Read Online Training Her Curves - Geneva (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance) by Christa Wick - Free Book Online
Authors: Christa Wick
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initiate play, but did she really want it?
Swallowing the bitter, unfamiliar bile of anxiety, I knotted my fingers through her hair and tugged lightly until she had to quit hiding from me and meet my gaze.
"I want you and I want you so badly I'm afraid I'll lose control. I worry that you only want me to play with you because you think I can't do without it."
The words were simple enough to say. Waiting for her response was pure hell and the reason why I hadn't dared to say them until I was on hanging by one finger at the precipice of losing her.
Again, if this was love, I wasn't sure I liked it. Love turned me into everything that had been the opposite of growing up Kehoe. Anxious, afraid, no confidence in my decisions. If my father had been alive, he would have disinherited me, stripped me of my last name and tossed me onto the streets.
"I want to know what it's like," she said, the blue gaze boring into my skull like a laser. "I want to know if it's something we can enjoy together, that will draw us even closer or push us apart."
Tears overtook her eyes, ran in fat streams down her cheeks as her throat clogged with pain.
I had to let go of her or risk hugging her so tight I cracked a rib. Stepping back, I brought my hands to my sides.
"Remove your blouse," I ordered.
Marjolein
Dylan's command took me by surprise. I thought I had encountered every version of his voice there was to hear -- big brother, CEO, cold negotiator, boss, bored, aroused, seemingly indifferent, distracted, spreadsheet excited, rugby finals excited, cranky and in need of a nap...
The man had more voices than he had bank accounts, but this one had never revealed itself to me.
"Don't make me repeat myself," he said and a shivery thrill ran up from my pussy to my nipples before it exploded hot across my cheeks.
My fingers jumped to the edge of my top. My elbows felt like they had gyroscopes inside -- unbalanced gyroscopes that made my arms wobble in impossible directions as I inelegantly pulled the material over my head.
I dropped my hands, one still clutching the blouse, to my side and looked at him. More heat seared me, his gaze so intense I worried that he had spoken again and I had missed another command because of the pounding surf of blood traveling past my eardrums.
"D-did you say something?"
He shook his head, his eyes and their line of focus fixed in place.
I had a moment's panic that I was doing this all wrong. The women Dylan had paid possessed poise and grace and bodies that most models would envy. Would the oversized curves that he seemed to enjoy so much in the bedroom be different in a playroom? Would he like the feel of his open palm against my bottom or feel like he'd just slapped the top of a bowl full of jelly?
A vision of Alexa washed the anxiety away. Not that we had much in common physically beyond our weight, but she had been almost as inexperienced as I was in the role of submissive when she first met Jake. For Jake, at least, the authenticity had been part of the appeal.
Dylan wasn't his brother, though. I'd had more demonstrations of that fact than I could count. But Dylan loved me...
I sucked in a hard breath, my lungs burning with the effort. If I didn't shut down my brain, I would roll right back around to panic mode.
"Bra," he said, startling me again. "Slowly, like that tease in Geneva I promised you would pay for."
I nodded, remembering the look in his eyes that night. It was different than the look today, softer and contemplative then.
One arm at a time, I pulled the straps down then peeled the cups away, my palm and forearm shielding my nipples from his view. He drew further away, warning me to remain in place. Stopping at the flat, silk draped object in the center of the room, he pinched one edge of the black fabric and waited.
I had barely noticed the obstruction when I reached the door. It was at hip level and my attention had been focused on Dylan and the sensual images of me placed around
Swallowing the bitter, unfamiliar bile of anxiety, I knotted my fingers through her hair and tugged lightly until she had to quit hiding from me and meet my gaze.
"I want you and I want you so badly I'm afraid I'll lose control. I worry that you only want me to play with you because you think I can't do without it."
The words were simple enough to say. Waiting for her response was pure hell and the reason why I hadn't dared to say them until I was on hanging by one finger at the precipice of losing her.
Again, if this was love, I wasn't sure I liked it. Love turned me into everything that had been the opposite of growing up Kehoe. Anxious, afraid, no confidence in my decisions. If my father had been alive, he would have disinherited me, stripped me of my last name and tossed me onto the streets.
"I want to know what it's like," she said, the blue gaze boring into my skull like a laser. "I want to know if it's something we can enjoy together, that will draw us even closer or push us apart."
Tears overtook her eyes, ran in fat streams down her cheeks as her throat clogged with pain.
I had to let go of her or risk hugging her so tight I cracked a rib. Stepping back, I brought my hands to my sides.
"Remove your blouse," I ordered.
Marjolein
Dylan's command took me by surprise. I thought I had encountered every version of his voice there was to hear -- big brother, CEO, cold negotiator, boss, bored, aroused, seemingly indifferent, distracted, spreadsheet excited, rugby finals excited, cranky and in need of a nap...
The man had more voices than he had bank accounts, but this one had never revealed itself to me.
"Don't make me repeat myself," he said and a shivery thrill ran up from my pussy to my nipples before it exploded hot across my cheeks.
My fingers jumped to the edge of my top. My elbows felt like they had gyroscopes inside -- unbalanced gyroscopes that made my arms wobble in impossible directions as I inelegantly pulled the material over my head.
I dropped my hands, one still clutching the blouse, to my side and looked at him. More heat seared me, his gaze so intense I worried that he had spoken again and I had missed another command because of the pounding surf of blood traveling past my eardrums.
"D-did you say something?"
He shook his head, his eyes and their line of focus fixed in place.
I had a moment's panic that I was doing this all wrong. The women Dylan had paid possessed poise and grace and bodies that most models would envy. Would the oversized curves that he seemed to enjoy so much in the bedroom be different in a playroom? Would he like the feel of his open palm against my bottom or feel like he'd just slapped the top of a bowl full of jelly?
A vision of Alexa washed the anxiety away. Not that we had much in common physically beyond our weight, but she had been almost as inexperienced as I was in the role of submissive when she first met Jake. For Jake, at least, the authenticity had been part of the appeal.
Dylan wasn't his brother, though. I'd had more demonstrations of that fact than I could count. But Dylan loved me...
I sucked in a hard breath, my lungs burning with the effort. If I didn't shut down my brain, I would roll right back around to panic mode.
"Bra," he said, startling me again. "Slowly, like that tease in Geneva I promised you would pay for."
I nodded, remembering the look in his eyes that night. It was different than the look today, softer and contemplative then.
One arm at a time, I pulled the straps down then peeled the cups away, my palm and forearm shielding my nipples from his view. He drew further away, warning me to remain in place. Stopping at the flat, silk draped object in the center of the room, he pinched one edge of the black fabric and waited.
I had barely noticed the obstruction when I reached the door. It was at hip level and my attention had been focused on Dylan and the sensual images of me placed around
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