OWNED BY A BILLIONAIRE

CHAPTER FOUR : THE SURRENDER

[Continued from Chapter Three — Ava is strapped to the chair. Alexander stands over her.]

"Now," he said. "We begin."

I held my breath.

He walked behind the chair. I couldn't see him anymore. I could only hear his footsteps. Feel his presence. Feel the heat of him somewhere behind my back.

The first thing he did was touch my hair.

Not pull. Not grab. Just... touch. His fingers slid through the strands. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.

"You have beautiful hair," he said.

I didn't answer.

"Long. Dark. Soft." His fingers reached the ends. Stopped. "I want you to wear it down from now on."

"I like it up."

"I don't care."

His hands moved to my shoulders.

I flinched.

"Stay still," he said.

"I can't."

"You can. You will."

His thumbs pressed into my muscles. Circled. Pressed again. A massage. Firm. Deep. Finding knots I didn't know I had. My head fell forward. A sound escaped my lips something between a sigh and a moan.

"There," he murmured. "That's what I want to hear."

"I didn't mean to"

"I know." His hands moved lower. Down my back. Over my shoulder blades. Stopping just above where the nightgown began. "Your body knows what it needs. Even if your mouth won't say it."

"My body doesn't know anything."

"Your body knows me." He leaned closer. His lips brushed my ear. "It knew me the moment I bought you. It knew me the moment you signed. And tonight, Ava..." His breath was hot on my neck. "Tonight, your body will show me everything your mouth hides."

I shivered.

He noticed.

"Cold?" he asked.

"No."

"Liar."

His hands moved to the straps of the chair. Not unbuckling. Just... touching. Tracing the leather. Letting his fingers brush against my wrists.

"You're trembling," he said.

"You're close."

"I'm always close." His fingers found my pulse point. Pressed. "Your heart is racing."

"You're terrifying."

"No." His voice was soft. Almost gentle. "I'm inevitable."

He walked around the chair. Knelt in front of me. His face was inches from mine. His eyes were gray. Dark. Hungry. I could see the stubble on his jaw. The small scar near his eyebrow. The way his lips parted slightly when he looked at my mouth.

"I'm going to unbuckle the straps now," he said. "And you're going to stay still."

"That's not a question."

"No." He reached for my right wrist. Unbuckled. "It's not."

The leather fell away. My hand was free. But I didn't move it.

He took my wrist. Held it. His thumb traced circles on my skin.

"Good girl," he said.

"Don't call me that."

"Why? Because you like it?"

My face burned.

He unbuckled the left strap. Then my ankles. One by one. Slow. Deliberate. Every touch lingered. Every brush of his fingers left fire on my skin.

"Stand up," he said.

I stood.

He stayed kneeling. Looking up at me. The power shift was strange him below, me above. But I didn't feel powerful. I felt like prey being toyed with.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

His eyes moved down my body. Slow. Like he was memorizing every inch. The nightgown was thin. Almost see-through. I might as well have been naked.

"Turn around," he said.

"No."

"Ava."

"No."

He stood. Fast. Towering over me.

"I said turn around."

"You said a lot of things."

His hand shot out. Grabbed my hip. Pulled me against him. His body was hard. Hot. Every muscle pressed against my softness.

"Turn. Around."

I turned.

His hands stayed on my hips. Pulled me back against him. I felt everything. His chest against my back. His breath on my neck. His hardness against my lower back.

"This is what you do to me," he said against my ear.

I stopped breathing.

"You walk into my auction. You wear my clothes. You sit in my chair." His hands slid up my sides. Stopped just below my breasts. "And my body forgets that you're a transaction."

"Then remember," I whispered.

"I don't want to."

His hands moved higher. His thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts.

I gasped.

He stopped.

"Say my name," he said.

"Alejandro."

"No. My real name. The one only you use."

"Alexander."

"Again."

"Alexander."

His hands moved higher. Cupped my breasts through the thin fabric. Not squeezing. Just... holding. Just feeling.

"Your heart is under my hands," he said. "I can feel it beating."

"That's not my heart."

"It's close enough."

His thumbs found my n*****s. Circled. Once. Twice. Three times.

I moaned.

He stopped.

"Turn around," he said again.

This time, I turned.

His face was inches from mine. His eyes were dark. His lips were parted.

"Touch me," he said.

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

My hand lifted. Shaking. I pressed my palm against his chest. His heart was racing too.

"You're not as calm as you pretend," I said.

"No." His hand covered mine. Pressed it harder against his skin. "I'm not."

"Then why do you act like you are?"

"Because if I let myself feel what I want to feel..." He leaned closer. His lips almost touched mine. "I would have taken you on that chair. In front of everyone. Before the auction was even over."

My breath caught.

"You wanted me that much?"

"I wanted to destroy you that much." His free hand cupped my face. His thumb brushed my lower lip. "There's a difference."

"Is there?"

