaze full of a secret knowledge. "I might have done this a time or two before. All officially sanctioned, mind you."

I lifted a brow, incredulous that all instances had been sanctioned. I could imagine so much of Simon's past by the cut of his smile and the sparkle in his eyes. I rolled my lips together, my guts twisting with indecision over whether I should try to stop him.

"Can you promise me you'll be safe?" I asked. His lips started to move too quickly with his reply and I stopped him. "Promise me and be right. I adore Mishka, but I..."

I sucked two fat lungfuls of air into my body. It wasn't possible to fall in love with someone overnight. Never mind that we had six months of interacting with one another, I had never been close to knowing Simon until I arrived at the hotel the day before.

"I promise, love." Cupping my face, he kissed me. "And I'm going to find your Russian as fast as I can so you can finish that sentence for me."

********************

The speed by which I was back in Dallas surprised me almost as much as Dylan's rush in capitulating to Simon's offer of assistance. When I saw my big brother in Dallas some fifteen hours after talking to him on the phone from London, he didn't even growl at me over telling Simon about Mishka.

Nor did he pry as to why I thought I could trust the Englishman.

Dylan didn't pry and Marjolein didn't need to. She noticed something was different with me the second she spotted me at the airport. Looping her arm through mine as Dylan hauled my bags from the conveyor belt, she had whispered in my ear.