Covet: Trusting the Billionaire (The Trophy Wife Book 4) (5 page)

I notice red bruises on Julian’s neck and the sides of his face.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I gently smooth the bruises on his neck with the tips of my fingers. 

“Fucking idiot,” Julian growls. “He asked for it.”

He puts his hands commandingly on the bar. A bartender approaches and asks what he wants.

“How about a shot?” Julian asks me.

“Sure,” I respond.

Julian orders a shot of Belvedere vodka and slides it over to me on the bar.

I down the shot and suck on a lime. When I glance over, I see Julian watching me carefully. His eyes are predator-like and I feel like his willing prey. I’m fully aware that Julian wants to get me drunk and rape me.

Julian calls over the bartender and orders me another vodka shot. He slides it over to me on the bar. I swallow and it burns down my throat, heating my stomach.
Fuck, that’s strong.

“Dance with me,” Julian says as he takes my hand.

I follow him onto the dance floor. He moves behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. We begin dancing to the beat of the music. It’s a fast and pulsing rhythm. 

The song changes and we move to the tempo. I rock my hips from side to side as Julian slides his hands up and down my waist and hips, his eyes on my ass. The alcohol suddenly hits my system and the room begins to spin.
I’m such a cheap drunk.

I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck. He gazes into my eyes and no words are needed. I bite my lower lip as we move to the music and stare deeply into each other’s eyes.

His eyes convey more than words ever can. A true alpha male dominates the submissive with his eyes alone.

The buzz in my head is getting stronger and I hold onto Julian’s neck for support. I let him direct my hips to the rhythm of the music.

I part my lips and his gaze shifts to them. His eyes get hooded, and his jaw clenches. I lick my lips, slicking them with wetness. I feel his body stiffen against mine.

He fixes his dark gaze on my mouth, slides his hands into my hair, and leans in as though to kiss me, but suddenly he withholds himself. Our lips are almost touching, and I can feel his hot breath against my face.

The sexual tension increases as I wait for him to kiss me. I inhale his rich, manly, spicy scent. He examines me as though he were reading my mind, knowing everything I’m thinking and everything I’m feeling—it’s so intimidating.

I suddenly feel my panties drip with moisture. I’m so fucking wet and Julian hasn’t even touched me there yet. The sexual anticipation and chemistry between us is incredible. He truly is a master of seduction.

I slide my hands from his neck and into his short black hair. My heart is thumping and the noise around me—the people, the music, everything—suddenly fades away. My full attention is on him.

I can’t take it anymore; I firmly grip the back of his head and lean in to lock lips with him, letting out a loud moan.

Our tongues meet and swirl. I can taste his desire for me. Our lips move rapidly as we kiss, moaning and groaning.

I’ve lost all my inhibitions and I hop onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist as I kiss him harder than I’ve ever kissed anyone. I don’t care if people are watching, I’m so turned on. He shoves his tongue around in my mouth and I moan as we trade saliva in a passionate exchange.

Julian pulls away and fixes his intense gaze on my face. “I’m taking you home tonight,” he growls.

I nod—I’m his willing victim. He places me on my feet, and I get a head rush, either from the kiss or the alcohol or both. He grabs me by the hand and leads me toward the exit.

When we get into the car, Julian puts my seatbelt on for me, then starts the car.

“I’m going to fuck your brains out tonight,” he says, harsh and rough.

On the way home, the effects of the alcohol put me in a sleepy state. I shut my eyes.

I’m awakened when Julian unbuckles my seatbelt. I try and get out of the car but I’m too intoxicated, so Julian lifts me into his arms.

I feel Julian carry me through our home and into the “rape room.” The alcohol has worked its way through my entire system, and all I feel like doing is sleeping. I force my eyes open when Julian tosses me onto the four-poster bed. Julian is undressing himself and piercing me with a ravenous, salacious grin. I’m all his, to do with as he pleases—fuck me raw and blow his entire load inside me.

The room feels like it’s spinning even though I’m lying on my back. I’m too dizzy to move, so I close my eyes and wait for the feeling to pass.

The alcohol has left me drowsy, weak, and incoherent. I open my eyes when I feel Julian pull me by the feet toward the edge of the bed.

He stands by the edge, raises my legs to a 90-degree angle, and holds onto my ankles. My legs are spread-eagle and he shoves his throbbing cock inside me.

I’m his fuck toy to do with as he pleases. I close my eyes as he begins pumping. He alternately crosses and spreads my legs like scissors, opening and closing as he thrusts.

One second my limbs are in an “X” and so super tight for his thick cock. Then, when he spreads me open again, I’m wide open and able to take him in deeper.

He thrusts hard and fast, and I’m jolted like a rag doll. He grits his teeth, slamming against my hips with a loud body-to-body smacking sound.

