Bound to the Billionaire

Chapter Nineteen: In Bed with a Billionaire

 There's an art form to a good spank. The placement, the amount of force. The key is all in the effect: a sudden sting of pain that disperses into sparks of lingering pain. The first hit: hard. The aftereffects, a warming blunt pain that makes you blush a little when you try to sit down later. 

And Nico might as well be a painter. One of the first things he did was take me over his lap, maybe encouraged on by me, eager to get this show on the road. Eager to get out of my head and into a world of physicality. Maybe I threw in some vulgar mutterings, maybe some lame teases and begs, all to get him to say a very dumb phrase in his silky voice, "You've been a bad boy, Dimitri."

Whap! The soft sound of a knotted pillow sheet as it slaps skin. That sharp sting and the grit of my jaw, and then my chest falling into a sigh. A quiver of relief.

"....Bad, Bad, Bad...."

It was f*****g distracting. Because, in that moment, I was receiving a hell of a lot of carnal pleasure, my brain was trying to be somewhere else. As usual, I was planning my escape. Delicious thoughts of him and all the things I could have him do to me kept cropping up as I wondered what I would have to do to get out of all this mate stuff. 

Yes, I enjoyed his company. Yes, I was in love with those dreamy eyes and those tough hands wrapped up all around me, I wanted him to touch every part of me. Wanted his scent to be curled up in mine. Yes, I was enamored by him and the barrier I'd originally constructed had been brought down, but I needed to run. I always ran. 

"Aren't you?" His voice wasn't cold. It dripped with a warmth I wouldn't expect from a man who had always seemed so untouchable. He was teasing me. "Well?" I heard the snap of the pillowcase once stretched returning to its soft form. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've been a very bad boy," I said into the sheets. It brought a hot blush to my face; admitting defeat, as much as I enjoyed doing it, always did. There was something a little humiliating about them. Something so forbidden. I taught myself to scrabble and fight for everything. To serve pissed customers and work a cam with my head held high, to scream and fight and demand to be treated correctly, to never accept defeat. 

But in bed, it felt amazing to finally, finally let go. To stash the day away and give into the thing I fought every minute of the day to otherwise avoid: submission

"I'm going to make you stay. You are mine." I liked how possessive he was here, and how outside, it was concern: let me clean your wounds, let me ask you if you're comfortable, let me make sure you're safe. Outside, he kept his demeanor cool but gentle. His fierceness he tucked away, but right now, I got to see it. I got to be part of his very unraveling, and oh how I f*****g loved it.

I don't know where he got that rich bondage rope from, but I didn't care. Had hardly lifted my head when he exited or entered the room. Anyway, it felt so soft and silky against my sweat-soaked skin. My mouth naturally parted as he wrapped each thick strand around my scrawny wrists. At first I squirmed and struggled, but underneath the knee that pinned the small of my back, I didn't want to leave my place in his bed. I knew the rest of me would have to run, that I was still me, still free to skitter away if I needed to, that I wanted the physical me to feel the opposite. I wanted my mouth to be forced shut. I wanted my limbs to be bound up so tightly that I was hiked into positions that pinched and exposed. I wanted to be put into the place I so desperately ran from so I could revel in it. I wanted to be bad, I wanted to remove my feelings and only know the physical. Passionate, dirty loving. 

And so he did. First, a heavy layer of rope around my wrists. Then, around my elbows, securing them snugly to my sides. The effect was something like giving myself a hug, strangely comforting. Around my knees and ankles it went. He placed his lips first on my cheek and then on my neck. My heart thrummed; his teeth were so close to such a tender area, so easily he could bite. But he didn't, I knew he wouldn't.

Instead, he pressed his fingers into my mouth, forcing a shocked 'mmph!' from my throat.

"Don't argue with me," he said, "just listen and feel." A shock of electric expectation rushed into me as he drew his lips back toward my ear. "I know you don't know what to think about this, any of what's happened. And you don't need to right now, just know I love you, and that I know you want me."

"Mmmph!" I don't know why that got me, why that line made me startle a little when nothing else he had done to me had. But I didn't want to argue, I wanted to do just what he asked me. And I let that little spark begging for him in me dictate what to do. Let it to tell me to relax, allow the feeling of being trapped and at someone else's mercy to engulf me. 

I whimpered a bit as he teasingly touched me, and then sighed as we began what had been so often denied to us. He loosened my legs, my face still pushed into the sheets and his hands rubbing gentle circles into my abdomen. I let go, let myself enjoy the experience of him getting to f**k me. Both him, the man, and the glitzy experience of being screwed on the rich bed of a billionaire.