Page 140 of The Billionaire's Secret
Amelie had called me a few times, to check that I was okay. We'd chatted and I'd reassured her I was fine, just coming to terms with my newly married status. She'd made me promise that I'd call her if I needed anything; I hadn't, of course.
Fact is, I don’t want to break this pattern of marital bliss we seem to be indulging in. It sure feels like marital bliss.
Or perhaps it’s the calm before the storm? I shake off the hardness that coils in my chest. I need to keep busy...while I waited for my 'lord and master' to turn up.
Thankfully, he has stopped insisting I call him Sir, which is a relief. What caused him to change his mind? Not that it has stopped him from being as demanding in his needs toward me. All of which I have been happy to comply with.
Our time together is almost up. Was it wrong of me to not try to get the information needed before this? Had it been foolish of me to try to make the most of the time Antonio had granted me? He'd assured me he'd keep Nina safe during this time. Had I been mistaken in trusting him on that? He won't hurt Nina, I am sure of that. If anything, his expression had indicated that he has feelings for her, but that’s my intuition. What if I’m wrong?
What if I had been stupid to allow Saint to lull me into a false sense of security? I haven't wanted to do anything to upset the balance of sorts that we seem to have established. Where the hell is he, anyway?
I shove the covers off of my body, then forgo my clothes in favor of a bathrobe. This late, there won't be many hotel guests around. I take the elevator down to the heated indoor swimming pool on the first level. Draping my bathrobe over a lounge chair, I dive in, begin to swim laps. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the water over me, the burn in my arms, the power of my body pitted against the resistance provided by my headlong rush—all of it sinks into my blood, calms me. I reach the far end of the pool for the fourth time, when an electric current runs up my spine. I thrust an arm out, push forward, raise my eyes and spot the figure at the head of the pool. My muscles bunch, I miss a stroke, go under, then come up gasping. My heart begins to thud, my pulse beating at my temples as adrenaline laces my blood. I propel through the water, toward the man who stands motionless. Waiting...waiting for me. I reach the edge of the pool, hold onto the rim.
Run my gaze up those beat up cowboy boots, the tailored slacks that outline those powerful legs, to the tent of fabric at his crotch. My throat dries. Of course, he's aroused. He hasn't had sex for...three nights now. Unless, he'd sought out someone else before coming here?
Ask him, damn it. And what? Sound like a nagging wife?I toss my head. No way. Besides, that would be a dead giveaway that that I've been thinking of him all day. And no way, am I giving away what little power I am clinging to in this relationship
I tip my chin up, meet that searing blue gaze.
"How did you find me?
"Very little happens here without my being aware of it."
I glance up at the corners of the ceiling. "The cameras?"
He nods. "I switched them off, by the way." His lips kick up.
My throat closes. He reaches down, unbuckles his belt. The sound of leather against his buckle rasps across my sensitized nerve endings. He lowers his zipper and my pulse rate ratchets up. His thick shaft spills out. He widens his stance, grabs his cock and pumps himself hard once. A bead of precum appears at the tip of the angry head. My mouth dries.
I can't take my gaze off of his swollen dick as he proceeds to massage himself. His strokes are ferocious, punishing. His breathing grows shallow; my chest rises and falls in tandem. His shaft thickens, and even with the distance between us, I can see the veins along the underside pulsing, throbbing. My sex clenches, my nipples tighten, and goosebumps pop over my skin. I lick my lips, gulp down my anticipation. Don't move. Don't say anything. Wait...Wait.He massages himself once more, then stops.
What the—?
As I watch, he toes off his shoes. Letting go of his dick—which stands erect without any help from his hands, thank you very much—he shrugs off his expensive jacket, drops it to the chair, followed by his shirt. His tanned skin gleams in the warm ceiling lights; his eight pack abs flex as he proceeds to pull off his socks.
He shucks off his pants, along with his boxers, then poses in place for a second. Enough for me to take in the awesome sight of that naked expanse of 100% masculine alpha male who belongs to me. He is mine, from the moment I'd laid eyes on him. Why had I ever thought I'd be able to avoid his charisma, his power, the raw animal magnetism that emanates from his sexy-as-fuck presence?
I gulp, my hand slips, and I slide back into the pool, only he's already there. He dives into the water, arcing up to close his arms around me. His lips find mine and he plants his bulk between my thighs, so I have no choice but to part them. Then he thrusts inside me, instantly filling me as he impales me completely. All I can do is grab onto his shoulders and hold on, as he pushes forward, pins me against the side of the pool, and proceeds to fuck every thought out of my head.
He swipes his tongue across my lower lip, brings his hand down to cup my butt as he slides his finger inside my puckered back hole. My entire body bucks. He winds his fingers around my neck, holding me in place, before ripping his mouth from mine. He peers deeply into my eyes, holds my gaze, urging me with his expression to strain against him, push my pelvis forward, match him thrust for thrust. He kicks his hips forward one last time, bottoming out inside of me, then whispers, "Come."
The climax instantly crashes over me as he comes inside of me, his body spasming along with mine. I sag against him, all thoughts fucked out of me as I float in that strange after-space that comes from being completely and utterly spent.
The world tilts. I sense him tugging me along to the steps at the side of the pool. He scoops me up in his arms, then walks out of the water. He snatches up one of the towels piled by a lounge chair and dries me off, then himself. He picks up my bathrobe and places it around my shoulders. He helps me into the robe then ties it around me with great care. He fetches his pants and steps into them. Carrying me in his arms he takes the private elevator up to his suite. Once inside the room, he strips us both, then carries me into the shower.
He proceeds to shampoo my hair, then seats himself on the stone bench in the shower before washing every inch of my body. He begins to soap himself, and I catch his wrist.
"Let me," I clear my throat, realizing those are the first words I have spoken since I saw him at the pool.
He nods, then leans back, spreading his arms across the back of the bench. I reach around to shut off the shower, then pour out the liquid soap. I work it in across his biceps, down his corded chest, digging into the dips between his pecs. He makes a noise of satisfaction, then sinks back, widening his stance. I massage down his belly, to his thigh, then sink my knuckles into the tense backs of his calves. Sitting cross legged on the floor, I place his large foot on my lap, brush my fingers between his toes. Then hold up his foot to massage the underside and gasp, "Saint."
He instantly tugs on my grip. I let go of his foot and he stamps it flat onto the floor.
"What happened?" I ask.
His jaw tenses.
"Those scars, Saint..."
