Bound by the Texas Billionaire (BBW Erotica) (Billionaire BDSM) (Billionaire Domination) Page 3

  He drew back, shaking his head to clear away the fog.

  Lost in the ache of desire, it took Macy a moment to realize Logan was breaking the kiss, moving away. She was achy, yearning. This was what she’d missed for the last two days. Hell, for the last twenty-seven years.

  They stood for a moment staring at each other. Macy wondered what would happen if she dropped her robe and walked to the bed. Would he follow her? She was only slightly shocked at the thought of employing such brazen behavior. That she felt no hesitation of revealing her body to this man. Perhaps he had succeeded in his goal for the weekend. To make her see herself as a beautiful woman. All she knew for certain was that before Logan, she would have never been confident enough to even think such a thing, much less seriously consider acting upon it.

  “I’m sure the restaurant you have in mind has a dress code. I don’t have anything to wear, Mr. Quinn.”

  Even after the hell-yeah-fuck-me-now kiss, his expression was completely unreadable. “You will.”

  “Don’t tell me,” she held up one hand, “let me guess. There just happens to be a Japanese equivalent of Madame Treymane that you’re taking me to?” No way in hell she thought. She was not going through that experience ever again.

  “No.”

  Macy let out a long breath.

  “I’ll be sending her to you.” He turned to open the door.

  Shit.

  “Wait.” Macy put out her hand to stop his exit. “I wasn’t serious.”

  In a gesture so out of character for her enigmatic boss, he took her hand and pressed the palm to his lips. “But I am, Miss Trent.”

  He dropped her hand, opened the door and left her as suddenly as he’d appeared.

  Macy wanted to open the door and shout after him and ask him what was going on. Instead she took off her robe and crawled between the exquisitely luxurious sheets. Perhaps she’d just imagined the last ten minutes. Yes, that was it. She was so tired that she’d imaged her sexy-as-hell boss coming into her hotel room, kissing her senseless and then telling her he was going to send a Japanese madam to her room. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d kissed her palm in the sweetest gesture. Yes, that was it, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Just a lovely dream. Her only wish was that it had ended with him taking her to bed and filling her with his long, hard length. That would have been a much better ending.

  *****

  It took Macy several moments to realize the knocking she heard was not part of the dream she was having and that someone was pounding on her hotel door. It took her several more seconds to remember she was in a hotel room in Tokyo, Japan.

  Hurrying to pull on her robe she walked to the door, just barely remembering Logan’s warning to look out the peephole before throwing the door open wide. In the hallway was a group of people, all carrying an array of boxes and bags. In the middle of the oddly assorted group stood the concierge, Mr. Lee, who had checked her into the hotel. She opened the door cautiously.

  “Miss Trent, how lovely to see you again.” The slender Japanese man smiled broadly and gently pushed on the door, forcing Macy to step aside. Immediately the other individuals filed in behind him going straight to the seating room that adjoined her bedroom.

  Macy followed, a frustrated frown marring her smooth brow. “What’s going on?”

  Mr. Lee’s thin brows rose as did the pitch in his voice. “Didn’t Mr. Quinn tell you? He assured me he had. Well, never mind, you’ll see.” Turning her around, he gave her a gentle push on her shoulders to get her walking in the right direction.

  One group of women were setting up what appeared to be a hastily improvised hair and makeup station on the hotel desk while another Asian woman sat up a small table beside the wide armchair.

  “Have you already showered and washed your hair, Miss Trent?” The young female spoke in perfect English as she motioned for Macy to sit in the chair.

  “Um, yes.” She sat down, too overwhelmed to do much of anything else. A moment later she realized she was sitting in a hotel room full of strangers, completely naked beneath her borrowed robe. Before she could question the turn of events, another knock sounded on her hotel door and the concierge went to answer it. Within seconds he came back followed by an older Asian woman and a bellboy pushing a large garment rack filled with clothing. Macy drew in a deep breath. The older woman held herself with the same haughty air as Madame Treymane.

