Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 66

My Master's bulk sandwiches me against the table. “Elizabeth, come for me.”

Inside me, something tightens and blooms, bright and hot. Around my abused clit, magic is happening. Harder he slams into me, and harder. With each stroke, the table shivers and rocks under me.

Something drips, chilly against one butt cheek, I guess, my Master sweating.

The tightness swells to a flutter, then a vibration. Pussy is dissolving into a sea of throbbing fluid pleasure.

My Master slows his pace, each stroke individual. Almost completely withdrawing, he anchors his cock-head at my entrance then slams back inside…

And again.

And again…

… And my reality shatters as I pulse into orgasm.

A hand claps over my mouth, blocking my yell, but the thrusting continues. The blissful torment of my clit continues…

Struggling to lash out, to cry out, instead, I flop uselessly as orgasm rips through me. My eyes are squeezed closed, but I still see the stars…

It's enough.

It's too much…

But my mouth sealed, I can't safe-word. Slapping my hand hard down on the tabletop, it stings my palm. But the fingers retreat from my ecstatic-tortured clit.

A gasp…

A grunt…

And my Master drops over me, his head jammed against my shoulder. His body pressed hard against mine, he grinds in…

Another gasp…

Then the blow of air.

His heart beats double-time through to mine. I imagine he feels much the same reflected back from me.

“Elizabeth?”

“That was very good, Master, if… unexpected.”

He huffs a laugh, lifting himself away from me, giving my backside a playful slap, then helping me upright. Tucking the shirt into his belt, rezipping, rebelting, he gives me a bright, bright smile.

Then I realise it's not just a smile. It's laughter.

“Master?”

He reaches for my face, peeling something from my cheek. A yellow sticky note.

Station 4. Two officers. Motorcycle.

As I laugh with him, from beyond the door the Click Click of heels.

He widens his eyes at me, then silently mouths, “Francis”. Chin-jerking toward the bathroom door, he plants a kiss on my forehead. Grabbing my bag, I dart through, just catching the snick of an unlocking door behind me.

A quick check in the mirror. My hair is a bird's nest, but a quick run through with a brush sorts that out.

Then I peer in at my cheek. The corner of a plastic folder is impressed onto the skin, complete with outlined logo. Haswell Corpor…

Sheepishly, I dot a little foundation over the mark until satisfied that, so long as no one looks too closely, I can pass as respectable again, I re-emerge into my Master's office.

Hair disordered and his face still reddened, he's speaking with Francis. “Make an appointment with the mayor, would you, at his convenience…”

Scribbling a note on her pad, her expression is bland. “Yes, Mr Haswell.” But her eyes dance as, exiting, she reaches for the clip of the window blind, flips it and the blind rolls itself upward.

Belatedly, I notice my panties dangling from my Master’s back pocket.

***** 

Okay…

I’m getting to grips with my work in the office…

It’s time to do the same at home. What does it take to run a house like this?

Household accounts.

My Master’s housekeeper…

No…

… My housekeeper, Mrs Martin, has already been told I’ll be taking over the accounts. Indeed, the incoming paperwork should, by now, be addressed to me.

Thus far, nothing has been presented to me, so I trot up the back stairs to the office…

… where nothing has changed.

The filing cabinets are locked. As are the glass-fronted bookcases housing files labelled for purchases, receipts and bank statements. The desk is clear, with not even an in-tray to suggest where I might find new paperwork.