Chapter one
“You can’t be serious! Damn it, you have the money. Besides, don’t you want your
little trophy to be someone you can show off?”
“I do show you off, Marisa, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“How can I?” Giving her brand new husband a sly grin, Marisa stretched out her arms
and widened her stance. Dressed, or more to the point, undressed in a bikini that wouldn’t
make a good hankie, she looked exactly like what she’d been before she no longer had to
support herself, a swimsuit model. “So you think this is good enough to hang over your arm
at the company retreat?”
By this, Marisa obviously meant herself. Trying to keep his hand off his cock, Perry
stared at the high maintenance creature who was his wife. As a man who knew what he wanted
and didn’t take no for an answer, he’d pursued the much younger woman for months, reeling
her in like a fisherman with a tasty catch. He’d be a fool not to know she’d been trying
to land him as well, but the pursuit had been worth the thousands of dollars he’d thrown
at the exquisite creature.
Now, two weeks after a honeymoon in Maui, they were in his home office as she showed
off the obscenely expensive suit she’d bought for the upcoming retreat. “You’re
beautiful,” he acknowledged.
“And sagging.” Frowning, she cupped her melon-firm breasts. They filled her hands and
then some, the sight of her fingers on flesh he’d bought and paid for made his cock throb.
“I’m serious. They’re no longer as firm as when I was eighteen. And barely a C. They need
to be a D if they’re going to do justice by the clothes you want me to wear.”
The thought of some surgeon taking a scalpel to that sleek, tanned flesh sickened
him. Damn it, much of her appeal had revolved around those incredible natural jugs. Then
there was that wasp-like waist, the smooth and rounded ass, arms and legs that went on
forever.
“You’d look like shit with D boobs, Marisa. And I hate wrapping my hands or mouth
around silicone.”
“You’re an expert?” she snapped and made a show of folding one arm across her breasts
and the other over her barely covered crotch. “How many breasts have you sucked?”
“None of your damn business. You know what our pre-nup said, that neither of us was
to bring up the past and that—”
“I know, I know! In exchange for a more than generous allowance and unlimited
clothing budget, I’ll be your private little slut.”
“It doesn’t say that!” Damn but his bride could piss him off. Who did she think she
was, anyway? Models were a dime a dozen and although she’d been making a hell of a lot
more than minimum wage, her portfolio didn’t come close to matching his.
“It might as well,” she pouted, her generous lower lip fairly begging him to close
his teeth around it. “You want me to be your pet on a leash, sucking up to your fat old
colleagues and playing the devoted, always-hot wife. If I’d thought you truly believed you
had a right to decide what would and wouldn’t be done to my body, maybe I wouldn’t have
agreed to this binding arrangement of ours.”
“Oh yes, you would, my pet. Just take a look at that rock on your finger, the
diamonds in your lovely ears, that little necklace. Call my dictating about your breasts
the price of admission into the good life.”
As he’d known they would, his words pissed Marisa off. Planting her hands on her
hips, she spat at him. He was too far away for the spittle to reach him, but damn it, the
bitch needed taming!
“Knock it off!” he bellowed and lunged. Because he’d been standing at the side of his
massive mahogany desk while she showed off her latest purchase, he easily locked his hands
around her slender arms. She kicked, hitting his thigh and just missing the family jewels.
Before she could aim again, he spun her around and pulled her tight against him, pinning
her arms to her sides. He might not have manhandled her like this if they hadn’t had the
house to themselves, but maybe it wouldn’t have mattered because, damn it, she had this
coming.
Despite her almost daily sessions at the exclusive gym they belonged to, weighing
twice what she did gave him a decided advantage. Determined to bring home the point, he
reached around her uselessly struggling body and pulled her breasts out of their flimsy
covering.
“You bastard!” She kicked back, striking his shin.
“You don’t know the half of it, but it’s past time you learned.” With that, he
flattened his arm against her throat and forced her head back so it pressed against his
chest. At the same time, he threaded his other arm under her elbows and clamped his hand
around one of them. Keeping her so close she couldn’t get any leverage was a simple
matter. “I didn’t just marry you, bitch. I paid for you.”
“The hell you did!” She tried to kick again but, off balance, she couldn’t put any
strength behind the effort. “I’m not your goddamn slave!”
“Stop cussing!” He punctuated his command by pressing his forearm against her
windpipe. She started making gurgling sounds, and her thrashing became desperate. “I hate
your swearing. You’re my china doll, not a hooker, and don’t you ever forget it!”
“I can’t—I can’t breathe.”
“And you won’t until I decide to let you.” Half lifting her, he walked over to the
picture window that looked out at the private yard surrounded by a six-foot high brick
fence. They were silhouetted in the glass, and he angled her so she saw. “Take a look at
yourself, bitch. Those breasts of yours, or should I say my breasts, are perfect.”
Although her eyes were bulging and her mouth kept working as she fought to pull in
enough air, he knew she was looking at the two of them. His hold on her arms had forced
her back to arch, further accentuating her incredible breasts. The bikini top pressed down
on her flesh. He loved the way her exposed boobs looked, as if they’d been captured. The
bottom of her bathing suit barely covered her mons. White and semi-transparent, it was
obvious that she shaved her pussy. At least that was one thing he hadn’t had to insist on.
