Chapter one

 

"You can't be serious! You have the money. Besides, don't you want your trophy to be someone you can show off?"

"I do show you off, Marisa, in case you've forgotten."

"How can I?" Giving her 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 for all the world like what she'd been before she'd 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, playing her like a fisherman plays a hooked fish. 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 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 making 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, legs and arms 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 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 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. Take a look at that rock on your finger, the diamonds in your lovely ears, that little necklace. Call my dictates 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 spit at him. He was too far away for the spittle to reach him, but damn it, she 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 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, couldn't put any strength behind the effort. "I'm not your god-damn 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 fence. They were silhouetted in the glass, and he angled her so she saw. "Take a look at yourself. 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 accenting 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 she shaved her pussy. At least that was one thing he hadn't had to insist on. After all, a model needed 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 nearly touched. "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, reddish 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 planner of private parties specializing in high end sexy clothes and other erotic items had brought her in 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 for her, 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 noted 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 backward step. "Fuck you."

"Yes, you may." Another step brought her so close to the door she might 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 using the girls who'd crossed his path, but although he'd cuffed a few hookers around, 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 and if he had Marisa truly under his control, this 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."