Submitting to the Billionaire: A Dark Billionaire Romance Page 12

  “How strange that you would protect such a pervert. If there’s one thing I hate, it is men that interfere with children.”

  Anger rises in my stomach. I concentrate on laying the knife down calmly, as if he has not infuriated me so much I want to stab him with it. “Stop calling him that,” I say quietly.

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  “It’s not the truth. I was not a child.”

  “You were wearing your school uniform.”

  I swallow hard. I can’t look him in the eye. How could he possibly have guessed that? When Nigel arrived at the party I had not gone up to change yet. Both Sara, Nigel’s niece, whose birthday it was, and I, were still in our uniforms eating ice lollies in the kitchen. He had come in and something in the way he looked at me while I was sucking my lolly made me blush.

  Irritated that he guessed right I glare at him. “But I didn’t look like a child. If you think you can make me feel revulsion for Nigel by calling him vile names you can stop right now because it won’t work. My father tried that and it had absolutely no effect on me.”

  “So your father agrees with me,” he pounces.

  I take a deep breath. God, give me strength. “While my father’s first instinct as a parent was to protect me he doesn’t think that anymore. He has since realized that Nigel is a good man.” I cross my fingers under the table.

  “Hmmm … I’ll have to revise my opinion of you.”

  I frown. “What opinion?”

  “You are capable of lying.”

  I sip at my coffee. “Why would you think that I wasn’t? Everybody lies. I’ve told some massive corkers in my time.”

  “When was the last time you lied?”

  The last time was when I told him I didn’t want him. I shrug. “I can’t remember now.”

  “Hmm …” He lapses into silence and only turns his attention to me again when he finishes his food. “Do you plan to see your father today?”

  “No, I’ll go tomorrow. My grandmother is visiting him today.” I smile cynically. “I had to lie to her. She thinks I’m not very well and I’m at home with Nigel.”

  As usual the mention of Nigel makes his face darken. “I’ll be away most of the day but you are welcome to explore the grounds, ride, swim, find a book in the library or catch a movie in the cinema room. Do anything you want. I’ll be back for dinner.”

  I nod.

  To be honest the idea of not spending the day with him is a relief. The time we spend together seems fraught with confusing emotions and barely suppressed hostility.

  He stands and walks over to me. Immediately my heart starts pounding.

  “What?” I ask nervously.

  “Before I go, stand up and take your underwear off.”

  My eyes widen. “What?” I exclaim, even though I can already feel my body responding to the sexual demand.

  “You heard.”

  “Why? You are going away.” My voice sounds breathless.

  “Because I like to think of you walking around my property; your cunt swollen and wet between your legs.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Star

  For a few seconds I stare rebelliously at him. Then it occurs to me that if I don’t obey he might decide to take matters into his own hands, and then he will see how right his assessment has been. I can feel how wet I am. I take my panties off. Bunching them up in my fist, I drop them into his outstretched palm.

  “I expect to find you bare when I return,” he says before he walks out.

  It’s a strange sensation to walk around without my underwear. I’ve never done it, especially not while wearing such a short dress. It is at once liberating and slightly worrying. What if a sudden breeze picks up my skirt or I have an accident? Everyone will see my bits.

  Since the weather is so lovely I decide to take a walk in the grounds. I veer off the path and walk on the carefully manicured carpet of grass towards a pretty red-brick and stone building. I walk up the steps and try the wooden door. It opens.

  To my surprise I’m standing in a small chapel filled with light coming in from the stained-glass windows. It is very beautiful and spiritual, and I have a moment of disquiet. I shouldn’t have entered a place of worship without my panties, but then I laugh at myself. How silly of me.

  God created us all naked.

  It is cool and peaceful as I walk to the front. There is a plain wooden cross on the back wall. I kneel on the ground and close my eyes. I pray for my father’s health. Then I pray that Nigel will be cured of his addiction. Finally, I say a little prayer for me. I pray that I will stay strong. That I will not be consumed by my own carnal and base desires. For a few minutes afterward, I sit on one of the pews in quiet contemplation. Then I cross myself and leave that quiet sanctuary.

