Unjust Billionaire: A dom romance (Bossy Billionaire Book 2) Read online

  “I really thought you'd be able to handle all this A/C. Was I wrong?”

  The lilt of disappointment in his voice at my quitter stance stung and then it occurred to me- what did he mean by ‘all this’? He was speaking as though he'd known what I was heading into when I took the contract to design Valentine Winery.

  “No.” I whispered, barely audible, trying to get everything straight in my head.

  “Like I said you can always quit.”

  “I'd have no job and no place to go,” I said, knowing as I said it that I could no more leave Valentine than fly to Venus. I was torn exactly in two right down the middle, craving my lover back in the city and mired in an impossible yearning for my new boss.

  “You've got no choice but to stick with the pain then,” Josh said.

  I had never heard such emotion in his voice- was he miserable? If so why didn't he ask me to come back to him, at least while I got back on my feet? There was no way I was going to ask him. Yeah, he liked me to beg but there was no way I was up for that humiliation in this situation. If he wanted me to beg for his help, he was out of luck. I was obviously mistaken in my ideal that we'd gotten closer and were more to each other than players.

  “And here's what I want you to do,” he added. “Submit totally to Valentine-take everything he gives you and tell me all the details.”

  “Sure. Night.” I cut the call.

  10

  In the morning I ate breakfast alone in the crew quarters with some of the guys working in the vineyards. When Delilah strutted into the room and stood at the top of the long table with a withering glance just for me, I wasn't in the mood for her orders.

  “Here you are, fooling around with the pickers when Mr Valentine has been waiting for you twenty minutes,” she snapped, her arms, as ever, folded across her erect bosom.

  The guys all looked down at their eggs as though they held the secret to endless blow jobs, praying she didn't turn her Nurse Ratched gaze on them next. Screw the domme.

  I took a leisurely final gulp of the delicious Italian coffee- everything Valentine presented was top quality even for the worker crew- then slowly ambled to my feet.

  “Lead on MacDuff,” I said. “Have a great day in the fields boys. Enjoy the freedom of the open air.”

  I followed behind as we wove our way through various hallways, me struggling to keep up with Delilah's frogmarch even in a much less restrictive skirt than the one I'd worn last night. She led me down a flight of stairs. The temperature dropped drastically and I knew we were underground.

  “The door at the end.” Delilah pointed a red talon down a hall I finally recognized.

  She turned on her exquisite stiletto heel and retreated back down the passage, leaving me tremoring as I walked to the door, sure of what to expect. Valentine and his aide, Marc, waiting in the dungeon for another round of punishment.

  A combination of fury and exhilaration rattled through me, leaving me nothing but confused as to how to align the extremes of emotion. How dare they treat me like a slave 24/7 and not even allow me the chance to show my professional capability? They had flatly ignored me at dinner last night as though I was a decorative toy for the table.

  And yet that had been so riveting, I'd shuddered through every climactic throb the E-stim delivered to my pussy. Then when I'd removed the vibrating plug, the emptiness was so acute, the temptation to pleasure myself with all my fingers had been almost too much to bear.

  Steeling myself to show no awakening for the games Valentine had in store for me, I shoved the door open aggressively. Expecting the iron weight of the dungeon door, I stumbled through with a jolt when it threw back on itself rattling the bank of bottles behind.

  Valentine looked up from his discussion with one of the winery workers with a flicker of surprise at my passion. He signed the paper the man held out for him, his eyes stapled to me. The worker quickly disappeared as I strode across the cement floor, trying desperately not to hyperventilate. Jay Valentine looked absolutely stunning. Still unshaven from the previous day, the stubble making his face even more rugged divine. He was wearing a razor thin black cashmere sweater that sculpted the abs across his torso to great advantage.

  “Morning, sorry if I'm late. I guess I didn't get the memo regarding the meeting,” I quipped.

  Valentine almost smiled in amusement at my breezy tone, but as I strutted across the cement in my five inch Choos, taking a page from Delilah's book of domination his face became hot rod iron.

  “You are to report to me every morning at nine unless I give you permission otherwise is that understood?” he barked.

  What the fuck? I was nothing but the dog around here. Games were fun and all except that I was a professional with a job to do and did not appreciate being treated like a slave all day long.

  “Just get it over with,” I snapped.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Just get it over with. Whatever you're leading up to, whatever torture you're about to inflict, just do it now because I have a job to do here, or so I imagined.”

  “Ms Cannon, I wanted you down here to sample some of my product while we talk through the plans for the new building,” he burred, smooth and in total control of himself. The exact opposite from me. “But if that plan does not meet with your approval, let me know.”

  “No, I mean yes, of course. That sounds great.” Oh my sweet lord I was on the next private jet outta here if I kept misfiring like this.

  “Where we're standing is the oldest part of the winery. The barrels are all French oak, imported from a vineyard in St Emilion and used to finish off the aging of a very small batch that I bottle as the reserve vintage.”

