Here’s the fourth scene from One Night With My Billionaire Master (releasing July 22nd)
Read the third scene here: http://tasteofcyn.com/2015/07/07/one-night-with-my-billionaire-master-third-scene/
Logan’s lips lift into one of his rare smiles. “Dance with me.” This is a command, not a request. He leads me onto the floor. “It’s expected.” He swings me into position, his maneuvering graceful and sure.
It is expected. In the past, he has arrived at events, sought me out for a dance, and then departed immediately after our exchange.
His focus on me means nothing. If I say this statement enough times, I might believe it. I bend my left arm, layering my limb over his. Logan clasps my right hand tightly. Our bodies come together and we move as one.
This isn’t the rigid proper waltz I learned at ballroom dance class. It is rolling and sensuous, like the undulation of muscle under skin. One, two, three. One, two, three. There’s no thinking, no talking, only feeling, reacting. Logan steps forward. I step back. He turns. I follow.
Our hips brush together, my skirt swirling around his black pants. I gaze at his sharp chin, firm lips, feeling delicate, womanly, trusting him to guide me, to keep me safe.
Logan dips me and I fall back, confident he’ll catch me. “You’re exquisite.” His eyes gleam and he draws me upright, twirls me across the floor. If dancing is a sign of companionship, we’re ideally suited. I’ve never had a partner know me like he does, reading my abilities, fulfilling my wishes.
The music fades and he sweeps me toward the edge of the dance floor. Before the song ends, he’s concealed us in the crowd. “Escort me from the room.” He covers my hand with his. “As you’ve been instructed.”
My gaze darts upward. How does he know I’ve been given that order? “I can’t climb into the limousine with you,” I murmur, aware that we’re being watched. “People will gossip.”
“People already gossip.” Logan leans into me. “They see how we dance, speculate that we fuck as passionately.” His crudeness stimulates, rather than shocks me. “They suspect your sweet pussy is filled with my cum, that my love bites decorate the curve of your ass and my scent is on your skin,” he breathes into my hair and I warm, all over. “Everyone here knows you’re mine.”
I stare at him, my thoughts obliterated by his words.
“Looking at me with your fuck-me face won’t stop the gossip.” He chuckles softly and I blush. “No one will see you enter my limousine.” Logan steers me across the crowded ballroom, his stride shortened to match mine, his hold on me steady. “We’ll leave through the gardens.”
“Someone will follow us,” I express my worry, unaccustomed to giving another person control.
“No, someone won’t. I’ve taken precautions.” His certainty eases some of my concerns. “People will speculate, they already are, but no one will know.”
Speculation has been dogging me since birth. Heads turn and people whisper as we pass them. This isn’t a new phenomenon. I’m always being observed.
Except tonight, the murmurs aren’t as loud. The disdainful looks aren’t as direct. I glance up at Logan, knowing he’s the cause. The billionaire investor scares the shit out of everyone, and, by being with him, I’m protected. I’m no longer alone.
Logan opens the balcony door and we step onto the terrace, the structure overlooking the gardens. The cool night breeze sweeps over my flushed cheeks, a thousand ghostly fingers stroking my bare skin, fluttering my knee-length skirt.
I shiver.
“You’re cold.” He shrugs out of his jacket, his shirt stark white against the darkness, and he drapes the garment over my shoulders.
I draw the tuxedo jacket closer to me, savoring his body heat, his cologne, a mixture of spice, musk, and him, clinging to the fabric. “Thank you, Mr. Ross.” Wearing his clothing feels decadently intimate, the act arousing me.
“Thank you, Logan.” His tone is stern. “When we’re alone, you’ll call me by my first name. When we’re in a scene, you’ll address me as sir.”
He knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to demand it. My body hums with appreciation. I can please a man like him. “How will I know when we’re in a scene?” The BDSM websites he directed me to never explained that detail.
“You’ll know.” Logan grazes his fingertips over my cheeks, his touch agonizingly gentle. “It’s like dancing. I’ll lead and you’ll follow.” He traces my lips, I open to him, thirsting to taste him, and he smiles. “Your body already knows what I want.” He pulls his fingers away from my mouth, the loss of his caresses reverberating throughout my body, amplifying my loneliness. “It accepts that you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” I am breathless with need. “For tonight.”
“Tonight is merely one more step in our relationship.” He opens the tuxedo jacket and brazenly brushes his knuckles over my taut nipples. I shudder, his touch felt through the thin fabric, and his dark eyes sparkle. “We’ll both want more.”
Subscribe To My Release Day Newsletter: http://tasteofcyn.com/2014/05/28/newsletter/
Note: If you purchased Mastered 2, you already have this story.
One night. No one must know.
This is the text I sent Logan Ross this morning. The billionaire financier is my father’s number one nemesis and has been pursuing me for months. He wants to own me, completely, promising exquisite pleasure balanced by equally intense pain, vowing to dominate me, to show me wicked things a virgin like myself shouldn’t be interested in.
But I am extremely interested, and I’ll risk everything—my job, my family, my future—to experience one night of total submission with this powerful Dom.
Will one night be enough for both of us?
Pre-Order Links:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Night-Billionaire-Master-City-Sizzle-ebook/dp/B00YDGYXBO