  I follow the path towards the stables. There is no one around so I enter the building. Oh my, what impossibly majestic creatures! The only horses I’ve come into close contact with until then were the thick farm horses giving children rides on the beach.

  These horses stand tall and are so sleek their necks shine even in the dim light of the stables. I walk up to one of them, and she looks at me without moving. Gently, I raise my hand and when she does not react I lay my hand on her glossy neck. She looks at me quietly. You can see her intelligence in her eyes.

  I walk further in and become transfixed by a huge white horse in one of the back stalls. He is absolutely stunning, and I have this weird sensation. Almost as if I’ve discovered a mythical creature. I start walking towards him and he makes a jerky gesture with his head and paws the ground. I don’t know much about horses but his actions are definitely not welcoming, so I stop and cautiously head towards another horse. She is such a sweet thing and so friendly I wish I had brought her a lump of sugar or an apple.

  As I am standing there stroking her silky neck, whispering nonsense, and admiring her beauty, a husky puppy comes bounding up to me. The gorgeous little thing jumps excitedly around my feet. I bend down and scoop him up in my hands. He licks my face enthusiastically, making me laugh.

  I catch sight of a man entering the stable and approaching me. He is dressed in khaki trousers, a checked shirt and mucky boots.

  “Come here, Storm,” he calls, and the bundle of fur leaps out of my hands and makes a mad dash over to him. He picks it up and looks at me with a smile. “Sorry, Miss Minton. I hope he didn’t ruin your clothes. He’s still a puppy and a bit full of himself. If he’s not careful he’s going to get kicked in the head by one of the horses.”

  I brush at the fur on my clothes. “Not at all. I love dogs and I enjoyed his company.” I walk up to him. “Please, call me Star,” I say, extending my hand.

  He takes it in a rough, firm grasp. “Ray.”

  I tilt my head towards the horses. “Do you think I could learn to ride one of the horses?”

  “I don’t see why not. I’ll have to ask Mr. Smirnov first, of course.”

  “He said I could.”

  “In that case. I have just the horse for you, a docile mare. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Miss One Penny.”

  He is right. Miss One Penny is as placid as you could possibly want. She has the kindest warmest brown eyes, and I fall in love with her instantly.

  “When do you want to start?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply, rubbing Miss One Penny’s face. “I don’t have any riding gear. I’ll have to ask Celine.”

  “Just let Celine know when you want to start. I’m always around anyway.”

  “Thanks. The white horse is really beautiful, but he seems very hostile. Does anyone ride him?”

  “He’s very highly strung. Only Mr. Smirnov can ride him. His name is Belyy Smert.”

  “Does that mean something?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckles. “White Death.”

  “Wow. That’s a really wild name.”

  “That’s only because you haven’t seen him in action. He rides like the wind.”

  It’s already twelve by then,
and I head back to the house where Celine is waiting for me. I see that she has already got a laptop waiting for me.

  We have lunch together and I must say I really start to enjoy her company. She is friendly and extremely eager to help me in any way she can. I ask her for some riding clothes and she instantly agrees to go to London that afternoon to buy them for me.

  “Oh good. Maybe, I can start riding tomorrow,” I say excitedly.

  “I don’t think you are here tomorrow. If I’m not mistaken you will be in London.”

  “Oh, okay. When am I back?” I ask feeling a bit stupid.

  “I’m not sure. I can ask Mr. Smirnov’s secretary, but perhaps it might be better if you find out directly from Mr. Smirnov.”

  I smile faintly. “Yes, I’ll do that.” I stuff a bit of chicken into my mouth, and wonder what Celine must think of my presence here. How odd it must seem to her that I do not even seem to know where I will be from day to day.

