Owned by the Billionaire Page 4

  The tempting smells of breakfast led me down the hall, past a few closed doors. On the right, an open door beckoned, and I gingerly walked through. My brief dash of confidence had been quashed by the cold opulence of the mansion, unlike anything I had ever seen before. I felt awkward and gauche, totally out of my element. The dining room that met my eyes only increased this feeling of alienation.

  A long table crossed the room, the rich wood gleaming under a crystalline chandelier. Intimidatingly ornate flower arrangements graced the table, and complex table settings baffled my eyes, even as the delicious scents drew me further into the room. Miles sat at one end, frowning down at a newspaper. Unsure what to do, I cleared my throat. He looked up, still frowning, and my unspoken question died on my lips at his forbidding expression. My shoulders tightened and I nervously smoothed my skirt, looking down.

  "Don't just stand there, sit down!" I jumped, then hurried forward, drawing out a heavy chair a few places down from the moody man. He jerked his chin at the dishes set along the table. I served myself, and started to eat. A heavy silence descended over the table, as I ate and he read, studiously ignoring me. My appetite dwindled into nothing as my stomach twisted in growing anxiety, and after a few bites I started picking at the rich food.

  As I stared at my plate, glumly wondering what was going to happen next, a loud clatter caught my attention. I glanced up, then stared as Miles slammed the newspaper down, angrily shoving back the remnants of his breakfast. He saw me watching and scowled, and my gaze shot back down to the table as my nerves tightened painfully. The air nearly seemed to simmer with his repressed anger, but even as the tension rose, depraved arousal twisted through me. I fought it down, aghast at this perverse response to his temper.

  Lost in this wicked internal battle, I jerked when he finally spoke, painfully slamming my elbow against the edge of the table. He rolled his eyes at this display of clumsiness but went on, cuttingly sharp. "Aren't you done yet? We're on a tight schedule today."

  I gaped at him. "What? Why? What are we doing?"

  "For starters, I'd prefer not to see you wearing my ex-wife's old clothes." His tone was icy and I winced, mumbling an apologetic agreement. My pleasure in wearing the pretty dress vanished. "I also have an appointment at two, so we'll have to hurry." Standing, he tossed his napkin onto the dirty dishes. He'd changed clothes, and now seemed stiffly reserved in a tailored grey suit, the very image of a successful businessman. I stumbled to my feet, painfully self-conscious once again. His eyes narrowed as they swept down my body, and I crossed my arms, my shoulders hunching inwards. Raising his eyes to my face, he continued. "And I believe you have a phone call to make very soon."

  I nodded hesitantly. Part of the contract I'd signed had stipulated regular contact between the purchased virgin and the auction house, as a safety precaution. I was supposed to call in every twelve hours, around ten o'clock, until the contract was fulfilled and the final payment deposited. The auction manager had made me memorize the phone number, and when Miles passed me his cell-phone, I entered the digits with trembling fingers.

  A brusque woman answered the phone. She demanded the pseudonym I'd taken for the contract, and then asked me a series of increasingly intimate questions. The level of detail she insisted on left me feeling dirty, and her barely-hidden contempt drove home the intense shame I still felt over the whole sordid situation. Her probing questions and sneering tone went on and on, until she was finally satisfied that I was safe and, clearly more importantly, still technically a virgin and bound by the contract. After a curt reminder to call back in twelve hours, she hung up without farewell. Nearly in tears, I gave Miles back his glossy phone.

  With his current black mood, I had been almost tempted to ask the rude woman for a rescue, but I hadn't quite dared to in front of him. It hadn't seemed terribly likely that the judgmental bitch would have sent help even if I had asked for it! I reassured myself that at least he didn't know about the agreement I'd made with my best friend. If I didn't call her the next evening, she was going straight to the cops. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't as horribly trapped as I felt.

  Clutching that pathetic comfort, I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and turned my back on Miles, glumly staring at my toes. My left big toe had chipped nail polish, a soothingly normal detail in this bizarre situation I'd so willingly thrown myself into. To my surprise, a warm hand dropped onto my shoulder. Without thinking, I nuzzled my cheek against it, wiping away the tears I'd failed to hold back.

