Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 48

He married me…

… a shopkeeper's daughter…

Shaking the thought from my head…

What now?

When will he be back?

Enough…

I don't want to be tired when my Master returns. If one thing’s certain, it’s that he'll want me awake and active when he arrives…

I grin.

Put my make-up on.

Change into something nice.

Be ready for him.

What to wear?

*****

And yet still, he catches me unprepared…

Centrepiece to the entrance hall is a pair of mirrors. The frames elaborately carved, gilt finished, they face each other from opposite walls. In proportion to the hall, supported at the base with a dado rail at waist height, each must be eight feet tall, reaching for the ceiling above.

Making for the staircase, as I pass between them, the two great mirrors give that odd, vanishing-into-infinity effect. I'm looking at my face and the back of my head at the same time. Then, pausing at some peripheral detail in the reflections that catches my eye, I look up.

There, in the ceiling above me, a hook. Solid steel by the look of it, the thing would easily support, for example, the weight of a human body.

I chuckle.

Nothing changes…

… and I’m about to head upstairs when, from outside, comes the growl of a car engine.

A bare moment to check myself in the mirrors, finger-comb my hair and smooth down my pullover, the door clicks and swings, and my Master strides in.

Wearing mirrored sunglasses, elegant in his suit, his shirt still clean and white, his shoes polished; everything about him, his stance, his body language, brisk and efficient, says Business.

But as he sees me there, he pauses, removes the sunglasses, cants his head, and before my eyes, morphs from Business to Casual.

To Husband.

To Lover.

“My Love, you look beautiful like that.”

Blinking a little, I glance in the mirror at myself, still in my jeans and pullover. No make-up. My hair loose. "Like what, Master? I'm hardly dressed in style."

Strolling closer, he smiles, holds me at the shoulders and kisses my forehead. “A woman as lovely as you, Elizabeth, looks beautiful regardless of style. The clothes suit you perfectly because they draw the eye to the wearer, not the garment.”

He brushes a knuckle over my cheek. “I'm sorry about leaving you like that this morning. It wasn't what I'd planned. I finished with them as soon as I could.”

“Did you get it sorted out? It’s all done?”

He clicks his tongue and fingers spread, rocks a hand. “Kind of. I’ll explain later.” Loosening his tie, he releases his top shirt button. “Given the way I was interrupted this morning, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind for mediation. I left Vandervoort in no doubt of that. We won’t be disturbed again.”

Taking me in his embrace, he nuzzles into my neck, nipping gently at delicate skin, then at an earlobe. “You smell good,” he murmurs. “You enjoyed yourself while I was out?”

“I did, yes. I went exploring. A bit in the house. Then outside to see the garden. Master…”

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you.” He pulls back, looking into my face… “I know I said it yesterday. But it hadn’t really sunk in, what you’ve done for me. I’ve got a better idea of it now.”

His eyes crease. “You don’t need to thank me, Elizabeth. You’re my wife now. What is mine, is yours. However…” He aims a long finger up the stairs. “… I would like to resume where we left off this morning.” His mouth quirks. “I have another gift for you.”

“Another gift?”

“Yes, another…” The crease deepens… “Now, go upstairs, get into bed and I’ll fetch a fresh bottle of wine. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

*****

In the bedroom, I find the bed remade, this time with linen sheets.

The fire burns, cheerful and bright. Odds and ends have been tidied up. Ornaments moved a little. No dust lies on the mantle, the dresser, the bedside cabinets or the TV. The carpet lies in stripes as though it were a freshly mown lawn.

It’s oddly disconcerting. If this were a hotel, I wouldn’t think twice, but…

Is she still in the house?

And where’s Ross?

Then, feeling silly, I shrug off the thought. Ross has proved his discretion. He’s a friend. I know that. As for that housekeeper, doubtless we’ll get to know each other better.

Did I leave everything tidy?

For long moments, he holds me tight, rocking me.

And as I breathe again… As my heartbeat slows…

As my sense of humour returns…

… I pull free, swiping hands over my face. “I’m so sorry. I feel a complete fool. Thank you, Master. Thank you so much. You must think I’m…”

His words snap sharp. “I don’t think anything.” His tone gentles. “Not of you. But don’t imagine I missed the subtext at the wedding. Or that you don’t want to discuss your family. Especially your father.”

He sits back, taking a couple of deep breaths, then, “I don’t want to go into this now. Not when you are upset. When I, however unintentionally, have upset you. But I would like you to tell me about your background. How you grew up. But only when you’re calmer. And after we have enjoyed our honeymoon.”

“I will, Master. I will. I promise.”

He offers up the bottle. “Why don’t you have another glass?” He glances around the room. “I came on too strong there, didn’t I? Barely been in the house five minutes, and I was levering you upstairs. Would you like to just watch some TV perhaps?”

“Master, trust me. I wanted to come upstairs with you. I’d intended to be ready and waiting for you. I was just about to get made-up and changed when you arrived.”

“But now, you’re upset. And I have an inkling that I understand why.” Twisting, he rummages behind himself in the bedside cabinet. Something clunks in, then the drawer snaps closed. “Pick out a movie. Something you like. Comfort viewing. We can make love in the morning. I’ll pour us some more champagne.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. Elizabeth…”

“Master?”

“I would like it if you were to wear the earrings and necklace.”

“I’d like that too, Master. And again, thank you.”

His smile breaks free once more. “Here, let me help you with the clasp.”

*****

Later…

He wraps arms around me, pulling my face against his chest. “Interesting choice of entertainment.”

“Master?”

“You heard me the first time.” Humour skitters through his voice.

“’Pretty Woman’ was always one of my favourites.”

*****