  I feel another spurt of anger that Nigel has put me in this position, but I take a deep breath and tell myself that I’m in one of the most beautiful places on earth. There is so much for me to do, learn, explore and enjoy. I will treat this month as a holiday and take advantage of everything it has to offer. These are things that I could never dream of experiencing otherwise.

  After lunch I carry my new laptop to the Chinoiserie room in the West wing of the house. I earmarked it earlier as the room that I will feel most comfortable to work in.

  There is a small Victorian writing table there that reminds me of the one I have at home. It is in one corner of the room, half-hidden by a Japanese lacquer screen, and when I get behind the desk I feel quite secluded and safe. If I turn my head, I can look into the garden where there is a rose arbor close by. As I lay my laptop down and look out, and see pheasants roaming the grounds, a trio of Muntjac deer wander into my sight and start grazing. I watch them, a smile of pure pleasure on my face. What a paradise this man owns.

  How lucky to be able to live here forever.

  I sit down and open my laptop. Celine has already installed Word into it so I sign into my Dropbox account and access my manuscript. For the next few hours I hardly look up. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I dive back into that other world that I live in. Hours pass without me noticing. A knock on the door interrupts me. Celine comes in to say Nikolai cannot make dinner.

  “That’s fine,” I tell her, but I am strangely disappointed.

  The rest of the evening passes slowly. Celine hands me a bag with my riding gear. I phone Nigel. I bathe. I stand outside on my balcony and watch the sun set. I eat. I have coffee. I find a book in the library and take it up to read in bed.

  In the early hours of the morning I am startled awake at feeling a large body come into the bed and know instantly it is not Nigel. In the darkness I feel no shame, and my body opens out to welcome him.

  He takes me roughly and I welcome that too.

  It is nothing like sex with Nigel.

  Sex with Nigel is warm and slow and delicious. Like being curled up on the sofa feeling warm and safe while watching a storm lash outside. Sex with Nikolai is like standing in the middle of a storm, naked, while lighting flashes all around me, my skin tingling with electricity and my heart pounding with fear and excitement.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Nikolai

  All day long I tried to forget her. I told myself I didn’t need to rush back for a bit of pussy. Then, like a cheap strung-out addict, I climb into my car in the early morning hours, and speed to her body, my cock hard as stone. Fuck, I even run up the stairs.

  She sleeps with only a thin sheet to cover her. I walk up to her and look down on her. It’s like looking at a fucking angel. Something I dreamed up.

  I lift the sheet. Her nightgown has ridden up. I lay my hand on her thigh and push the nightgown upwards.

  She is bare underneath. One good thing. She knows how to take instructions.

  She wakes up then. In the dark she opens her legs in invitation. My body becomes electric with anticipation. I unzip my trousers and take my rigid cock out. Getting on the bed, I plunge it into her sweet cunt. She cries out. The sound is feral and uncontrolled, exciting me.

  I don’t use a condom and she doesn’t ask for one either.

  I need to be bare inside her. I just want to fill her pussy with my cum. It must be the same for her. As soon as her wet, warm pussy sheaths me, the pent-up rage and frustration gnawing away inside me eases away. She feels incredible. So much tighter than I imagined.

  I find a steady rhythm and lose myself in it. I fuck her deeply, each thrust measured, allowing me to revel in the intense pleasure of her sex.

  When she lets out her scream of pleasure and comes hard around my cock, I thrust into her faster and harder, again and again, until my own release approaches.

  I take her twice. The second time I am rough. She claws my back and grunts at every thrust.

  When I pull out of her, she looks up at me with wide eyes. In the dim light, her eyes gleam and her hair shines like spun gold. I don’t like blonde hair on a woman, but I want to bury my face in hers. I want to smell her hair.

  It won’t smell of biscuits, I tell myself, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Through the fog, the memories come.

  I leave her bed, grab my trousers, and get out of her bedroom.

