Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 45

And now, that beautiful body, my Master's body, is all mine.

“Elizabeth?” His brow furrows.

“Master?”

“What are you thinking about?

“Us, Master.”

His shaft still filling me but motionless, his smile blooms again and he stoops to peck a kiss to my lips. Flicking eyes up the bed, “Grip the headboard.”

He releases my wrists, and obediently I curl fingers tightly around the bars. His freed hand glides down over my skin, the nails skittering over, sending a frisson rippling down my length, dancing to my sex. As his palm settles on my breast, he thumbs at the nipple, already raised, but hardening and crinkling under his attentions. It nubs and he takes it between finger and thumb, rolling and squeezing.

The sensation frisks down my length, setting Pussy throbbing about him, gripping and clenching. My Master must feel it, inhaling sharply, eyes crinkling, then showing his teeth in a white and laughing smile. His hold on my nipple tightens, a nip turning to a pinch, then a twist. “I think this evening, I’m going to have you properly restrained and these, clamped. I want to hear you scream a little. Or maybe, a lot.”

As his grip increases, my breath draws in, but Pussy pulses hot and fluid. His belly pressed to mine, the sex flush heats our joined flesh and I moan.

My Master murmurs, “Aren’t we the juicy one, Mrs Haswell…” The pinch tightens and I’m panting against the pressure when abruptly, snapping away his hand, dropping his face, he replaces fingers with mouth and lips.

Drawing the single nipple between tongue-tip and teeth, the sharp enamel edge razors over already sensitised skin. Pain gambols to my overheated core, frisking over my breasts and chest and neck, setting my skin afire and wringing a shudder from my throat.

My Master raises his face. “That’s better,” he comments, as though remarking on the weather. “I was beginning to wonder when I would get some real sound out of you. Let’s try that again.” And dropping his face once more, now to the other breast, he resumes his gentle torment of my other nipple.

But now, he’s moving inside me, angling himself, winding himself inside me. The torture of my nipple is electric now, lightning slashing through me and all the while he thrusts. Gently at first, but with increasing strength. I’m trying to move with him, to match his strokes, but my pelvis shudders, all out of my control. I’m gushing, spilling and…

Bbbbzzzz….

The landline buzzes a demand at us.

“Fuck!” My Master jerks up from his nipple-torment, slamming a palm sidelong, banging down onto the Reject button, and the thing falls silent.

He throws a look full of apology at me then once more, drops his mouth to my breast.

Fifteen seconds later, the phone rings again.

He jolts upright, “Who the hell is that?” Withdrawing from me with a short, slick, sucking sound, he rolls out of the bed and, yanking at the power cable, tugs it free of the socket.

“Rhetorical question, Master?”

He snaps me a look, then huffs a laugh. “Yes. Purely rhetorical, Elizabeth. Whoever it was, I don’t give a flying fuck about hearing what they have to say. Now…” Cock still at attention, he perches a hip beside me… “Where were we…?”

And his mobile trumpets a call.

His eyes roll upward and, stamping across the room, he snatches up the phone. “Yes?” he snarls then, his tone milder, “My apologies, Francis, I didn’t mean to bite your head off, but as you well know...”

The line gabbles at him. I pick up the tone and cadence of Francis, my Master’s PA speaking, but can’t make out the words…

My Master speaks in measured tones, each word very deliberate. “Francis, tell Vandervoort I'm on my honeymoon. Not that he doesn’t already know it, since he attended the wedding yesterday. What the hell does he…?”

The voice gabbles again…