  Even though Macy now had a fairly good idea what was happening, she had to ask.

  “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?”

  Just as she said the words, one woman took her hand while another took her foot, both obviously intent on giving her a manicure and pedicure. The woman who asked if she had showered started to comb out her hair.

  “Mr. Quinn asked that we help you prepare for dinner.”

  Macy finally remembered the man’s first name was Dako. He’d introduced himself as he’d escorted her to her room. “Look, Dako, I don’t know what Mr. Quinn told you, but I am not going to dinner with him. Or his clients. I’m having dinner here.” Her hand encompassed the room.

  No one bothered to answer her question and she forgot her protests when the woman at her feet pressed against the sole of her foot. She moaned at the sensation. It felt wonderful. Almost better than sex. Well, not sex with Logan, but definitely better than sex with the boy in high school.

  A burst of Japanese broke out between the woman doing her hair and the anime version of Madame Treymane. She took a closer look at the woman. She was a little younger than the shop owner had been. Was this another of Logan’s past submissives?

  Surely he would not be so cruel as to subject her to this twice?

  The women continued on around her and Macy decided to sit back and enjoy the sensation of being pampered. Lord knew she’d never experience this kind of treatment again.

  She watched as the woman and the concierge went through the clothing on the garment rack, discussing each piece before moving on to the next.

  She had to admit that the dress the two finally choose for her was beautiful, but when they urged her to try it on she laughed. “That is not going to fit.”

  It looked like a doll’s dress almost. Well, a life-size doll’s dress, but it was still way too small.

  “Of course it will fit, Miss Trent. Mr. Quinn was very specific about your sizes and his orders.”

  And Mr. Quinn’s orders were also obeyed.

  Her mind flashed back to Saturday and the orders Logan had forced her to obey.

  When the hairdresser, makeup artist, and manicurist released her, she rose to her feet. When Madame Snooty—she had yet to introduce herself—motioned for Macy to disrobe in front of all the people in the room, she glowered at them all. There was no way in hell. She snatched the dress and the nearly non-existent undergarments from the woman’s birdlike hand and marched to her bedroom, closing the door loudly. She would have slammed it but the position she found herself in wasn’t their fault. It was his.

  The man who irritated her, infuriated her. And made her love him.

  She soon discovered there was no bra in her underwear pile. Just a silky black thong, a garter belt and a pair of thigh high hose. Surprisingly, all fit her perfectly. There were no rolls of excess material or tight bindings of elastic. The perfect size. How had Logan done that? The fact that he’d correctly guessed her size shouldn’t have been such a surprise. He was, after all, a connoisseur of women. But there was no way the dress was going to fit.

  She unzipped it, stepping into the circle of beautiful material and carefully wiggled it over her wide hips. So far so good. The next part of her body, her waistline, was always the obstacle to any clothing she tried on. Almost magically the fabric skimmed across her stomach and up over her large breasts. The dress was cut dangerously low in front with tiny quarter-inch strips of fabric that slid over her shoulders.

  Macy looked at herself in the mirror, at the abundance of flesh on display, and wondered wildly if those t
eeny little straps would be able to hold her girls in all night. Wouldn’t it be something if she were to have a wardrobe malfunction in front of Logan’s fancy dinner guests?

  A knock sounded at her bedroom door and the haughty older woman opened it without waiting to be invited inside. She didn’t say a word as she walked toward Macy and zipped her into the stunning dress. Macy was astonished to feel the fabric expand to encase her figure while still allowing her to breathe. And boy did she have a figure in this dress.

  “Is that really me?” She winched as she uttered the cheesy line, but she really didn’t know what else to say. The dress was made of dark green satin that seemed to fold on top of itself over and over again. One would have thought the configuration of the fabric would make the dress seem bulky, but it didn’t.

  “Of course it is.” The woman pulled here and there at the dress settling it in place around Macy’s curves “You are a very beautiful woman, Miss Trent.”