  He opened a tap on the end of a massive golden wood barrel, striped deep red in patches where the wine had seeped into the grain over the years. He let a small amount of the liquid escape into a chalice and swirled it in the bowl. Then he handed me the small cup and the brush of his fingers sent white light searing across my brain cells. I took generous slug from the cup to compensate and almost spewed it back out at those gorgeous flexing ripples of his chest. Valentine laughed at my screwed up face as I forced myself to swallow the vile tasting mess.

  “Battery acid, right?” he said. “In future you'll spit in the gully.”

  He indicated the channel cut into the cement floor beneath the barrels for that purpose.

  “Why does it taste so disgusting? Is this a bad batch?” I tried not to splutter.

  “Quite the reverse. I'm expecting a very good vintage from this harvest. All wine tastes that disgusting, at least to a novice, in the early stages. The acidity levels adjust during the in-barrel fermentation process- it's the skill of the winemaker that brings forth delectable nectar, or box vinegar.”

  His eyes never left mine as he spoke, his words taking on an entirely different meaning.

  “What seems bad at first taste can mature into something great.”

  His burrowing stare delved further into me and my chest started to heave slightly as my heartbeat quickened and air became scarce. Valentine was searching deep inside me and I wanted him so bad I was that close to reaching up my hand to touch his rigid broad chest.

  It was bizarre to think that we only met yesterday, when I felt as comfortable and secure with him as though we'd been together a decade.

  “Once you become accustomed to the flavor, you'll learn to appreciate the nuances that are the foundation of greatness.”

  His eyes were twinkling as he taught me his business, not without a modicum of irony for the other flavor I was still learning to appreciate. Good grief, I'd only known him a day and he already had plundered deep into my intimate soul and yet that also felt completely natural. Maybe his plan was to build me too into one of his great vintages.

  We moved along the row of sturdy old barrels, Valentine pouring a small taste at each stage, teaching me the basics of wine-making. That lesson was made more intriguing each time he touched me lightly in the small of my back to move me
down the line. His hand on me was so supporting, even that instant was a poignant flare that coursed through my veins.

  “Where are your family,” he suddenly asked, surprising me with a move to the personal.

  “I, er, don't really have any. A couple of cousins in Vermont I never see,” I deferred the real, more painful truth but Valentine was looking at me, in his delving way and waiting for more.

  “No siblings?” he prompted when I bit my lip to stop the pain from rising.

  “Only child.”

  He watched the grief racket around inside me. As usual it was a massive effort for me to hold it in place and prevent it spilling into something uncontrollable. Then he made another pour from a much smaller barrel and handed me the cup.

  “A cognac, quite special in California,” he said. “Brandy is known as burnt wine traditionally, so quite therapeutic for calming the embers.”

  I supped the warming nectar grateful for his understanding recognition of what I was going through. Valentine waited for me to experience its relaxing properties before gently leading me to the bottling section. He introduced me to the crew, letting go of the agonizing subject of my family. With another rest of his hot palm in the small of my back, he guided me to the stairwell. There, we climbed back above ground to look at the area that was to be the new tasting room.

  “I'm afraid I shall have to leave you as I have plans for lunch already, but come to my office at four and show me the design.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, with only the tiniest hint of sass.

  11

  I'm sure my boss was smiling as he turned to walk away. Twenty minutes later, from the ground floor room that had been given over as my office, I looked out across the estate and saw Valentine climb into his waiting helicopter and take off toward LA. With a clench of envy, I watched his broad chest lift up into the cockpit, followed by the skinny chatelaine, Delilah. I wondered where they were going for their lunch date. Fuck it, I had to get over this girly thrall for the rich hunk.

  Just do the job and take the reward, then get away before he consumes you.

  “Did I not tell you that yesterday was the last time you'd walk across this office on your heels?” Valentine growled when I breezed into his office with the plans later that afternoon.

  He was again a different man from the one who'd taken me around his winery with a zeal to share his passion with me. I stopped abruptly, high on my toes with my arms splayed like a night prowler when the alarm sounds. I returned to the door, removed my favorite Manolo sandals and felt instantly more vulnerable with the loss of those four dagger inches. I padded across the carpet again, feeling its silk luxury beneath my feet.

  “Get off your heels,” Valentine said in a dangerous low purr. I stopped again, this time without the comedy act, non-plussed by his tone and confused as to what was required of me.

  “Get down. On your knees.”

  What? He wanted me to crawl around in his office as though I were a slave in the palace of the Emperor Nero? I opened my mouth to speak and caught his steel gaze, the wide set of his luscious mouth, the lips I burned to feel on my body, and I slowly bent my knees, sinking to the floor.

  “Good. Now come here,” Valentine ordered. His eyes ravaging my body as I put my hands to the ground and crawled across to the chair.

  “No.” he said, when I moved to climb into my place. “Come here. No, come around to my side.”

  I crawled around the edge of the desk and stopped when my nose touched the edge of Valentine's chair. In the next instant, the collar was wrapped around my neck and locked in place again, this time without the chain.

  “You did something very bad last night, didn't you?”

  My boss bent down and murmured just above my head. What was he referring to? The phone call to Josh, complaining and saying I wanted to leave? Was there any way he could be listening in on my cell, or was my room bugged?

  “I just wanted someone to talk to. Last night was kinda- lonely.”