He speeds up and, with one final hard thrust, unleashes a deluge of his thick, hot globs against my inner walls. My mind explodes as I climax with flashing lights like fireworks against my closed eyelids. My body convulses as though I’m having a seizure.
Holy fuck, that was intense.

Julian rolls off me and immediately pulls me into his arms. I’m held tightly against him as his chest heaves. A few droplets of sweat run down his toned eight-pack.

The powerful pinnacle has left me like putty, and the alcohol seems to have enhanced the after-sex bliss.

CHAPTER SEVEN

For the next few months, I’m busy with my artwork. I’ve completed sixteen paintings so far, but I’m hoping to add at least four more. Julian has arranged a private gallery viewing for my art collection in two weeks and I’m so excited. He says a collection of twenty paintings is sufficient for my first viewing.

Julian has purchased an art gallery for me in Geneva. It’s a large, elegant, two-floor space. My art gallery,
C. Stone
, has high ceilings, dark hardwood floors, and my colorful abstract paintings hanging o
n
crisp white walls. Not many artists have their very own gallery, so I am very appreciative toward Julian, who helped make my dream of being an artist a reality. Julian also hires a very pleasant female assistant to work for me and help me during gallery viewings.

I haven’t received any more strange letters and Julian hasn’t raised any further suspicions. Besides painting, I’ve kept myself occupied with shopping, lunch dates, and playdates.

Anita, Sandra, and I have become close friends. We arrange a playdate once a week for our children, and for girl talk. We also arrange a shopping and lunch date once a week in the city center of Geneva and leave the children at home with their nannies.

Geneva rivals London and Paris as a major shopping destination in Europe, and shopping is practically a national sport in Switzerland. With my Black Amex card from Julian, as well as his constant encouragement to shop till I drop, I’ve assembled a large collection of gorgeous designer clothing in my walk-in closet.

My walk-in closet is every woman’s dream. It’s as big as most people’s homes and looks like a designer store, with all my purses and shoes neatly arranged on built-in shelves. My jewelry rests behind glass cases as though it’s on display in a museum.

Sandra and Anita have arranged a shopping day this afternoon in the shopping district. We have lunch and then stroll Rue du Rhone, glancing at the pretty window displays as we chat. We stop by the Hermès store and gaze through the window at the purses.

“These purses are like art,” I remark. “I have every color, but I’m missing the orange one, and that one looks tempting.” I point to the Hermès Birkin at the right of the display.

“That one is lovely,” Anita comments. “Speaking of art, how is your art collection coming along?”

“I’ve been very busy with it,” I respond.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Sandra says. “What does Julian think?

“He says I’m very talented, but we’ll see what everyone else thinks.”

“How is Julian?” Anita asks.

“He’s constantly working,” I respond sadly.

Sandra tries to console me. “You’re the trophy wife to a highly sophisticated, wealthy businessman. That’s just how it is sometimes with them—they are always working.”

I come home with my new purchase, placing the orange Birkin bag on one of the empty shelves in my walk-in closet. My entire bag collection is worth more than most people earn in a lifetime.

The next two weeks fly by as I work on several more paintings until the day of my private viewing finally arrives. I’m feeling nervous and excited as Julian and I arrive at my art gallery, dressed to the nines.

Julian is wearing a tuxedo, and I’m in a light pink pleated silk-organza dress by Lela Rose with matching pumps. My hair is in an elegant up-do, and I have diamond stud earrings.

Everything is as I expected, if not better. Classical music is playing softly throughout my art gallery. Each person has a glass of champagne in hand and walks around admiring the paintings while chatting quietly with others. Some are tilting their heads to the side, silently viewing each piece. Some are resting their fingers on their chins, closely examining and analyzing my work.

Some of Julian’s wealthy acquaintances are here, as well as his close friends—Daniel, Phillip, Lance, Dimitri, Mark, Andrew, and Timothy—and their wives. Altogether, there are fifty-seven people at my private viewing.

My assistant gathers everyone around the painting that I’ve designated “the showstopper.” It’s a 48-by-84 oil-on-canvas abstract with vibrant red, blue, yellow, and orange streaks of color portraying Paris, France. Like any abstract, when one simply looks at it, all he or she sees is streaks and blobs of color. However, on further inspection, buildings, streets, and people can be seen.

I am very nervous and concerned about what the distinguished people whom Julian has invited will think of my artwork. I really hope my paintings are as good as Julian says they are. I don’t want to be labeled as another bored trophy wife pursuing a creative career with her husband’s money simply to occupy her time.

Julian stands in front of the crowd, which is admiring “the showstopper.” He holds a microphone and gives a small speech, thanking everyone for coming and offering other formal niceties.

He smiles proudly and locks eyes with me as I stand with sweaty palms and a constricted throat among the crowd. “I’d like to introduce my wife, Cheryl, the creative mind and talented artist behind all these masterpieces.”

