Page 57 of The Billionaire Submissive
He wants a collar so damned bad. I have to make sure he doesn’t read too much into it. Even though he’s going to hate it.
Scooting back further on the bed, she laid the two boxes on the mattress before her and flipped them both open. In one lay a thick leather collar with a heavy-duty D ring they could have all sorts of fun with. It wasn’t one of the doggie-looking collars, but it was rough and inelegant. It would definitely make him feel submissive, especially if she buckled it tight on his throat. But it wasn’t the thick leather one he stared at as reverently as if she’d thrown open his robe.
The other box held a seemingly delicate silver chain choker of interconnected rings made to resemble chain mail. She’d gone for stainless steel for the strength and weight, but the craftsmanship made it unique, elegant and, hopefully, fit for her billionaire submissive more used to platinum and diamonds than leather and D-rings. It might look like a necklace, but the small lock and key made the message clear.
Owned.
He stared at the collar like he’d died and gone to heaven. She wasn’t sure if it was the lock he coveted, or just the elegant chain.
She shut the silver collar’s box. His face twisted, breaking down into disappointment, frustration, despair, and yes, even rage. Rage that he had to accept her will, even if it meant giving up the one thing he wanted more than anything. He fought himself, grinding his jaws, squeezing his eyes shut, every tendon and ligament standing out in stark relief beneath his skin. But he never said a word. Finally his face smoothed and when he opened his eyes, she saw only resigned acceptance.
True submission.
The battle might have been quicker than on the boat when she’d pushed him to his knees, but it was just as important.
She picked up the leather collar, put it around his throat and buckled it. Staring up at her, his eyes dilated and sweat beaded on his upper lip. When she tightened it another notch, she managed to draw a groan from him.
But as much as she loved the black on his tanned skin and the way he responded, it wasn’t working for her.
It’s not what I see in my mind when I pictured this moment. The first time he knelt at my feet and accepted my collar.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s not right.”
His eyes widened and he clamped a hand over the leather collar protectively. “You can’t take it back.”
“Yes, I can. It’s not right. Take it off, please.”
As much as he’d battled himself to accept the rougher collar, he didn’t want to take it off. His fingers shook and the muscle in his cheek twitched, but he silently worked the buckle loose and removed the leather. He held the collar out to her, but his knuckles were white on the leather. He might have hated it, but now that he had it, he didn’t want to let it go.
Until she picked up the other box. Then he dropped the training collar like it burned him. His eyes caught fire and he fought to contain himself now as hard as he’d had to keep from arguing earlier.
Leaning in toward her, he reached up to lay a hand on her thigh. As the cold metal came around his throat and she didn’t rebuke him, he slid his palm up her leg to cup her pussy. His fingers convulsed on her as she fastened the collar. It was a tight fit. He’d feel the choker every time he swallowed, but it wasn’t tight enough to leave marks in his skin.
The lock clicked and he quivered, his eyes so wide and dilated they were almost completely black. She ran a finger over the metal and whispered, “Now that’s a pretty sight indeed. If you want to wear it all day—”
He made a low sound of disbelief that made her smile, as if he were sayingjust try and take this off me.
“The lock can slide around to the back. No one will know it’s a collar and not some new-fangled necklace Mr. Moneybags bought in Paris.”
“Thank you, Mistress.” His voice was rough, his breathing ragged. He laid his head on her thigh, pressing his mouth to her skin. Running her fingers through his hair, she let him find his bearings again, giving him time to adapt to the feeling. Because if she rushed this, he’d come in a startled explosion that would mightily embarrass him.
When his mouth dared to roam higher—which would endanger her plans for the rest of the evening—she curled her index finger beneath his collar and tugged his head up. The extra width of her finger tightened the constraint of his windpipe, bringing the dazed look back into his eyes. “Who do you belong to, Donovan?”
“You.” He licked his lips, his fingers trembling against her core again. “Mistress L.”
“I own you now.” She tugged on the collar playfully. “You’re mine. All mine. To do with what I will.”
He could almost believe he’d died and gone to heaven. Owned. The collar tight on his throat. The most beautiful, powerful, luscious Mistress he’d ever dreamed to have at his helm.
Own me body, heart and soul, Lilly.
She picked up the crop and his cock twitched, extending another inch. “What’s the count?”
“Ten.”
She arched a brow at him and stood to shrug off the robe she’d pilfered from the bathroom door. “I don’t recall doubling it.”
He strained to keep his gaze locked on her face. “I owe you.”
