Training Her Curves - Geneva (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance) by Christa Wick Page B
Authors: Christa Wick
Ads: Link
like Joey.
A woman who had me imagining a whole house full of kids.
A woman who winced when she thought I might be reaching for an engagement ring.
Following me, Joey hesitated at the door to the master suite. "There's probably not enough time to decide if they have so many buyers lined up. A condo for you would--"
I shook my head. "I'm not buying for me, love. I'm buying for us."
"I don't know that I can decide today," she answered, her voice so soft and distant I could barely hear her.
"One last room," I suggested, my heart slamming against the back of my ribcage despite my calm exterior. For the two weeks since closing, workers had been in the house, all their attention devoted to one room, the large den contained within the master suite.
Walking toward the door, I looked at her over my shoulder.
"That's just the study, isn't it?" Her brows furrowed. "It doesn't even have windows."
I didn't answer, just slipped through the door, with its own deadbolt and a security panel inside. I moved to the opposite end of the room, dodging a draped table, to where a sturdy, oversized leather couch had been placed. I didn't sit down, just looked at the framed image attached to the wall. There were more photographs around the room. I had placed them all myself, denying the workers the pleasure.
Marjolein filled the frames, images of her that had been taken during the catalog and advertising shoots. The photos didn't make it to print. Most of them were candid shots Rick Wells had taken when she wasn't looking. Others, like the one above the couch, were posed but deemed far too sensual for advertising despite her lush body being clothed, not even the outline of a nipple visible beneath the gauzy fabric unless you looked really long and hard.
I had looked long and hard -- and often.
A gasp behind me revealed Joey's presence.
"You already bought the house..."
Her stunned tone made me relax. I had expected an accusatory edge to her words, one that might be looming if I didn't carefully handle the situation.
"Yes, because you love it," I answered then twisted the imaginary knife in my chest a little harder. "And I love you."
"This is a playroom," she whispered.
Unable to read her mood any longer just by listening, I turned to look at Marjolein. Her eyes had gone wet, something that happened every other time we came together, which was not often enough with my living in a hotel suite and her staying in her little apartment despite all my offers and protests.
I knew bringing her here would be the end of our current impasse, I just didn't know which way the outcome would swing -- us together, my ring on her finger, or the annihilation of my dreams and my eventually going back to the man I had been before I met her.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She wasn't moving into the room and I couldn't get my feet to work.
"It is a playroom," I responded, frustration twisting my words until they sounded harsh. I tried to soften my tone. "But it can be any kind of room you want, a study again, a studio, a nursery..."
Her lips quivered and I found my legs again. I rushed across the room and wrapped my arms around her before she could think to flee. "Baby, please tell me what's wrong. How can I fix it when you pretend everything is okay?"
She buried her face against my shoulder, her answer muffled. "You made this room but you don't want to play with me."
Tension squeezed my chest. It wasn't that I didn't want to play with her, I just didn't trust myself. Before Geneva, I had imagined my mark on her, the imprint of my hand that would fade in a few seconds, the thin line of flesh kissed by a flogger that would be gone before the after care was complete. I was a master of such things, exercising consummate control -- with women I cared nothing for beyond an hour of their time and their bodies.
What if I made a mark on Joey that didn't fade?
What if she didn't enjoy the ones that did?
Unschooled in protocol, she already had tried to
A woman who had me imagining a whole house full of kids.
A woman who winced when she thought I might be reaching for an engagement ring.
Following me, Joey hesitated at the door to the master suite. "There's probably not enough time to decide if they have so many buyers lined up. A condo for you would--"
I shook my head. "I'm not buying for me, love. I'm buying for us."
"I don't know that I can decide today," she answered, her voice so soft and distant I could barely hear her.
"One last room," I suggested, my heart slamming against the back of my ribcage despite my calm exterior. For the two weeks since closing, workers had been in the house, all their attention devoted to one room, the large den contained within the master suite.
Walking toward the door, I looked at her over my shoulder.
"That's just the study, isn't it?" Her brows furrowed. "It doesn't even have windows."
I didn't answer, just slipped through the door, with its own deadbolt and a security panel inside. I moved to the opposite end of the room, dodging a draped table, to where a sturdy, oversized leather couch had been placed. I didn't sit down, just looked at the framed image attached to the wall. There were more photographs around the room. I had placed them all myself, denying the workers the pleasure.
Marjolein filled the frames, images of her that had been taken during the catalog and advertising shoots. The photos didn't make it to print. Most of them were candid shots Rick Wells had taken when she wasn't looking. Others, like the one above the couch, were posed but deemed far too sensual for advertising despite her lush body being clothed, not even the outline of a nipple visible beneath the gauzy fabric unless you looked really long and hard.
I had looked long and hard -- and often.
A gasp behind me revealed Joey's presence.
"You already bought the house..."
Her stunned tone made me relax. I had expected an accusatory edge to her words, one that might be looming if I didn't carefully handle the situation.
"Yes, because you love it," I answered then twisted the imaginary knife in my chest a little harder. "And I love you."
"This is a playroom," she whispered.
Unable to read her mood any longer just by listening, I turned to look at Marjolein. Her eyes had gone wet, something that happened every other time we came together, which was not often enough with my living in a hotel suite and her staying in her little apartment despite all my offers and protests.
I knew bringing her here would be the end of our current impasse, I just didn't know which way the outcome would swing -- us together, my ring on her finger, or the annihilation of my dreams and my eventually going back to the man I had been before I met her.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She wasn't moving into the room and I couldn't get my feet to work.
"It is a playroom," I responded, frustration twisting my words until they sounded harsh. I tried to soften my tone. "But it can be any kind of room you want, a study again, a studio, a nursery..."
Her lips quivered and I found my legs again. I rushed across the room and wrapped my arms around her before she could think to flee. "Baby, please tell me what's wrong. How can I fix it when you pretend everything is okay?"
She buried her face against my shoulder, her answer muffled. "You made this room but you don't want to play with me."
Tension squeezed my chest. It wasn't that I didn't want to play with her, I just didn't trust myself. Before Geneva, I had imagined my mark on her, the imprint of my hand that would fade in a few seconds, the thin line of flesh kissed by a flogger that would be gone before the after care was complete. I was a master of such things, exercising consummate control -- with women I cared nothing for beyond an hour of their time and their bodies.
What if I made a mark on Joey that didn't fade?
What if she didn't enjoy the ones that did?
Unschooled in protocol, she already had tried to
Similar Books