  Nikolai

  1990

  We wake while it is still dark, and wait our turn to use the outside toilets. Afterwards, we wash in the unheated water. Together with all the other forgotten children we file into a massive dark, dank room with row upon row of long wooden tables and benches. It is so Dickensian it reminds me of the movie Olivera Tvista (Oliver Twist).

  We join the line of silent children moving in an orderly fashion to the counter where there are two middle-aged, uniformed women wearing blue scarves around their heads. Their hard, unsmiling eyes refuse to make contact with either Pavel or me when it is our turn. They slop thick buckwheat porridge into our trays like robots.

  Both Pavel and I are starving and we scarf down the cold food quickly. I look around for Sergei and his gang, but I don’t see them. After breakfast Pavel and I are separated.

  He is taken to a classroom for children his age, and I am forced to join a room filled with eleven and twelve year olds. All of them look defeated and resigned to their fate. There is a girl sitting in the corner, on her own, rocking away, oblivious to us all.

  The teacher wears thick glasses that make his eyes appear twice the size of normal people’s eyes. He stands stiffly, several arm lengths away from his charges. There is a thick strap of leather hanging beside the blackboard. It is well worn and there is no doubt what it is used for.

  We have History, followed by Math, followed by Geography, followed by Literature. Every change of routine is announced by the ringing of the bell. We don’t change classrooms or teachers. We simply open new books to suit the next lesson.

  As soon as recess is announced I dash out to look for Pavel. He smiles at me, and I feel relief. Unlike the children in my class who look like they have been beaten into dull acceptance, the smaller children in his class look terrified. I know I will see the same terror in my brother’s eyes too if we stay here for much longer. I have to find a way to call my uncle.

  “Just wait here for me,” I tell him and run to the Director’s office. There is no answer when I knock. Looking around me, I try the door, but it is locked. The door looks too secure to be broken in.

  Lunch is watery cabbage stew. There are a few bits of vegetables floating in it. Then it is back to more lessons. We are given a short fifteen-minute break at four when we are allowed onto a concrete playground. It is bitterly cold and the kids don’t seem to do much except huddle around in groups, shivering and waiting for one of the staff to allow us back in.

  Here is where I see the bullies Sergei had told me about. They are older than me. One looks like he might even be sixteen or seventeen. He has dark hair and a livid scar on his
face. I see them glance at me. One of them smiles. It is not a good smile. I turn away quickly and try to shield Pavel from their eyes.

  After more lessons it is playtime. We go into a big room and play with a few broken toys. Two children beat an orange ball dispiritedly. Strangely there are glass cases full of donated toys still in their packaging. It is the old Russian mentality of saving for a rainy day. No child was allowed to have its personal toy. The toys belonged to the “collective”.

  Afterwards we are sent to wash. There is no hot water so no one wants to wash properly. After pretending to wash we file into the cold chapel for half-an-hour of prayers. The teachers walk up and down the aisle to make sure that no one talks or rises from their kneeling position.

  Dinner is the same as lunch. Thin cabbage stew with a few disintegrating vegetables suspended in it, but this time there is a small piece of dry black bread to go with it.

  I eat quickly and, telling Pavel to wait for me, run to the director’s room. It is still locked, but as I walk back along the corridor, I meet the director coming towards me.

  “Good afternoon,” I greet immediately.

  “Good afternoon,” he returns the greeting, and carries on walking towards his office.

  “Director Razumovsky, I need to make a phone call to my uncle.”

  He whirls around slowly, a bizarrely graceful movement for such a fat, round man. “Yes, you do, don’t you?”

  “Can I make it now? Please.”

  “It depends on …”

  “On what?”

  “Whether you plan to be a good boy.”

  I frown. “I am good.”

  “Come into my room and we’ll see how good you can be.”

  I follow him to his room and wait for him to unlock his door. We enter the room and he locks the door. Already something feels wrong. I can see his phone on the desk.

  He pulls a chair to the middle of the room. “Sit down,” he says with a smile.