  Macy would have expected the words to have a sneer of sarcasm, but the woman’s compliment was very sincere.

  “What is this material?” Whatever it was, Macy was going to buy bolts of it and line all her clothes with it. The dress hugged her curves giving her a shape she’d never had. It looked so tight that if she drew a deep breath it would pop. But it was almost as comfortable as her favorite jogging pants and t-shirt. She deliberately hunched her shoulders and stuck out her stomach. No uncomfortable tightening and, thankfully, no horrendous sounds of ripping fabric.

  Damn the man and his intractable need for control. Logan had once again made her feel beautiful.

  CHAPTER TWOLogan tried to control his breathing–and his dick–as Macy made her way through the restaurant. The setting was too intimate to ever be called crowded, but all the tables and booths were occupied. More than one set of male eyes followed her progress to the table. He’d made his specifications very clear to the concierge and the man had seen they were carried out to perfection. Her long dark hair was piled on top of her head with tendrils falling down around her neck and shoulders. He couldn’t wait to take it down and wrap it around his cock, pumping until he spilled his seed over her throat and breasts.

  Long slender strings of silver hung from her earlobes, the tips brushing the tops of her smooth shoulders. He knew she had probably protested wearing the dress since its delicate straps showed off her pale, creamy shoulders and full arms, something she detested doing. She couldn’t know—would never guess—that every man who watched her walk by was wondering if the rest of her curvy body was as velvety soft underneath the dark green satin of her dress. Only Logan had the satisfaction of knowing that it was.

  Her legs, the same legs that had held him to her so tightly, were encased in barely there nylons of midnight black. If she had followed the instructions of the local designer he’d hired, then the rest of her underwear consisted of a black thong and a garter belt. He wouldn’t have put it past her to wear a pair of white cotton panties like the ones she’d had on Friday night. The dress required no bra and Logan knew it would take all of his limited control not to pull the top of her dress down and reveal her rosy red nipples. To take those nipples in his mouth and see if she would come as he suckled her. Right in front of his guests.

  Unable to take his eyes off her, Logan hoped the plan he had in mind produced the desired result. Continuing to work with her every day without some sort of understanding between them was not an option. He’d known that when he’d been unable to keep his hands off her in her hotel room. He’d seen her bent over her desk one to many times, heard her sarcastic comments to his orders once too often. If he kept her in the office, he might as well chain her to the damn desk. There was no way in hell he’d be able to stop fucking her.

  Even though he’d never engaged in an arrangement with someone he worked with, the benefits of having her readily available to bend over his desk to spank and then fuck, were definitely worth the risk. A contract would minimize that risk. Keep him in control.

  He would always need control.

  “Is this your submissive?” the younger Osaka asked quietly. Logan didn’t like the way his eyes flashed when he looked at Macy. The man had brought his submissive with him. She was Japanese and reminded Logan of a painted Geisha. No fire, no passion. Just acceptance. Nothing at all like Macy, who questioned his every command. In and out of the bedroom.

  “She is my assistant.”

  “But you would like for her to be your submissive, would you not?”

  Macy had arrived at their table and he was saved from answering. Did he want Macy to embrace the lifestyle of domination and submission? Did he want her to submit to him entirely, completely?

  Hell, yes.

  Fuck, no.

  Her sassy little mouth was what had drawn him to her in the first place. If she were a true submissive, she would never utter another smart-mouthed remark. In or out of the bedroom.

  He rose to his feet as she stopped at the table, as did the other two men seated with him. The Osakas bowed and Logan was pleased to see Macy return the bow even though her face flushed bright red. He pulled out the chair to his right. Once she was seated, the men resumed their seats and he quickly made the introductions. His eyes narrowed as the younger Osaka’s gaze continued to linger on Macy even after the conversation resumed.

  The waiter, having been instructed to wait until Macy arrived, stepped forward. A carafe of wine was placed before each of the women. Logan started to lean over to instruct Macy on the appropriate protocol. Before he could, she surprised him by mirroring the movements of the Osakas’ female companions, serving him before serving herself.

