Bartered Proposal: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 1 (A BDSM Erotic Romance) Page 3

  He drew closer and closer and I backed up until I hit the floor to ceiling window behind me and flattened myself against the glass.

  He reached out, running a finger over my cheek, down my throat, down between the valley of my breasts.

  “There are a few small clauses in the contract that I thought you might find... distasteful,” he said. His voice had taken an almost dreamy quality, but I could barely hear him over the roar of blood in my head. “But given how much you want me, I don't think that will be a problem.”

  How much you want me. Yes, I did. Oh god, more than I had ever wanted anyone. If kissed me, I was sure I would spontaneously combust.

  “I don't want you,” I said. Even to my own ears, I could hear my throaty arousal.

  His lashes fluttered. His finger traveled across my breast, and when it found my nipple, he rested his thumb and forefinger around it.

  “What did you say?” he asked me.

  I swallowed around my dry tongue. “I don't want you,” I told him, louder this time.

  He pinched my nipple and twisted.

  The effect was electric—painful pleasure shot from my nipple, through my heart and straight down to my clit. I cried out and my legs buckled. My purse and the contract slipped from nerveless fingers.

  “Don't lie to me,” Anton Waters said.

  I didn't answer.

  He moved in.

  He didn't touch me. Not really. He ran the tips of his fingers over my body, but he avoided my skin, as though touching my directly would cause him pain. His lips traversed the fabric of my sweater, over my waist, traveling over the outside of my hip. His hands skimmed against my ass, finding the sensitive creases where my ass met my thighs. He scraped dull fingernails down the backs of my legs. I could barely feel them through my jeans.

  I wanted to grab his face and shove it into my crotch. I needed his mouth on me, his cock in me. My hands hovered near his hair, at the tips of his ears, but I was afraid to touch him.

  The tip of his nose met my hip, scraping over the front of my jeans. He stopped, just at the cleft of my thighs, and inhaled deeply.

  Putting his hands against the glass behind me he stood up and leaned in. His lips brushed my ear and his body moved forward until, at last, I could feel his cock, trapped in his pants, push against my belly.

  “I can smell you,” he whispered in my ear. “Your pussy is already begging for me to fuck it.”

  Yes. God, yes. My clit ached, and my cunt felt like it was about to explode. I couldn't even try to hide my arousal any more. My breath came hot and fast. His body hovered over mine, furnace-hot, and the thick swell of his erection pressed firmly against my stomach.

  I couldn't get enough air. I was going to pass out.

  “Sign the contract, and you will have everything you desire.” He rolled his hips, rubbing his cock over me, almost but not quite brushing against my pussy. My panties were soaked and slick with my juices. Then his lips found my throat, brushing over my hammering pulse.

  Flames licked over my body, radiating out from where he touched me. My hands came up, gripping his shoulders. He felt as good as he looked, all hard planes and firm muscle underneath that white linen shirt. My hands curled into fists as he let his fingers drift along the hem of my sweater. Then, slowly, torturously, he slipped them beneath and trailed his fingertips against my stomach.

  I wanted to tell him to stop. I couldn't tell him to stop.

  His wrist rotated and he flattened his palm against my belly, sliding his hand down, under the waistband of my pants, past the elastic of my panties.

  My head lolled and I pushed against his hand. Smoothly he parted my outer lips and slid his fingers along the outside of my slit, but he didn't touch my swollen clit, the place where I needed him most.

  He curled his fingers, coating them in my juices. Withdrew his hand, slid his other two fingers along my slit, grazing against sensitive flesh, but not quite touching.

  Mad with need, I tried to maneuver my hips over his hand, trying to capture him, but he avoided me deftly. His teeth scraped against my collarbone, and he spoke into my skin.

  “Beg me to take you,” he murmured. His voice was rough, reverberating through my bones. “Beg me to bend you over that couch and fuck you.”

  The words were out of my mouth before I could think about them. “Oh, yes,” I whispered. “Please.”

  He paused.

  Then, to my everlasting dismay, he pulled back, removing his hand from my pants and leaving a wet, cold trail behind. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, turning my knees to pudding.

  “No,” he said.

  It took a second to register. “What?” I cried. “Why? You asked me to... why?”

  And he laughed. He laughed at me.

  “Miss Dare, why on earth would you buy the cow if you could get the milk for free?” And he brought his fingers up to his lips. Without taking his eyes from mine, he licked them clean one... by... one.

  I turned and fled.

  I barely had the presence of mind to grab my purse—and the contract—as I left my dignity behind. Bursting through the double glass doors, I didn't even pause to fix my hair. Instead I just made a beeline for one of the pairs of wooden doors and crashed through them.

  I ran past Arthur. I didn't even turn to tell him goodbye. My gait was awkward as I rubbed my thighs together, rushing to the elevator. I slammed my hand against the button and, mercifully, the doors opened immediately. I stumbled inside and they closed behind me, beginning their descent.

  I was so close to coming, I didn't care that I was in an elevator. I shoved a hand into my jeans, parting my pussy lips and revealing the nub of my clit to my questing fingers. Desperately I rubbed my fingertip in tight, quick circles, my other hand snaking its way up under my shabby sweater, slipping beneath the strap of my bra. I squeezed my breast and pinched my nipple, sending a stab of need straight down through my belly. My knees buckled and I staggered against the hand rail circling the small space, my body on fire with need. My moans filled the elevator, my face numb with heat and my cheeks burning with shame.

  Dipping my fingers into my slick folds, I dragged moisture over my clit, slipping and sliding, my hips bucking against my hand. In the dark of my head, I imagined Anton Waters scraping his large, rough fingers over me, and with a final thrust I dragged myself over the edge. My back arched and I cried out, my head banging against the wall as I thrashed, waves of pleasure crashing into me, threatening to drag me out to a deep and hungry ocean I had only begun to realize was there.

  My whole body seemed to contract with the force of my orgasm, my hungry passage squeezing tight around nothing. It wasn't enough. It couldn't be enough. Not when I could have been fucking him. I almost sobbed with disappointment, even as I rode it out, my body locked in tight spasms.

  The pleasure faded, and I barely had enough time to pull my hand out of my pants before the elevator doors opened.

  A group of business men stood in the foyer, waiting. They pushed their way inside, and I barely had enough presence of mind to slip by them and make my escape.

  I had just masturbated in an elevator. And I'd come in record time.

  Gulping, I wiped my sticky fingers on the inside of my sweater and hurried past the receptionist and out the door. The cool air of fall slapped me across the face, sobering me.

  Couldn't have even waited til you got home, huh? I thought. Pathetic.

  My mind reeled as I wound my way through the burgeoning lunch crowd, and I took three wrong turns before I found my way to the subway station. When I finally boarded the subway car, I buried my face in my hands and tried to think. The smell of my own juices clung to my fingers, reminding me of how salaciously I had behaved. I tried to pick through my feelings, but by the time I got home, the pickings were still slim.

  I only knew two things. I hated Anton Waters. And I was going to fuck him.

  Maybe in more ways than one.

  * * *

  To be continued
in Bartered Seduction: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 2!

  About The Author

  Ava Lore was raised by wombats and lives to corrupt the innocent. When she's not writing erotic romance, she spends her time thinking about writing erotic romance and drinking enough iced coffee to kill a musk ox.

  Discover other titles by Ava Lore at Amazon.com

  You can email Ava Lore at authoravalore@gmail.com. She yearns for your approval.

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