Everyone claps as I make my way to the front of the crowd and take the microphone from Julian. I clear my dry throat and put my quivering hand behind my back.

“Thank you all so much for coming. It is a pleasure to introduce you to my first collection.” I gaze around at the well-dressed, refined, wealthy crowd as I wrack my brain for something else to say. I glance at Julian, who nods his head encouragingly.

“I would like to first and foremost thank Julian for supporting me in my creative passions and persuading me to show my first collection. Without him, this collection would not be possible. I would also like to thank my friends and family for their encouragement. I found most of my inspiration for these painting from my travels with Julian. Many of the paintings feature architecture and culture I’ve seen in the various cities I’ve visited.” I smile as everyone watches me intently. I’m suddenly feeling more confident.

The crowd claps and then disperses throughout my art gallery. Julian and I stand together, sipping on champagne while everyone takes their time to view my paintings. Every so often, individuals and couples approach us and make offers on certain paintings.

At the end of the night I’ve received several offers. Julian is extremely impressed with the high interest in my work.

A few painting are sold to Julian’s close friends. Several other paintings are purchased by Julian’s wealthy acquaintances who, as fine art collectors, purchase art from all around the world, from both known and unknown artists. Altogether, eight of my paintings are sold, at between five million and ten million Swiss franc.

“I had doubts that anyone would make an offer,” I tell Julian once everyone has left.

“I never doubted you; I hope you never doubt me,” Julian replies. “How does it feel to be a real artist?”

“It feels amazing. It’s something I always dreamed of.”

“I promised you that I would make all your dreams come true.” Julian gently brushes away a stray strand of hair from my face.

“You did,” I confirm.

“Any other dreams you want me to fulfill?”

“I have everything I could ever want.” There is just one thing I still want—loyalty.

“I have some wishes I’d like you to fulfill tonight,” Julian whispers with lust-filled eyes.

“I’d gladly fulfill them.” I’d rather fulfill his wishes, whatever they are, than have another woman fulfill them.

“Let’s finish our champagne and head home,” Julian instructs. “Cheers to a successful viewing.” We click glasses and lock eyes.

On the way home, driving in Julian’s Maserati Birdcage sports car, Julian expertly discusses famous works of art as though he were a professional art critic. Sometimes Julian’s intelligence blows my mind. He seems to know everything about everything, and it can be very intimidating at times.

When we arrive home, Julian cradle lifts me and carries me through our home and into the “rape room.” He locks the door and lays me down on the four-poster king-sized bed. I make a half-hearted attempt to escape and dash toward the door. Julian grabs me by the waist, pulls my back against his chest, and holds me tight.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he snarls into my ear. It’s his role-play voice—rough and cruel. I feel him place a gun to the side of my head. “You do as you’re told, understand?”

“Yes,” I respond quickly. “Whatever you want.”

“Get undressed and get on the bed,” Julian snarls.

I slip out of my dress and lingerie, then sit at the edge of the bed.

Julian points the gun at me. “Lay down on the bed, face down,” he demands.

I lay down on my stomach and wait for further instructions. Julian walks around the bed, handcuffing my hands and feet to each of the four bed posters.

I am spread eagle, at Julian’s mercy, and loving it. I feel Julian get behind me and press the muzzle of the gun to the back of my neck.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I murmur.

“I don’t intend to,” Julian responds. “Let me do what I want with you, and then you will be free to go.”

I feel Julian gently run the cold, metal muzzle of the gun along my back and down my legs. “Such a sexy body,” he whispers.

Julian smacks my ass hard with the palm of his hand several times. “That ass looks better red.”

With my hands and legs handcuffed, there is no escaping. Julian thrusts inside me and sets a rough, fast pace as though he’s in a rush. He fucks me hard and ruthlessly. I moan as the friction against my g-spot and c-spot intensifies. I feel a blended orgasm coming on. My inner core clenches hard, aching for release.

Julian grabs a chunk of my hair and pulls hard, causing my head to tilt back. He lets out a manly, primal roar as he moves faster.

“I’m going to cum inside you,” he roars.

My inner core clenches even harder and tighter with those words. “No,” I whine. “Please don’t cum in me. Anywhere but there.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Julian snaps. At that moment, I feel a massive, hot explosion of his seed streaming inside me. I groan loudly as a climax rips through my body, taking me to a blissful high. My core clenches around his deeply imbedded cock as I shudder with pleasure.

Julian continues jerking against me, milking the entire contents of his balls inside me while also hitting and rubbing against my g-spot and c-spot, intensifying my blended orgasm.

My insides are drenched to the brim with Julian’s semen, and when he has nothing more to give me, he pulls out. He kisses the back of my neck. “I love you,” he says in his usual, loving tone, the cruelness in his voice from just a few minutes ago completely gone.

My hands and legs are freed, and we lay in each other’s arms for a while before Julian carries me into our master bedroom.