The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Cathleen’s jaw tightened, and she gritted her teeth as Xavier’s fingers glided over her skin. She held herself back, resisting the urge to give in to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure. He enjoyed the resistance she put up and the battle between them as she fought against him. But he knew it wouldn’t last for long.

“Fuck,” the word hissed out between her teeth-a half curse, half sigh-as he withdrew from her most sensitive spot, only to invade her with a sudden thrust. His fingers curled inside her, an unspoken invitation to succumb. Cathleen’s body betrayed her with a shudder, slick warmth coating his probing digits.

“Mmm, it feels like you want my dick in you right now, Cat.” Xavier’s voice dripped with taunting arrogance. “Do you want me to fuck you? Bend you over?”

Silence hung, broken only by her stifled whimper. Her silence was submission enough for now.

As he observed her, Xavier couldn’t help but notice the quickening rise and fall of her chest, a clear sign of her arousal despite the stoic stance she held. Withdrawing himself from her, he left her feeling empty and desirous. The game had begun. His fingertips trailed delicately over her skin, teasingly avoiding the sensitive bud that yearned for his touch. She writhed beneath him, craving more with each passing moment, never satisfied.

“Damn you,” she panted, the words catching on short breaths.

“Patience, Cat.” Xavier’s voice was firm, an iron will clashing against her resolve. “You’re not there yet.”

He alternated, playing her body like an instrument, each stroke calculated to draw out the tension. Back and forth, again and again, until frustration poured off her in waves.

This was no longer about climax. This was control, a battle of wills. Cathleen, the sharp-tongued lawyer who never lost, was losing to the rhythm he dictated. And goddamn if he didn’t revel in it.

“Please…” The word was barely audible-more air than sound-but it struck through the room like a gavel.

“Please what, Cat?” Xavier eased his touch, drawing away just when she needed him most. “I can’t hear you.”

“Xavier!” Her voice cracked the polished veneer fracturing. He had chipped away at her composure, piece by piece.

“Almost there,” he whispered, the promise as much for himself as for her. “Just a bit further.”

Her body begged, her spirit wavered, and in the charged silence of the room, Cathleen’s defenses crumbled. Xavier knew without looking; he felt it in the desperate clutch of her inner walls, the ragged edge to her gasps.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing his advantage, “let go.”

But he wouldn’t let her. Not yet. Not until she was truly his and knew who exactly was in charge.All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

Cathleen’s breath hitched in a desperate attempt to cling to her defiance. Her face, a canvas of crimson, betrayed her arousal as his fingers danced within her, painting her insides with slick strokes of lust. She gnawed at her lip, hard enough to draw a bead of blood.

Xavier leaned close, his voice a velvet rasp. “I can feel it, you know.” His fingers curled inside her, touching her in places that screamed for more. “How much you want it.”

A soft whimper escaped her lips, and Xavier reveled in the sound, pushing deeper, pressing against her secrets. The squelching melody of flesh filled the room, coupled with her sharp intake of breath. Then-abruptly-he withdrew his fingers from her.

Her eyes snapped open, glinting with fury and raw need.

“What the hell?” Cathleen spat, her voice laced with venom and vulnerability.

“Did you really think I wasn’t going to make you work for your pleasure?” Xavier taunted, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been taking what I give, acting out like a little brat.” His fingers plunged back into her, relentlessly. “And now you’re going to have to earn it if you want to cum.”

“Xavier, please,” she gasped between thrusts. “I need to-” But he cut off her plea, stealing her climax once again.

Her groan was pitiful, and he laughed, pushing his fingers right back into her and fucking her with them, getting her close but not letting her get to the peak she wanted. After the third time, she was gasping his name and little pleas, and he knew he had her. “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Please… Xavier!” She pleaded. “Please, I want to cum. God.” She went on.

“Ah, I’m sure you do, but all your desperate little noises have gotten me worked up, so now I want to cum.” He said to her. “You’ll have to take care of that first,” he said, pointing at his rigid cock and stepping back, making a show of licking her juice from his fingers. “Or I can let you go, and you can go back to our room and try to deal with it on your own. It’s your choice.” There was a real chance she’d opt to go to their main bedroom over dealing with him, and that would be fair. But when he saw her cheeks flush impossibly darker and her eyes slide from him, he knew what she’d chosen.

He waited, knowing the surrender in her silence.

“Okay,” she mumbled, her voice a hoarse whisper lost in the cavernous room.

“Speak up, Cat.” His grin was sharp, a slice of white in the dim light. “I said okay,” she snapped back, defiance lacing her words despite the heat flushing her cheeks.

“What do you want me to do?” Her query hung between them, charged and waiting.

“Get on your knees.”

The command was simple, his tone detached. As if he were instructing her on some mundane task, not dictating her submission. With her hands cuffed behind her, the act wasn’t just humbling-it was a challenge. He relished the complexity of simplicity.

He retreated to the leather armchair, a throne of sorts, positioned about three feet from the spectacle. From there, he watched her movements intently. Each shift, each tilt of balance, was scrutinized.

She descended first onto one knee, a slight quiver betraying her struggle. Then the other, with more grace than expected. She looked up, eyes seeking approval or perhaps an ounce of mercy.

Xavier’s response was a crooked finger, beckoning her closer. The silent command screamed louder than any words could.

Her head bowed low; she crawled. A forced, awkward gait on her knees, her breaths shallow and uneven. Every inch closer to him was a reluctant admission of his control over her body and will.

By the time she settled between his spread legs, her chest heaved with exertion. Xavier leaned forward, the faintest hint of mockery in his eyes as he smoothed her hair back from her flushed face. Her scowl was delicious, etched deep into her features as if carved by the blade of their twisted game.

“Good girl,” he taunted, though the words were anything but kind. “Now, let’s begin your lesson.”