After all, a model needs to be hairless in certain strategic places.
“This is the way I want you to look,” he said calmly. Then he wrapped his arm even
more securely around her elbows so they were nearly touching. “At my disposal.”
“Damn—you.”
“No more swearing, ever!” He freed her but immediately clamped onto her breasts and
squeezed until she cried out. Then he shoved her away, gloating when she fell to her hands
and knees. Watching her gasp and choke for breath with her breasts hanging down gave him a
hard-on he hadn’t had since the first time he’d seen her.
He took hold of the mass of long, thick, red hair with the highlights that had set
him back more than he wanted to think about. “I own you, Marisa. Don’t you ever forget
that.”
“Go to hell.”
“Probably.” With that, he hauled her to her feet. Anticipating that she’d gouge out
his eyes if she could, he shoved again. This time she caught herself before falling. They
stared at each other, a multi-millionaire businessman and a woman who knew her body was
her ticket to the good life. “What are you going to do, bride? Leave me? You do and you
won’t see a cent of my money.”
Fury still ruled her, but Marisa wasn’t a stupid woman which, in part was why he’d
decided to make her his. He could almost read her mind as she regarded him. How far could
she push him and what were the consequences? Damn but she was beautiful, lean and
graceful as a doe. But where a doe ran from danger, Marisa welcomed a challenge and no
wonder. After all, she’d clawed herself up from a white trash beginning, becoming the
first female in her dysfunctional family to get through high school. She’d gone to the
local junior college and learned the necessary skills to be a secretary, but she’d had no
interest in slaving for some bastard of a boss who’d hired her because he’d assumed he’d
get into her pants. Instead, she’d parlayed her body. Print modeling paid a lot of bills,
but she’d had another gig, which was how he’d met her. Working for a private party planner
who specialized in high end sexy clothes and other erotic items had brought her into
contact with many of the state’s wealthiest and most powerful men willing to lavish money
on the females in their lives, mostly their mistresses.
The job had come at a cost, essentially a never-ending battle to keep men’s hands off
her. Oh, she loved to fuck all right. She just hated giving away what she believed she
should be paid for.
Well, hell, she was getting paid now, by him. She just hadn’t admitted it yet.
“Why are you doing this?” She sounded genuinely confused. “I thought—I thought you
loved me.”
“I do, darling. But I’m not used to my subordinates standing up to me.”
“Subordinates? No shitting way.”
This wasn’t getting them anywhere, especially not when the only thing he wanted was
her legs gaping and him rutting around in the space provided. A smile touched his lips as
he realized she hadn’t tucked her breasts out of sight. Maybe, just maybe, she was waiting
for permission. “Strip.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get out of those scraps of cloth I bought and down on your knees so
you can properly thank me.” He grabbed himself through his tailor-made slacks to make his
point.
Eyes wide, she took a step backward. “Fuck you.”
“Yes, you may.” Another step brought her so close to the door that she might just
escape before he could stop her.
“No, Perry, no.”
He heard no hint of panic in her voice. Oh yes, his bitch of a bride was a hard case
all right—and that was enough to start his head spinning. Feeling like a predator, he
stalked toward her. Not turning her back on him, she inched closer to the door. Her eyes
were wary, alarmed, determined
God he loved this! From boyhood, he’d fantasized about kidnapping and sexually
assaulting the girls who’d crossed his path, but although he’d cuffed a few hookers,
browbeaten his female employees, and lorded it over two ex-wives, he’d always kept the
beast under wraps. Now, although he wasn’t sure what he’d do once he had Marisa truly
under his control, the hunt felt better than sex ever had. Determined to milk the moment
to the fullest, he kept after her.
“Don’t do this. I swear I’ll—”
“What? Charge me? I’ll have bruises on my legs by morning, not you.”
She stopped with the doorknob pressing into her back. “What do you want?”
“I told you. Strip. On your knees. Suck me off.”
“I’m your wife.”
To hell with arguing, to talking, to her standing instead of kneeling down where she
belonged. Growling, he charged. She waited until his fingers were inches from her, then
leaned and ducked under his arm. Instead of taking off after her, he watched as she ran
behind his desk. For a smart broad, she’d missed a simple fact, which was that he now
stood between her and freedom.
Arms loose at his side, he turned and started toward her. The sight of her heaving
breasts and erect nipples knotted his cock. Sweat made her bottoms stick to her crotch and
highlighted the barely-visible slit. Soon, soon, he’d fill the hidden hole.
“Repeat after me, Marisa. I will never question my husband’s decisions with regards
to my body. If he says my breasts are to remain natural, they will. If he wants me to go
about naked, I won’t object. When he aims his cock at my mouth, I’ll open it.” He waited
out her horrified look. “And when he says to take him in my ass, I’ll do so willingly.”
“No. Perry. I told you I’ve never let a man do—”
“I’m not just a man!” Planting his hands on his desk, he glared at her. “I’m your
husband.”
Gripping the heavy executive chair, she all but cowered behind it. “You’re acting as
if you’re my master.”
Master. What a great sound. Growling, he unzipped and started toward her. “This—” He
aimed his cock at her. “Is what you’re going to learn to worship.”
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