Dance with the Billionaire (11 page)

I’m about to reply, but as I open my mouth to speak, I feel the head of his cock brush gently against my lips: hot, hard and velvety smooth.

I try to move my arm instinctively, wanting to wrap my fingers around his shaft, but of course I’m bound tight. So instead, I kiss him, softly at first, letting my lips graze tantalizingly gently against his swelling flesh, letting my tongue tease and tickle him.

I hear him sigh, softly, and I feel a shiver of pleasure and pride.

I draw him further into my mouth with my tongue now, closing my lips around his shaft and bobbing my head as I suck him, and he begins to move his hips, his hardness gliding between my lips, filling my mouth with him. I feel his hands move into my hair, holding my head firmly in place as he starts to fuck my mouth harder, and as he does, it’s the weirdest thing. Even though I’m bound tightly, or maybe
because
I’m bound tightly, and even though I’m completely unable to touch myself, I can still feel the sensation building up inside me, the pleasure coursing through my body as he uses me like this.

I groan, wishing to god that I could move my hand between my legs, but instead feeling the sharp sting of the silk rope cutting into my wrists as I try to pull my hands free.

Just then one of his hands moves to my right breast and I shiver, all the while feeling his hot hard cock plundering my mouth. He takes my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, his breath coming in soft groans, and as he tweaks my nipple hard enough for me to cry out, I feel his cock slide from my mouth, leaving me begging for him, gasping at the air, needing to be filled like that again.

And as if he can read my mind, he pushes himself roughly back between my lips, but this time he allows me do the work. I let my tongue dance up and down his shaft as I bob my head, slowly at first then building in speed, and as I’m sucking him I feel his hand finally move from my breast, grazing down over my stomach then slipping between my legs.

I didn’t think he’d be able to reach me there, he’s so tall, so his fingers at first take me by surprise, as he begins to toy with my clit once more.

I moan, as much as I’m able, as his fingers work me in expert circles, again in just the way I like, and before I know it, I’m coming for the second time, my lips clamped tight around his cock to stifle my cries, my body alive with pleasure, bucking and writhing despite my constraints.

He gasps too, and a moment later I feel him swell in my mouth before flooding my tongue and throat with warmth. I gulp him back, feeling some of the hot liquid spill over my chin as he withdraws from my mouth, leaving me bound and shivering on the chair before him.

In a heady silence, he unties my ankles first, then my wrists, and then finally my blindfold, and when I look into his eyes for the first time afterwards, there’s this glint there, and it seems doubly clear to me that he’s been enjoying this game we’re playing just as much as me – both of us teasing out the inevitable for as long as we possibly can.

Maybe he’s been the one in control all along ...

I hate to admit it, but I haven’t left my room all day. Since Isabella’s arrival, the remaining charms of the house have all but worn off. I don’t dare venture into
her
studio again and the pool doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore either. If I’m honest, I’m counting down the hours till Dylan comes home. And when he does get here, I’m gonna tell him that I’m not gonna spend another day just sitting around the house doing nothing. Even just wandering around the local K-Mart would be better than this. I’ve never been much of a sitting-on-my-ass kind of girl, and I’m not about to start now.

If only I had my phone. I wish I could speak to someone. To Nat. I hope she’s not too worried about me – it’s so unlike me to disappear for a whole
week
. I’ll probably have a million and one missed calls when Dylan finally gives me my phone back.

In frustration I push myself to my feet, and before I even know what I’m doing, I head out of my room and down the corridor, opening doors as I go, deciding not to be such a wimp and see what else this house has to offer. I know that Isabella is staying in the East wing, so as long as I avoid that, I should be fine to explore a little, right? I guess I just want to find out a bit more about this guy. I mean, I still know next to nothing about him. And everything we’ve done so far has taken place in
my
room. I want to see where he’s been sleeping ...

I push open door after door, only ever finding anonymous unlived-in bedrooms, obviously guest rooms, just like mine.

And then, finally, I reach a room that
must
be his.

It’s the same design scheme as mine – huge, white, minimalist – but it looks move lived-in, too. There are things – spare change, books, a phone charger – strewn around on the surfaces, and a laptop lying on the bed. He must have left in a hurry this morning; the wardrobe door is still wide open. I stroll over to take a closer look: it’s filled with clothes, a long row of his trademark tailored suits and crisp white shirts, only a few casual items at the very far end.

