Page 2 of His

But even then, having been given permission to ease the ache in her tummy, she wasn't free. The panties around her ankles hobbled her, and she had to stumble her way to blessed relief.

Ever mindful of any sort of germs - even though they were they only ones to ever use this equipment - he wiped everything down with antiseptics, then put the smaller accoutrement into a dishwasher he'd had installed in the room he euphemistically referred to as the Library, especially for that purpose. It wasn't the only place in the huge house that there were reminders of the backbone of their relationship. The Library just happened to be the place with the highest concentration of paraphernalia.

Then he shut off the light and wandered into their huge bedroom - knowing she knew to not to so much as stand up from the commode until she'd received permission - drawing the wall of curtains open to reveal the screen doors behind them, the gateway to their huge private balcony as it faced a huge expanse of the Pacific Ocean. He knew how the sea appealed to every one of her senses, how it soothed her wordlessly, and tonight she would need comfort he would not give to her until much, much later.

He puttered around the room, unlocking cabinets and extracting the tools of the trade: a plastic speculum - the metal ones could pinch sensitive flesh without permission - a soft leather flogger that was anything but in his hands, a wooden spoon with a hole in the middle that left the most intriguing pattern of welts. Inspired by that thought, he put his digital camera within easy reach on the bedside table.

He'd taken videos of her, especially when they were first together and everything was so brand new, including all of her responses to his efforts. But as their relationship progressed he'd found himself less and less captivated by that medium and more and more riveted by the reality of it all. Even when he was being more avid about video documentation of their exploits, they never ended up being particularly prurient. He preferred almost artful shots of her reactions much more than the money shots.

And it had puzzled him to no end.

It wasn't like he was a chaste beginner himself. More like a jaded old timer.

He had always had money - thanks to his grandfather - had always been privileged, and had always pretty much done as he'd damned well pleased. Especially when it came to women. It seemed that no one could - or would - turn him down, no matter what outrageous demand he made of them.

But he knew what motivated each and every one of the women he took into the Library, and then, usually, eventually, into a bed - although not his. Before Raina, he'd never allowed any of his little playmates into his inner sanctum. He'd used one of the other master suites, keeping it looking relatively lived in so that none of them guessed that they weren't in the bedroom he slept in.

They wanted his money. He'd never, ever, unless there was another Depression, have to read a price tag. Neither would his wife, not that there was ever going to be another one. He'd married early and for love, fool that he was. He'd never again let himself be lead around by his dick.

Instead, he did the leading, and he kept his emotions - such as they were now - very carefully under wraps. Frankly, despite the fact that he had a raging libido, he very rarely indulged himself. It was too dangerous to do so with his... predilections. He didn't want to see himself in the headlines of the Enquirer - "Billionaire Playboy Prefers Whips and Chains".

A shudder ran through him at the mere thought. He may have had all the privileges of wealth, but he wasn't one of those trust fund babies who partied, fucked, and slept and contributed little else to the world around him. He hadn't rested on his grandfather's monied laurels - he'd created his own highly successful companies and was a force - a jaded, cynical force, but a force nonetheless - to be reckoned within the business world. He had a reputation as a ruthless man who tended towards hostile takeovers of companies that no one knew were teetering on the brink of insolvency.

But Raina had caught his eye from the very beginning.

Raina Boardman was a self made woman - his exact opposite. She wasn't born with anything in her mouth, much less a silver spoon, but she'd managed to pull herself up by her bootstraps. She was the CEO of a corporation called Infinity that was solidly established as a leader in the cosmetics industry. She was a Type A of the highest order, first one in and last one out, every single day.

They'd been invited to the same charity benefit, and he had seen her walk in - head high, looking drop dead gorgeous and completely comfortable without an escort, male, female or otherwise. She didn't need anyone or anything, and her carriage and attitude fairly screamed it.

He finagled an introduction, not wanting to confront her head on. He didn't know what it was, but something in him told him to be a more subtle in his approach to her than he might be.

And he was right.

When their small talk petered out, and a group of people who seemed to know her well arrived, he managed to insinuate himself into their fringes as they laughed and talked with easy camaraderie. She had a reputation for being a tough, hard nosed bitch, but, like with most publicity, the positive side of her was never portrayed.

He hated it, but he liked hearing her laugh. It was a soft, tinkling sound, and it made his heart contract,

but only once, before he brought it strictly back into line. He wasn't going to go there again with any woman, even her.

He found himself drawn to her almost against his will, but he remained on the fringes of the group, not joining in, just listening and watching. She was just what he wanted in a woman - although she was wearing too much make up for his tastes; she was smart, funny, and could hold her own with anyone without seeming shrewish or bitchy, just calm and strong and sure of herself. He'd never put a lot of stock in looks, but she was gorgeous, even by his standards, and he'd been fully hard since the moment his eyes had found her across the room.

Patience, man, he'd chided himself. He didn't speak to her again until he called and set up an appointment to see her. He was always more comfortable talking to people on a business level at first.

When she'd ushered him into her office, which was tastefully, classically appointed and shown him to a comfortable wing backed chair in front of her big oak desk, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. So much so that he had barley listened to what she was saying to him.

He'd never reacted to any woman - even Amy - like that in his life, and he didn't like it one bit.

But that did nothing to dull the throbbing ache she inspired in his loins.

He consciously dispensed with chit chat, which he abhorred anyway, and got right down to the brass tacks of letting her know that he admired what she'd done, and that he'd like to help her as much as he could.

She'd been excruciatingly polite, no doubt not wanting to offend him, but had quietly refused every offer he'd made until he hit on a way for her to branch out that she hadn't thought of.

Then he had her, and they began to work very closely - and extremely well - together on it. He didn't usually like to partner with anyone, but things seemed very natural between them from the very beginning, and their long nights together paid off for the both of them, in very varied ways.

It was late one night when he'd realized just exactly how perfect they were for each other. They'd been working all day; he'd already wrenched of his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He was inches away from stripping off his shirt altogether. She'd kicked off her ridiculously high pastel pink heels and literally let her hair down, complaining that the bun she'd scraped it into was giving her a head ache. She hadn't done it as a come on at all, just practically removed the pins that were holding it and let it fall.

She looked incredible, regardless, as far as he was concerned.

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