His eyes darkened. He pulled me closer. His hips pressed against mine. I felt everything. Every inch of him. Every heartbeat. Every breath.

"Tonight," he said, "I'm going to take you to my bedroom. And I'm going to lay you on my bed. And I'm going to spend the whole night learning every sound you can make."

"What if I don't want that?"

"Then you'll lie there. Silent. Still. And I'll learn you anyway."

"That's not consent."

"No." His lips brushed the corner of my mouth. "It's surrender."

He pulled back. Took my hand. Led me out of the studio.

Down the stairs.

Through the dining room where candles flickered.

Up the stairs to his bedroom.

The door opened.

The fire was lit.

The bed was waiting.

He led me inside. Closed the door. Turned to face me.

"Undress me," he said.

"No."

"Ava."

"I said no."

He stepped closer. His hands found the straps of my nightgown. "Then I'll undress you."

He pulled the straps down.

The nightgown fell.

I stood naked in front of him.

His eyes moved down my body. Slow. Worshipful. Hungry.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Don't."

"I won't lie to you. Not about this." His hands touched my shoulders. Traced down my arms. Stopped at my wrists. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever owned."

"I'm not a thing."

"No." He pulled me against him. His clothes were rough against my bare skin. His hands were hot on my back. "You're not."

He kissed me.

Not my mouth. My shoulder. His lips pressed against the curve where my neck met my collarbone.

I moaned.

He kissed lower. My chest. The space between my breasts.

I grabbed his hair. Pulled his face up.

"Look at me," I said.

He looked.

"If you're going to do this"

"I am."

"Then stop treating me like glass."

His smile was sharp. Dangerous. "Glass doesn't beg, Ava."

"I'm not begging."

"Not yet."

He picked me up. Laid me on the bed. Black sheets. Too many pillows. His scent everywhere.

He stood above me. Looking down.

"Last chance," he said. "Tell me to stop."

"Stop."

"No." He knelt on the bed. Moved over me. His body hovered above mine. "You don't mean it."

"You don't know what I mean."

"I know your body." His hand pressed against my heart. "It's racing. Your skin is flushed. Your lips are parted." He lowered himself. His chest pressed against mine. His hips pressed between my legs. "You want this as much as I do."

"I want to hate you."

"You can hate me tomorrow." His lips brushed my ear. "Tonight, you're mine."

His mouth found my neck.

His hands found my hips.

His body found the space between my legs that was already wet. Already waiting. Already betraying me.

"Please," I whispered.

"Please what?"

I couldn't say it.

He thrust against me. Not inside. Just against. The friction made me see stars.

"Please what, Ava?"

"Please don't stop."

His smile was dark. Triumphant. "That's my girl."

He kissed me. Deep. His tongue found mine. His hands pinned my wrists above my head. His hips pressed harder. The heat between us was unbearable.

"I'm going to take you now," he said against my lips. "And you're going to feel me for days."

"Do it."

"Beg."

"I already begged."

"Beg again."

"Please, Alexander. Please."

He entered me.

Not slow. Not gentle. Hard. Deep. Like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.

I screamed.

He covered my mouth with his hand.

"Quiet," he growled. "I want to hear you. But I don't want anyone else to."

He moved inside me. Each thrust deeper than the last. Each stroke hitting somewhere I didn't know existed.

My hands were still pinned above my head. My legs wrapped around his waist. My body arched beneath him.

"You feel..." He couldn't finish the sentence. His forehead pressed against mine. His breath was ragged. "You feel like mine."

"I am yours."

"Say it again."

"I am yours, Alexander."

He thrust harder. Faster. The bed hit the wall. The fire crackled. The mirror on the ceiling showed us two bodies tangled together. Two people who were supposed to hate each other.

But there was no hate here.

Just heat.

Just hunger.

Just him and me and the sound of our bodies coming together.

"I'm close," he said.

"Me too."

"Look at me."

I looked.

His gray eyes were dark. Almost black. His jaw was tight. His lips were parted.

"Come for me," he said.

I shattered.

The world disappeared. There was nothing but his body and mine. Nothing but the feeling of him inside me. Nothing but the sound of my own moans and his groans and the bed and the fire and everything.

He followed me seconds later. His body tensed. His head fell back. A sound escaped his throat something raw. Something real.

He collapsed beside me.

His arm draped across my stomach. His breath hot on my shoulder.

We lay there. Silent. The fire dying. The room cooling.

"Tomorrow," he said finally, "you'll hate me."

"Probably."

"And tonight?"

I turned my head. Looked at him.

"Tonight, I'm exactly where I want to be."

He smiled. It was the first real smile I'd ever seen on his face.

Then he pulled me closer.

And I let him.

The fire flickered. The mirror showed us tangled together. His hand was on my hip. My head was on his chest. His heart was still racing.

"Mine," he whispered.

I didn't answer.

But I didn't disagree.