And on all the walls are framed pictures. Some are artworks, pencil sketches mostly, but there are family photographs, too. I find one of him at graduation. He looks cute and even kind of goofy, nothing at all like the assured, confident guy I’ve been getting to know these past few days.

And just to the left of that is what must be a family portrait. There’s Dylan on the left, Isabella in the middle, and on the right another guy who looks a few years younger than Dylan. I’m guessing that must be his brother. The three siblings are flanked by adoring parents – the dad, white-haired and studious-looking, the mom still totally glamorous and beautiful. They’re all glowing in this photo with the kind of relaxed manner and healthy skin that only real money can buy.

I think about how my own family portraits must look in comparison, realizing with a small bitter laugh a moment later that I don’t even
have
any.

I turn my attention to the next photo along, but this one stops me dead in my tracks. There’s Dylan again. He looks about the same age as he is now, so it must have been taken recently. He’s smiling, he looks happy, and so does the beautiful blonde woman he’s got his arm around. She’s holding a gorgeous little girl, about two or three years old, and the three of them look so wholesome and blissful together. Of course they do. They’re the perfect family.

I’m such a fucking idiot. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?

Of course he’s married. Suddenly it all makes sense: why he took me all the way out here, to hide in this great big empty house, and why his sister’s been acting so damn off with me. For the first time, the cold reality of our ‘arrangement’ fully dawns on me, and I feel like such a bitch. A home-wrecker. A
whore
.

I turn and run back down the corridor to my room, cursing myself for how stupid I’ve been. And I guess I’ve got to admit that maybe part of that is because I’ve been developing feelings for him.

§

I spend the rest of the afternoon lying on the bed, just staring into space. I keep thinking about just getting the hell out of here: of finding James and asking him to book me a cab to the nearest train station. But then reality kicks in all over again and I remember just
why
I’m here in the first place. This isn’t just some romantic week away in a picturesque Rhode Island holiday resort. I’m here to give Dylan Campbell his kicks, plain and simple: to get him off in all the dirty, kinky ways that maybe his clean and wholesome wife doesn’t want to do anymore. And if I can just stick it out for another three days, I’m going to be rewarded ‘very handsomely’ for my trouble.

It’s this final thought that keeps me from sulking when Dylan knocks on my door early that evening.

“I thought you’d be by the pool,” he says, looking in at me from the doorway, my room plunged into dimness from the blinds I’ve not had the energy to open all day. There’s exasperation in his voice, as if he’s angry with me for not making the most of his beautiful house.

“I guess I’m a little tired of the pool,” I reply, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“That’s a shame,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Meet me by the pool house in twenty minutes and you’ll find out,” he replies. “Bathing suit optional.”

§

Of course I wear a bathing suit. I’m not gonna give in and let him see me naked
that
easily. Especially after my little discovery this afternoon. But I’m hardly in a position to decline his offer, am I? For the next few days, I’m still his employee and I signed up for this – wife or no wife.

When I get to the pool house, Dylan’s already there. He’s wearing a robe, so I can’t tell if he’s got trunks on underneath, or whether he’s going commando. I’ve got my robe on too, so he doesn’t know what
I’m
wearing underneath either. And if he’s hoping I’m naked, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

“Come with me,” is all he says.

So I follow him, around and
past
the pool, then through a secluded grove of trees, past a beautiful rockery full of plants and flowers, and then finally down some dark gray slate steps that look like they’ve been carved out of the cliff. The whole effect is breath-taking. And then there, nestled away, hidden from view by shrubbery and foliage is a steaming hot tub, a bottle of champagne chilling next to it in a silver ice bucket.

I wonder where his perfect family is tonight, and what exactly it is they think he’s up to.

“Wow,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really know how to treat a girl.”

“I like to make a woman feel special,” he replies. And if he’s noticed my bitterness, he’s choosing to ignore it. “After you,” he adds, gesturing towards the tub.