  Mostly because two men I had the hots for had both ignored me all through dinner. Even the sight of my naked tits smothered with cream and chocolate coffee lusciousness had done nothing to gain their attention. I realized that I'd desperately wanted something from them.

  “I'm your closest confidante- You have me to talk to now.” Valentine's voice contained a deep scowl. “You no longer have any need for Josh Perrine in your life. But that isn't what I'm referring to. Don't you know what you did to cross me?”

  I racked my brains for any other transgression I’d made.

  “Answer me.”

  “No Sir, I don't know what else I did wrong.”

  In one move he lifted me under my arms with great strength to drop me face down across his lap. His powerful lift flew me through the air before one heavy palm connected with my buttock in a resounding thwack. I let out a little squeal and bit down hard, pursing my lips into the grip of my bite as he brought his wide hand down again. My tunnel clenched inside all the way up to my stomach as voracious want pummeled through me.

  Please let every morning at the office start this way.

  “Now do you know?” he gritted.

  “No, sir.”

  Had I done something untoward with Marc Chappelle during dinner that had annoyed him? I couldn't remember looking at the handsome older French guy much, not when Jay Valentine dominated the room with his presence. He held all my attention and hungry fantasies.

  “Very well.”

  He slipped his fingers along the inner curve of my thigh, making me shudder with excitement. When the tips edged inside the leg of my panties and grazed across my clit I gripped down on a quiver of pulsations. Heat rose into my breasts, shelved over the other side of Valentine's solid thigh.

  “What's this?” he demanded. “Dripping wet as usual. I think I'm giving you more pleasure than punishment for your rebellion.”

  His thumb and two fingers stretched my folds apart and pushed inside my pussy.

  “Empty,” he exclaimed. “I was very concerned about that Ms Cannon – How you were not experiencing any pleasure during the tour this morning.”

  He wouldn't believe that I'd enjoyed being with him just as much as having a climax delivered every half hour from a device buried inside me.

  “I, I-er, I removed it last night. So I could sleep.”

  “Did I ask for your excuses? I asked how can it be and the answer is that you removed it. You know you shouldn't have done that without my permission.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “I'm sorry, sir.”

  “It won't happen again, sir.”

  “Sorry doesn't really cut it. When I do something wrong it costs me millions or I receive punishment. I don't get to say sorry and think it goes away. So what's it going to be in your case?”

  “Another spanking?”

  “But that gives you more pleasure than you deserve. I can tell by your heart racing into my thigh that you're extremely excited at being spanked. Also I have zero desire to see the remnants of some other man's treatment across your perfect ass.”

  Wow, he almost sounded jealous that Josh had left me with that reminder of who the boss was. It made me glad to know he cared, even just a little. I felt his arm reach to open a drawer in the desk, then close it again. When he raised his hand, my immediate impulse couldn't be stifled-I made the unspeakable error of wincing. Valentine’s hand came down on the lowest point of my back, caressing and soft.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he said in a dulcet tone.

  I nodded barely moving my head.

  “Why? You know I would never hurt you for my own pleasure.”

  “It's because, I-”

  “Speak honestly with me. We can share anything.”

  “I'm used to having a safe word,” I whispered.

  12

  “You are used to a safe word? Used to? I am not Josh Perrine,” Valentine barked, making me quiver despite my best attempt to stay steady.

  Feeling me squirm, he drop
ped his voice again and the tension relaxed in his body.

  “I do not play at play,” he continued. “We are in this together and we don’t need a safe word because I know what you're feeling and the point you want me to stop. That is what connects us. I am you.”

  Feeling my surrender, his hand moved from my coccyx around the crack of my ass and his fingers plundered my folds. Again I melted into his touch and then the searing heat of the metal clamp pinched around my clit. “Let's see now.”

  One hand reached underneath my body and he undid the top buttons of my tight crisp white blouse. He roamed inside the lace balcony bra and slipped one mound easily from the half cup. Grasping the full load of my breast as the other raised and came down on my stinging cheek.

  One, two, three sharp little slaps that diffused heat through my core. Between every slap his fingers squeezed my full nipple in a clamp-like pinch. Pleasure-pain ricocheted between my tits and buttocks leaving residues of yearning in my core. Shivers of needy hunger ran the length of my body ass I arched across his knee.

  Each spanking made the clamp pull at my engorged nub in pulses of agony that swelled with gushing juices of insatiable demand. I was panting in a confusion of lust and anguish, beset by the voracious hunger for Valentine to fill my needy pussy.

  “Please,” I whimpered.

  “Please what? Do you want me to stop?”

  No don't stop. Don't ever stop. I want to feel your fingers swirling in my pussy every day forever.

  “Please, stop with-holding from me. Let me have you inside me,” I whimpered, pleading.

  I’d do anything. This hunger stretched every pore.

  “Please, sir. And you'll have to beg harder and nicer than that if you want my cock inside you. I don't fuck just any woman.”

  Ouch. Arrogant prick, except he had good reason. He was gorgeous and powerful and wealthy beyond dream. He could have whomever he wanted, whenever, however.

  “This is agony, the repression and the wanting,” I mewled.