The Billionaire's Payment (BBW Erotic Romance) by Alexis Moore Page A

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    “And that’s why I have a proposal for you, my sweet.”
    A proposal?   My heart started beating faster.  It didn’t sound like marriage, but if he asked me to stay, I would.  I couldn’t bear the thought of being without him.
    “Go ahead.”
    “I want to set you up in a house somewhere…probably Mayfair…so that I can visit you whenever I like.”
    “Are you sure?”  I kept my voice steady so as not to betray my disappointment.  It would have been what many women wanted, but I was greedier than I’d realized.  I wanted more.  Jared could afford to put me up in the most expensive house or apartment, but this was the place that was important to him.  He’d told me that he spent most of his time here and I wanted to be where he was most.  I didn’t want to be stuck in some house while he brought other women here.  This was our special place.  I couldn’t bear the thought of another woman in this bed…riding Jared’s beautiful penis or lying under him while he hammered it into her.
    “Yes, I’m sure, my sweet.”  I relaxed and let him pull me into his embrace.  “A week is not enough for me to get my fill of you.  A month is too short.  Even a year.”
    “Okay,” I agreed, not meeting his gaze.
    The little case I’d brought with me didn’t hold much, but it contained all I needed.  I would enjoy one glorious week with him and then I’d go.  It would rip my heart out, but like pulling a plaster off a wound—I’d rather the pain be short and intense, than long and lingering.
    ***
    They started softly, playful pats that were almost caresses.
    Then they began to smart pleasantly, making me wince when one blow landed exactly where another had been struck and not given time to dissipate.
    Then they really stung, making me squirm against Jared, needing him to fill me…and deeply.
    Then they became unbearable.  At first I worried as much about Jared’s hand as I worried about my bottom.  As he kept going, long after I begged him to stop, I ceased worrying about him and worried only about myself.  Tears of frustration which had started as I had squirmed unfulfilled on his lap, changed into tears of hopelessness.  I felt dominated by him…as I had been dominated by my mother all my life.  I fought against his hold, but he held me down and kept going.  I couldn’t fight him I realized in despair.  He was bigger and stronger and a mean bully.
    The only thing I could do was… surrender.
    And memories came flooding in as I stopped resisting and he kept going.  Memories sharper than the sting of his blows.  Ones I had forgotten.  Things which I hadn’t realize had hurt me deeply at the time.  Memories that all included my mother and a lifetime of wondering what I’d ever done to make her hate me so much.
    I was five again and clinging to my grandmother’s sari crying.  She was crying too, and kissing me and telling me that she had to go back to grandfather because he was lonely, but she would come back to see me soon.  I ran back into the house as the taxi drove away, still crying, hoping that my mother would hold me.  She instructed the nanny to take me up to the nursery.
    I was nine watching my mother kiss my newborn brother and show him off to her friends proudly.  He was a cute baby she said and looked just like her, unlike me, she’d laughed, who must have been switched with another baby at birth.
    I was sixteen and in a room with a plastic surgeon with whom my mother was discussing my ‘monstrously’ large breasts and how embarrassing and unnatural they were.  The man took my hand and gently asked me if I wanted to go ahead knowing that he would likely have to repeat the procedure in about two years’ time and probably again if I didn’t have children within five.  I said no, afraid of having one operation, terrified of having two or more.  In profile her perfect face looked etched out of  marble as she kept her face resolutely forward and ignored me