I shrug off my fluffy white cotton robe. Beneath it, I’m wearing the least revealing bikini I could find in the wardrobe. It’s a plain white halter top, with high-waisted shorts and an elegant gold buckle. But for all its extra fabric, it’s
still
a bikini, and it leaves little to the imagination. Dylan looks at me approvingly for a half-second, before slipping his robe off, too, his body knocking the air from my lungs despite myself.

I suppose this is the first time I’ve seen the
whole
of him in one go and
damn
. He’s as perfectly formed as a statue; lean yet muscular, lightly tanned, perfectly in proportion, except of course that extra-large package between his legs, shown off obscenely by what has to be the tightest pair of trunks I think I’ve ever seen on a guy before. I force myself to pull my eyes away from his gorgeous body, turning and climbing into the tub, registering an embarrassing dampness between my legs as I step into the water.

Okay. This is actually pretty cool.

I’ve never been in a hot tub before now, but I can totally see the appeal.

“You like it?” Dylan asks once he’s climbed in too, handing me a chilled glass of champagne, and I have to nod. And with that heady combination of the overpowering heat of the water, the luscious scenery all around us, and the deliciously cold champagne, I’m finding it harder and harder to stay mad at him.

“I know why you’ve been hiding in your room. I’m really sorry about Isabella,” he says genuinely. “I don’t know what to do with her sometimes. Believe it or not, she’s actually
calmed down
a lot over the past few years. She used to be
really
wild, like totally uncontrollable. Now she’s just your regular spoiled brat, I guess. Sometimes I wish she didn’t have her trust fund to fall back on. It’s making her lazy. It’s no good for her.”

It’s really weird, but when he’s talking about his family, he’s like a different person. Gone is the guy who’s focused solely on himself – on getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it, and damn the consequences. Instead, this guy, the guy who’s talking about his family, seems more real, more rounded, more ...
human.

“At least you
have
a sister,” I reply, “even if she is trouble. Most of my life, it’s just been me and my dad. It could get kind of lonely. And he came with his own set of problems as well – drinking, gambling, unable to hold down a job for more than five minutes. I’ve always wished for a sibling. You know, just someone I could say, “Isn’t dad being an asshole?” to. Someone to share the burden. But the only person in the whole world who knows what I’ve been through is
me
. I suppose I’ve gotten used to that by now ...”

“To family,” Dylan says ironically, holding out his champagne glass. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I reply, clinking my glass against his.

Because he’s totally right: whether fantastically rich like his, or dirt poor like mine, family is family, and it
always
comes with problems.

The combination of the temperature and the champagne has gone straight to my head, so much so that I don’t even notice that Dylan’s arm is anywhere near me, before all of a sudden my bikini top pops undone.

“Hey!” I squeal, covering my breasts with my free hand as the top floats away. “How did you manage
that
?”

“Practice,” he grins.

As if to prove the point, he leans in towards me, both taking the glass from my hand and pressing his lips against my own all in one smooth motion. And I quickly feel my reservations melting away, as our kisses get hot and heavy, the steam from the water rising around us as our hands begin to explore each other’s bodies too.

I moan as his fingers move between my legs, pushing my tongue deeper into his mouth as he tugs my bikini roughly to the side, his fingertips circling my aching clit. I push my hand beneath the water to discover his hard cock, straining at his trunks. He groans as I free him, stroking his thick shaft beneath the surface of the water, our tongues flicking, our eyes closed ...

And then an image appears in my head:
Dylan with his wife and kid.

I pull away from him, his eyes opening in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, his voice tight with lust. “Don’t stop now.”

I don’t know what to do, what to say.

A part of me wants to tell him to go to hell – or at least back to his wife and family.

But then I think about the money again: one hundred thousand dollars, enough to secure my future more than my precious virginity ever could.

Do this for you, Julia. Do this for your future ...

“Nothing’s wrong,” I reply, forcing a sweet smile back onto my face and hitching up my ass to slide my bikini bottoms down my thighs, before pushing myself back towards him, wrapping my arms around him, my hard nipples grazing against his muscular chest as I begin to straddle him now, feeling his cock pressing between my legs, his hands moving to my ass, spreading me wide, urging me down onto him.

This is it ...

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “And tonight, I’m finally going to have you ...”

I shiver, as I feel him reach between my legs, guiding his cock into place, his hardness touching right against my hot wet cunt, ready to push himself into me.