  Quietly, Miles spoke, the words halting and strained. "Sophia, darling. I... I'm sorry. I can see that you're upset, and I know I'm at least partly responsible." He sighed, a weary sound. "I just read some disturbing news in the paper, and then seeing you in her clothes... well, it just reminded me of some bad times. But I'm not mad at you, and I'm sorry that that horrid woman gave you such a hard time. Please give me a chance to make this up to you."

  My heart melted at this sincere apology. I turned to him, and his tight lips eased into a smile as I wrapped my arms around his lean waist. I relaxed against him and he laid his cheek on my hair, rocking us slightly. My voice was muffled against his chest.

  "It's alright, Miles, I understand. Let's just try to enjoy today, alright?" I felt him nod against my head.

  He held me close for a peaceful moment, before easing me back and clearing his throat. "Yes, of course. Today." He seemed a bit adrift, and then some thought struck him. "Ah, here, I almost forgot! I have a gift for you, darling." Reaching into a jacket pocket, he thrust a cream-colored envelope into my hands. Curiously, I turned it over in my hands, then slid a nail under the flap. A hard plastic card was all it contained, and I held it up.

  "A... credit card?" The pleasant greed of receiving an unexpected gift dissolved into dismay, as my searing shame about selling my body roared back into my mind. He's already bought my virginity, what else does he want from me? I shook off his hands and stepped back, holding the card between two fingertips, shocked and hurt at this thoughtless cruelty. He frowned at my lack of gratitude, crossing his arms.

  "Really, darling. As though I'd just hand over a credit card! No, it's a gift card for a clothing store." I stared at him, not appreciating the fine distinction he seemed to think he'd drawn. He raised his eyebrows arrogantly. "So you can buy clothes?" He prompted, as though I simply didn't understand the concept.

  I held the card back out to him. "I don't want any of your money." My voice hissed out between my teeth, nearly strangled by outrage and guilt. Prostituting myself once was quite enough! His frown deepened, but he took it back without protest.

  "Fine. You can buy your own clothes, then." He smirked when I flinched at the jab. Like I could afford the kind of clothes he'd want to buy! Ruthlessly, he pressed his advantage. "As I thought. Perhaps you would like to re-think accepting my gift?"

  I scowled and shook my head. "I'd rather wear your ex-wife's clothes than let you buy me anything! Fuck that, I'd rather go naked!" Shaking with anger, I bit off the words viciously. His head reared back at my foul language, and then his jaw set ominously.

  "Sadly, darling, that is not an option. Although keeping you naked is a tempting thought, I am not willing to tolerate further defiance on this subject." My chin lifted, and I held his eyes stubbornly. After a tense moment, he looked away, thoughtfully tilting his head. "Well. Since we seem to have reached an impasse, perhaps we should open negotiations." A wicked light suddenly bloomed in his dark eyes, and I stepped back warily.

  "What do you mean?" I was sullen, but realized that I didn't want argue any further and risk some warped punishment for 'defiance'. Perhaps we could reach an agreement that would satisfy him and let me keep a few shreds of self-respect intact.

  "It seems that you won't accept a perfectly normal gift from me, for whatever foolish reason, but perhaps you'd be willing to spend your own money, instead." He leaned forward, eyes hot and intent. "Let's make a bet. If you win, I'll arrange to forward you some of the money from
the auction, and you can buy the clothes yourself, with your own money. Hell, you could even return them when we're done, if you absolutely must."

  I rolled my eyes at this one-sided prize. It seemed that buying new clothes was not going to be negotiable, after all! He ignored my expression. "If I win the bet, I buy your clothes, and you'll have to thank me for the gift." His voice lowered to a suggestive murmur. "An extremely gracious thanks will be expected from you for this act of generosity."

  I swallowed hard, the simmering arousal I'd been struggling to repress during our fight flaring hotly at his husky tone and clear insinuation. My rebellious pussy throbbed, and a revealing flush swept over me. The infuriating jerk smirked in response. Grinding my teeth in irritation, I tried to think logically about his proposal. Having access to my own money would be really helpful if I needed to get away from this deranged man, and I'd feel a lot less dependent and trapped. And to be honest, the idea of splurging a bit on new clothes was also really tempting, even though I'd have to return them sooner or later.