  The elder Osaka raised his glass. “Kampai.”

  As if the toast served as another signal, the wait staff served the meal, sitting platters of steamed fish, rice and vegetables on a large crystal turn-type stand that was built into the center of the table. Unlike western custom, Japanese tradition called for the guests to serve themselves first. Logan took one of the white plates and filled it for Macy. He knew if he didn’t, she would take small portions that wouldn’t satisfy a bird.

  “That’s too much, Logan,” she protested when he sat it before her. She handed it back to him. “You take that one.”

  The younger Osaka spoke in Japanese. She saw Logan’s jaw tighten briefly before he answered. Also in Japanese. For several moments, the two men exchanged words, their tone becoming more and more tense as the spirited conversation continued. Had she done something wrong in not wanting the plate of food? She’d spent a portion of her time on the plane trying to read and educate herself on Japanese culture. One of the things she’d learned was that taking out more food than you could eat was considered rude. With the way her stomach was feeling, she knew she couldn’t eat everything Logan had given her. She placed a hand on Logan’s arm, the one that still held the plate.

  “It’s fine Logan, please give me the plate.”

  His cheeks were flushed and the fingers on the plate had tightened to the point she feared the china would shatter beneath the pressure.

  “You need to eat,” he murmured as he placed the dish before her. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

  He served himself and turned the platter toward Osaka. His wife served the older man before serving herself then, as Logan had done, turned the food toward the younger Osaka and his companion. While the elder Osaka’s wife smiled and talked to the other men, the younger Osaka’s companion reminded silent.

  Once everyone was served, conversation was random and brief as they concentrated on their food. Macy tried to ignore the dark looks still flowing between Logan and the other man.

  What was his name? T’ong. No. T’jang. That was it. Macy wasn’t sure how it was pronounced and was glad that she wouldn’t be called upon say it.

  As soon as they were finished, the waiters quickly and efficiently removed the dishes. The older couple excused themselves and both Logan and T’jang stood as they left the table. As fresh fruit was brought out, T’jang
Osaka addressed Macy directly for the first time that evening.

  “How long have you worked for Quinn Enterprises, Miss Trent?”

  “Almost a year.”

  “And do you enjoy it?”

  “Very much so.” She refused to meet the other man’s eyes, but not because she feared breaking some Japanese custom. While the man was very handsome–dark skinned, black haired, black eyed–there was just something off about him. Something she could never find attractive or appealing.

  “I’m sure Logan is a very thorough boss, isn’t he?”

  “I–” What the hell did that mean? She heard what sounded like a growl from Logan.

  “If you ever want to change, mmm, bosses, please remember me, Miss Trent. I would be delighted to…have you. Just as I’m sure Logan has been delighted to have you.” While Macy was not use to men flirting with her and using sexual innuendo, she wasn’t so naïve that she didn’t recognize it when it did happened.

  “Now, wait–”

  “Shut the hell up, T’jang,” Logan said between clenched teeth.

  His anger seemed to amuse the other man. “Where is that famous control of yours, Logan? Hmm, lost to a pair of chocolate eyes perhaps?”

  He rose to his feet and motioned for the woman by his side to rise to hers. Just like an obedient little puppet, she stood. Macy gasped as she finally realized the reason behind the woman’s strange behavior throughout dinner. Osaka was a dominant and this woman was his submissive.

  “If I were you, Miss Trent, I would ask him to translate the conversation he and I had earlier. You might find it very interesting.” He paused by Logan’s chair. “I will miss our adventures together, my friend.”

  Macy waited until the couple had left the restaurant before turning to Logan. “What did he say?”

  His face wore a closed, tight expression. Temper, or some other strong emotion, was still stamped across his features. He didn’t answer.

  “He said I was fat, didn’t he? He would think so with that skinny little thing he had. I hope her bones poke him in the ribs when he fucks her.”