Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 55

A four-poster bed…

And it's huge.

Heavy dark-wood posts, carved and whorled, support sturdy cross-posts. Curtains in a rich brocade swing from heavy-duty brass rings… Rings far in excess of what is needed to hang curtains.

I trail fingers over timber scented of polish and bees. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “It must have cost a fortune.”

“It's an antique,” Master sets the cases down. “One of the advantages of wealth is that we can afford items that cost a fortune.”

I eye-roll his way. I know exactly how the bed will be used. Sleeping will be only one of its functions… “Not so much the master bedroom…” I say… “… as the Master’s bedroom.”

“And the Mistress’s.” His lips twitch. “It's good to know we're of common mind. The only question is…” He moves close. Close enough to look down on me, to rest his hands on my hips, “… for our first evening here, Elizabeth, shall I cuff you vertically to the four-poster, or spread-eagle you horizontally?”

“Are you actually asking me, Master? Or was that a rhetorical question?”

“On this occasion, I'm giving you the choice. If I don't get an answer… If you don't choose…” He nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his words buzzing against my skin… “… I may feel obliged to do both with you.”

Both?

In one session?

“Now, do I get a decision…?” A hand slides up my waist, settling on a breast, cupping and squeezing. “… Or will you leave me to follow my instincts this evening?” He presses forward, pushing me back until I find myself with my spine against a bedpost.

“Upright then.”

“That's good, Elizabeth. Well chosen. One moment.”

Releasing me, he strolls across to one of the cases. The catch snaps open and after a moment’s rummaging, he produces…

Rope?

Cuffs?

The answer comes as he does indeed produce cuffs, but not everyday cuffs. Almost elbow-length and fur-lined, they’ll be a snug fit.

Not just spreadeagled then…

Suspended…

“I’ll leave these on the side…” He lays them on the dresser, holding me in a steady gaze. “For later.”

My throat tightens. My mouth dries.

But Pussy pools and melts…

Later…

“Now…” He claps his hands together, all brisk efficiency. “How about that walk?”

*****

It's a perfect September day, bright sunshine and a cool fresh breeze. Still, with an eye on the fish-scale clouds above and a possible change in the weather, I wrap up warm, dressing in layers.

We follow the beach, just ambling, taking in air tanged with brine and seaweed. At our feet, the wind picks up stray grains of sand, carrying them to bounce staccato over the wet surface until the water catches them again and they settle into the rippled sand.

To our right, the stems of tough yellow sea grass, rattle and shiver, ruffled by the breeze, whispering their song over the dune. Insects chirrup and buzz, then fall silent as I turn to see the source of the sound. To our left, the rush and fizz of foaming water.

Walking hand in hand, his wedding ring rubs against my fingers, a reminder of my new status.

His wife.

It’s early days, I know, but I never tire of that thought. I’m not sure I ever will.

At the strand line, seaweed tangles around broken shell, driftwood and the empty husks of crabs and starfish. I step carefully around the semi-liquid remains of a jellyfish. A gull potters along the line ahead of us, eyeing the sea trash, pausing occasionally to snatch up some dainty, then aims its beak skyward as it gulps down its prize.

My Master stoops, picking something out of the debris and offering it to me. A pebble, almost a gem, once perhaps part of a bottle, but now polished smooth by sea and sand, wind and water, until it more resembles the emeralds he gifted me before.

Closer to the water, tiny sand-hoppers like minuscule landbound shrimps pop and jump. A cluster of the little clockwork birds skitter after them, then skitter away again as an unruly wave chases them back.

Despite the cool breeze, the sun is hot, prickling my skin. I swipe salt from my cheeks, perhaps my own perspiration. Perhaps carried on the wind.

He blinks, looks down, then turns, taking me with him as we continue our walk.

We go some distance before he speaks. “It's not a worry, Elizabeth, exactly. Not a problem. At least, not immediately. But… there are things I want to do, and there's only me to do them.”

“Only you? Master, you're CEO of a huge corporation. How many staff do you have under you?”

He huffs. “Offhand, I've no idea. But my point is, I don't have the right people for what I want. What I need.”

“What you want? Your vision for the City?”

He grimaces. “Vision?” He blows out his cheeks. “I don't like to use the word. It sounds pretentious, doesn't it.”

“No, it doesn’t. Because I know that’s truly what it is. You want to restore the City to its glory days. But I still don't understand the problem. You're already doing it. You have projects all over the City. Renovations. Rebuilding. Reconstruction. Surely, what you want is already happening?”

He grimaces. “I do, yes. But it's piecemeal. Disjointed. There's no binding thread or theme. What’s needed is an overall plan, tying all those loose threads together, dragging up the whole City by its bootstraps, not just segments here and fragments there.”

He has a point. I saw it when I arrived in the City. Whole districts being razed for reconstruction. But right by them, other areas, still derelict and neglected.

“What do you need as your binding thread?”

He clicks his tongue. “A partner. Someone who could share my vision. Make it happen.”

“It’s your vision. Why can’t you make it happen?”

“Because I don’t have all the skills needed. I’m a money man, Elizabeth. Finance is my speciality. I know how to make the banks and institutions sit up and pay attention. What I need is someone to take the disparate projects across the City and tie them together. To have the creativity and the imagination to remove the bad, preserve the good, but with the technical skills to make it happen.”

“Isn't Bob Moran your director for that?”

“Yes, he is…” My Master purses his lips, folds his arms. “Bob’s a good man. Solid and reliable. I know I can trust him to do good work. That’s why he’s my Technical Director. But… he's not young and it's showing. His health isn't good. Truly, I think he’s just counting down the days to retirement.”

“But… surely… You must be able to call on any number of other people. Project managers. Architects. Engineers. City planners.”

“I can, yes.” He sounds frustrated. “But I don’t need any number of people. What I need is just one man… or woman for that matter… whose vision would match mine but whose skills would complement mine. I need a… an Imagineer. I need…”