  I blew out a breath. "Alright, fine. It's a bet."

  "Excellent!" My belly hollowed out at this happy response. He seemed entirely too pleased with himself! His smirk broadened under my suspicious glare. "Oh, don't look at me that way. You'll win the bet pretty easily, I think. All you have to do is not have an orgasm in public while we're shopping."

  My jaw dropped. "What? Why would I...?" At that moment, an electrifying tingle shot through my pussy, a sudden jolt of sheer pleasure. I gasped, swaying, as my clit pulsed in time with the vibrations plucking my nerves. After a few seconds, the intense sensation stopped, and I found my voice. "What the hell was that?!?"

  Miles grinned, and pulled his hand out of a pocket. He seemed to be holding some small plastic remote. As I watched, his thumb flicked a switch, and the vibrating tingle between my legs began again. He watched me tremble as raw pleasure poured through my body, and then released the button. "Our bet has to have rules, of course. You must keep the panties on for the entire shopping trip." He went on, somewhat reluctantly. "And I'll refrain from hitting the button more than once every five minutes or so. That should give you a sporting chance."

  He stepped in close as I panted, and I clutched him to take the weight off my weakened knees. Chuckling, he petted my hair, and then tilted my face upwards with a gentle hand, brushing a soft kiss across my parted lips. My floundering mind finally pulled the pieces together and I shoved him away, glaring.

  "Vibrating panties?!? You... you were planning this the whole time!" He was unfazed by the accusation.

  "Obviously. Although I had expected you to simply accept the gift card. You constantly surprise me, darling." The warm affection in his voice halted my outraged sputtering, and he went on. "I had to come up with the bet on the spot, but I do believe it works better this way. It gives you more motivation, after all."

  He leaned forward, eyes suddenly serious. "You need to make the decision, Sophia. Do you want to withdraw from the bet? Your defiance this morning will have consequences, regardless." That was a clear warning, and I swallowed my instinctive response to his blatant manipulations.

  I paused, thinking hard. Then I lifted my chin and met his eyes boldly. "No, I'll take the bet. And I'll win it!"

  He held my gaze for a long moment, dark eyes surprisingly soft. Then he murmured. "Very good, darling."

  The clothes shopping trip was sheer erotic torture. It started innocently enough, when Miles summoned his driver to take us to some fancy clothes store I'd never even heard of before. After my first shocked glance, I made a point of not reading the price tags on any of the clothes. I didn't want to know how much money was hanging on our perverse bet!

  Every fawning saleswoman in the place seemed to make a bee-line for us as soon as we arrived. They largely ignored me in favor of blatantly flirting with Miles, who they apparently recognized. Their bald-faced rudeness made me seethe, but even worse, every time I was even a little bit impolite to the conniving bitches, he triggered the panties, jolting me with raw pleasure. After a few of these object lessons, I bit my tongue and kept my opinions to myself.

  Miles changed the game then, and started to pluck my nerves whenever I didn't politely respond to their inane conversation. When six of the harpies descended on us at once near the fitting rooms, I very nearly lost the bet. The repeated lances of pleasure spreading through my body left me weak and gasping, desperately trying to maintain focus as Miles smirked behind the women clucking over me. He was clearly violating his five minute rule! I glared at him as I regained my breath, forcing pleasantries past my trembling lips. God only knows what the saleswomen made of the ridiculous scene. I quickly lost count of how many times they asked me if I was feeling alright.

  One of the babbling women pulled rank and assigned herself to be my personal shopper. She dashed around the store, collecting entire outfits for me. Thankfully, the other women dispersed, no doubt deeply disappointed, except for the fitting room attendant. She seemed intimidated by Miles, and talked incessantly, going on about my skin tone and hair, and complimenting my figure. With each calculated phrase, her eyes nervously darted to Miles. He maintained an expression of polite disinterest during the entire ordeal, breaking into stealthy winks when his mischievous thumb made my voice shake and hands tremble.

