Training Her Curves - London (A BBW Billionaire Domination & Submission Romance) by Christa Wick
Authors: Christa Wick
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afraid -- maybe of him, maybe of me.
"What do you call yours," I asked directly since he had either missed or ignored my veiled question.
"The Vault." His fingertips trailed down my back, shivers racing after them. He seized my waist but made no attempt to move me, just leaned into me and buried his face against the hair covering my neck. He inhaled then released the air as a warm sigh.
"It looks like a crypt, not a vault," I protested. I had started to shake and he wrapped his arms around my center, his palms warm where they cupped the underside of my breasts.
"When you think of a cocoon sheltering a chrysalis, what color do you see?" His mouth had managed to forage past my hair and his lips pressed damp against my throat.
"White." Not wanting to catch Simon's intoxicating scent, I kept my breathing shallow. I fought the urge to relax, parts of me trembling, other parts wriggling.
"It starts as a yellow-green, turns white and then transparent. But those are the colors you see on the outside -- as an observer," he corrected. His grip on me tightened and I felt the hard press of his cock against my spine. "Wrapped inside all those protective layers of white silk, what color do you think you would see?"
"No color," I whispered. Black, the absence of light. That was the answer he was leading me toward, but why?
I released my death grip on the doorframe but I didn't step into Simon's Vault. Turning in his arms, I pressed my palms against his chest. He let go without a struggle. I could barely see his face. He was a shadow in a room made from shadows.
Reaching up, he brushed his thumb against my cheek. I knew that, in a few more seconds, tears would be flowing across the spot if I didn't get out of the suite.
"I'm not going in there." I pushed out of his reach, the act almost forcing me into the very room I wanted to avoid. "You can keep your black, at least until the spreadsheets dictate otherwise."
"Spreadsheets?" He punctuated the question with a chuckle. Simon flattened his back against the padded leather wall and swept his arm toward the bedroom. "You really are your brother's sister."
"Half-sister," I corrected, trying to slide past him in a way that would keep us from touching. I already felt cold from where I'd lost the contact of his body. Parts of me wanted to return to the heat he offered, to have flesh melting against flesh.
"So there's a ray of hope for me yet -- if it's only half."
He moved toward me and I started walking faster, clearing the threshold into the bedroom and voicing the command for full lights. The expected brightness proved too much and I shielded my eyes, my pace slowing. I wanted to run from the suite, but he had laid his trap carefully, the outer rooms as dimly lit as the bedroom had been, everything designed to either seduce or slow my escape.
His fingers captured my wrist and then he gently drew my hand down. "Do you know why Rick set us up?"
"There is no 'us,'" I answered sharply. Up until Simon's question, I had felt like Rick had set me up. I had looked at the two men as accomplices to a crime I hadn't quite figured out.
Simon's mouth contorted for a moment, the pinch of his lips unreadable. "True. He didn't set us up -- he set me up. You were collateral damage, pudding."
I twisted my grip free from his light grasp and spun in what I hoped was the direction of the door to the outer rooms. Simon didn't lay a hand on me to stop me -- all he needed were his words and the dark rasp to his voice.
"He wants to return me to the human race and you, Riona, are the bait."
I turned, the violent speed at which I spun and the slick, polished floor beneath my feet causing me to lurch toward Simon. Mumbling and crying, I fell into his arms.
"Why would you say that?" I couldn't remember exactly how many months we'd spent sparring on the phone and online. Everything but his words and a voice he no longer spoke with had been buried behind electronics. We were digital colleagues or
"What do you call yours," I asked directly since he had either missed or ignored my veiled question.
"The Vault." His fingertips trailed down my back, shivers racing after them. He seized my waist but made no attempt to move me, just leaned into me and buried his face against the hair covering my neck. He inhaled then released the air as a warm sigh.
"It looks like a crypt, not a vault," I protested. I had started to shake and he wrapped his arms around my center, his palms warm where they cupped the underside of my breasts.
"When you think of a cocoon sheltering a chrysalis, what color do you see?" His mouth had managed to forage past my hair and his lips pressed damp against my throat.
"White." Not wanting to catch Simon's intoxicating scent, I kept my breathing shallow. I fought the urge to relax, parts of me trembling, other parts wriggling.
"It starts as a yellow-green, turns white and then transparent. But those are the colors you see on the outside -- as an observer," he corrected. His grip on me tightened and I felt the hard press of his cock against my spine. "Wrapped inside all those protective layers of white silk, what color do you think you would see?"
"No color," I whispered. Black, the absence of light. That was the answer he was leading me toward, but why?
I released my death grip on the doorframe but I didn't step into Simon's Vault. Turning in his arms, I pressed my palms against his chest. He let go without a struggle. I could barely see his face. He was a shadow in a room made from shadows.
Reaching up, he brushed his thumb against my cheek. I knew that, in a few more seconds, tears would be flowing across the spot if I didn't get out of the suite.
"I'm not going in there." I pushed out of his reach, the act almost forcing me into the very room I wanted to avoid. "You can keep your black, at least until the spreadsheets dictate otherwise."
"Spreadsheets?" He punctuated the question with a chuckle. Simon flattened his back against the padded leather wall and swept his arm toward the bedroom. "You really are your brother's sister."
"Half-sister," I corrected, trying to slide past him in a way that would keep us from touching. I already felt cold from where I'd lost the contact of his body. Parts of me wanted to return to the heat he offered, to have flesh melting against flesh.
"So there's a ray of hope for me yet -- if it's only half."
He moved toward me and I started walking faster, clearing the threshold into the bedroom and voicing the command for full lights. The expected brightness proved too much and I shielded my eyes, my pace slowing. I wanted to run from the suite, but he had laid his trap carefully, the outer rooms as dimly lit as the bedroom had been, everything designed to either seduce or slow my escape.
His fingers captured my wrist and then he gently drew my hand down. "Do you know why Rick set us up?"
"There is no 'us,'" I answered sharply. Up until Simon's question, I had felt like Rick had set me up. I had looked at the two men as accomplices to a crime I hadn't quite figured out.
Simon's mouth contorted for a moment, the pinch of his lips unreadable. "True. He didn't set us up -- he set me up. You were collateral damage, pudding."
I twisted my grip free from his light grasp and spun in what I hoped was the direction of the door to the outer rooms. Simon didn't lay a hand on me to stop me -- all he needed were his words and the dark rasp to his voice.
"He wants to return me to the human race and you, Riona, are the bait."
I turned, the violent speed at which I spun and the slick, polished floor beneath my feet causing me to lurch toward Simon. Mumbling and crying, I fell into his arms.
"Why would you say that?" I couldn't remember exactly how many months we'd spent sparring on the phone and online. Everything but his words and a voice he no longer spoke with had been buried behind electronics. We were digital colleagues or
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