  After collecting a mountain of expensive fabric from my self-appointed assistant, I was finally ushered into the fitting room to change. It was a far cry from the tiny stalls I'd experienced before. The mirrored room was huge and lushly outfitted, complete with a fainting couch. In my beleaguered, nerve-wracked state, it seemed an almost heavenly retreat from the madman tormenting me. I would have hidden there all afternoon, but Miles demanded that I model every outfit, and sped my costume changes with unpredictable jolts of overwhelming pleasure.

  Despite my embarrassment and outrage, the repeated sensory overloads started to take their toll on my quivering nerves. Erotic tension coiled in my belly, twisting higher with each vibrating tease against my over-sensitized clit. Even just walking became an additional torture, as my swollen pussy rubbed against the soft fabric of my panties with every step. My recently shaved skin became slick with my juices, and I could smell the sweet brine of my arousal every time I changed clothes. The wicked panties grew damp, sticking to my quivering folds and magnifying every tingling jolt Miles sent my way.

  I must have tried on fifty different outfits before I cracked from the strain. The repeated surges of raw pleasure had fried my nerves, leaving me shaking with frustrated need. Flushed and dewy with sweat, I finally shut myself in the dressing room and refused to come back out, miserably lying flat on the soft couch. My legs and thighs were quivering from the painful tension, and the urge to touch myself was almost unbearable. But I was not going to masturbate in a public dressing room, for God's sake!

  After a few more punishing jolts failed to bring me back into line, Miles opened the door and walked in, an irritating smirk crossing his face. I scowled at him crankily. "Wasn't the door locked?" My shaking voice seriously undercut my attempt to look like I'd been napping.

  "The nice saleswoman let me in when I told her I was worried about you." His tone was nonchalant, with just the barest hint of gloating satisfaction. I flinched as he ran his hand up my calf. I had changed back into the objectionable sundress, and he played with the hem, flirting the soft fabric across my prickling thighs.

  "Of course she did." I grumped, pouting at the unfairness of the world.

  "Well, darling, what did you expect? Why haven't you tried on the rest of the clothes she brought you?" His tone was utterly innocent, but his dark eyes gleamed wickedly. His clever fingers drifted under my skirt, brushing my thighs just under the soaked panties he'd so adeptly used to torture me. I closed my eyes and stifled a moan as my pussy throbbed eagerly at the teasing touch. My pride struggled with the painful lust surging through me for a few seconds longer, and then I sighed bitterly.

  "Alright, fine, you win. Just
quit using the... well, anyways, please stop! I give up! You win!" Only silence responded to this dramatic declaration of surrender, and I cracked an eye open.

  Miles smiled down at me, but shook his head, rejecting my terms. I groaned and threw my arm over my eyes. He ignored that broad hint to leave me alone. "Well, darling, I'm afraid that's just not true. I haven't won the bet. Not yet." I lowered my arm to stare at him, dumbfounded.

  "What do you mean? I just told you, I give up! You win! The bet is over!" My voice was a bit shrill from frustration. Miles shrugged his shoulders, his serene smile broadening.

  "Darling, please, be serious. I'm afraid you can't just give up. The wager we made was very clearly defined." He paused, and I glared at him until he shook his head, sighing at my obtuseness. "I only win when you cum in public, and until then, well..." He trailed off pointedly, the naked threat in odd contrast the gentle hand caressing my bare legs.

  I sat up, shoving his hand away and smoothing my dress down over my thighs. "No! I gave up, it's over now!" I searched his face desperately, but his expression didn't change. Feeling both humiliated and wildly aroused, I resorted to begging. "Please, Mi... sir. Please. Don't do this to me, not here, it's not right!"

  He looked a bit taken aback at my vehemence. "Well, alright then. I won't make you cum in public, since you feel so strongly about it." I blew out a relieved, and oddly disappointed, sigh. Too soon. He went on. "You'll have to do it yourself."

  "What?"

  "If you don't want me to give you an orgasm right here, then you'll have to do it! And honestly," he leaned in, and I shivered as his warm breath brushed against my skin. "Don't you want to? You're aching for release, darling. Do yourself a favor and take it!"