I Married a Billionaire (15 page)

With me? Nothing to lose.

I banished these thoughts from my head, focusing all my efforts on grinding my hips, watching for the particular movements that made his jaw clench and his eyelids flutter. When I purposefully tightened my inner muscles around him, he groaned softly. I'd forgotten how much fun this was, having a man completely at my mercy.

Suddenly, his expression changed. He was refocused. Watching me carefully. His eyes narrowed.

"You're enjoying this a little too much, aren’t you?"

I gaped at him.

"You're enjoying this a little too much, aren't you?"

What on earth was that supposed to mean?

"You're enjoying it too," I said. "…aren’t you?" He obviously was, but I had no idea what he was driving at.

"Being on top," he said. "Literally and figuratively."

I stopped moving. "All right," I said. "Did you…did you want to switch positions? Or what?"

Suddenly, he grabbed onto my hips and flipped us both over. I shrieked a little. Once he was on top of me, he captured my wrists and held them above my head, much like he'd done when we kissed the night before. I melted into it. As much fun as it had been to feel like I was in charge of him, this was better.

"There we are," he murmured, in between kisses. "That's the Maddy I know."

"I don't know what you mean," I gasped, as he thrust deep inside of me and sent a jolt of sharp pleasure up my spine.

"You don’t?" He smiled. "The first time I saw you, I had you pegged for the kind of girl just aching for man to come into her life and order her around." I must have made a face, because he leaned in and chastened me with a quick kiss. "In the bedroom, I mean."

"I…suppose?" I managed. I certainly wasn't going to argue with him, as long as he was making me feel like this.

"Of course you are," he said. "I saw how you reacted just now. I 
felt
 it. You can't hide the way your body responds to me, Maddy."

I moaned, wrapping my legs around him tightly. I didn't even care what kind of ridiculousness he was spouting. He was filling me up so perfectly, as if our bodies had been expertly molded together.

"Say my name," he murmured, his eyes fixed on mine. They were so dark.

"Daniel," I said.

He shook his head. For all his posturing, though, he was starting to get a little breathless. "Not that one," he said. "What you used to call me before. When I was your boss."

"Mr. Thorne," I whimpered. "Oh...Mr. Thorne…"

It felt surprisingly good to call him that, after all this time, all this forced intimacy. That was how I thought of him still, sometimes - when I looked at him and remembered - he was my boss. He was my boss, for Christ's sake, a man who'd been essentially a stranger to me until I agreed to marry him. A man who was a stranger still, in many ways, even while he was buried inside me on our honeymoon.

"Mr. Thorne," I whispered. He was smiling. A ripple of pleasure went through my chest.

"Are you close?" he intoned, inches from my ear.

I realized that I was. I nodded.

"Don't," he said. "Not until I say you can."

I stared at him. "I can't…I can't stop it."

"Of course you can." He paused in his movements. "It's simple. If you get too close, just tell me to stop, and I'll stop."

"But I don't want you to stop," I whined, feeling helpless. Why was he playing games with me?

"I don't want to stop either," he replied. "But more than that, I want you to gain control of your body. It won't be hard, if you remember what I taught you. Breathe. Be present."

"Fine." I felt frustrated already, but this was obviously something he got off on. I'd try to play along.

I took a deep breath, and focused. I realized that by concentrating, I could actually control my responses more than I'd realized. I might not understand why he wanted to do this, but it was interesting to know that I could.

I started to relax.

Just then, he slid his hand down to where we were joined.

I shuddered as he caressed me with his fingers. "So I take it I'm allowed now?" I said, shakily.

"No," he said, smilingly. But I could see he was beginning to lose his perfect composure. "Not until I say."

"That's not fair!" I felt like I was seconds away from losing all control.

"I never said I was going to make it easy on you."

I glared at him, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open for long. It was like he knew exactly how to touch me. I didn't know how long I could keep this up.

"I don't understand why you're doing this," I gasped.

"You don't?" Sweat was beginning to trickle down the sides of his face. I noticed a muscle in his jaw twitch, and I realized he was actually delaying his own pleasure in order to delay mine. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. What on earth did he get out of this?

"Please, please," I heard myself say. "Please Mr. Thorne, please…"

"Yes," I dimly heard him growl. "Beg."

"Please…please…Mr. Thorne, please…"

"Yes," he said, after what felt like a thousand years. "Yes. Do it. Come for me."

I heard someone yelling hoarsely, and I realized afterwards that it was me. The pleasure swept me up like a hurricane, and when I landed again I felt like I'd traveled a hundred miles. I was spent and panting, and Daniel was trembling on top of me, and I realized he must have finished too.

He rolled off of me, similarly breathless, collapsing on the mattress beside me. Every nerve ending in my body was shuddering with aftershocks. Never - not once in my entire life - had I felt like this.

Okay, so maybe 
now 
I understood what he got out of it.

"Thank you for…indulging me," he said, after a few moments of silence.

I rolled over onto my side and looked at him. "Is that all it was?"

He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, this wasn't just some whim, was it?"

He looked mildly uncomfortable with my questioning, but he finally answered. "No. Why, does that bother you?"

"Not at all," I said. "Obviously."

He smiled. "Sometimes people don't really…
like
 what they like," he said. "If that makes any sense."

"It does."

I slept much more easily that night, curled up in Daniel's embrace. The next day of astronaut training promised to be more exciting - zero gravity simulations and practice launches, everything we'd need to prepare for the "moon landing" at the end of it. If Sam noticed we were more relaxed and happy around each other, laughing and touching and exchanging little glances more like a real couple, she didn't show any sign of it.

It was great fun. I didn't even get sick in the motion simulators. I could have sworn Daniel was having almost as good of a time as I was, and by the time we got back to the hotel I had almost succeeded in forgetting that he wasn't really my husband.

At dinner, the subject didn't even come up. It was unusual for us to get through an entire conversation without someone even alluding to our arrangement, but we both seemed content to ignore it for now. I wasn't sure if that was a good plan, in the long term. In fact, I knew it wasn't. But just for the honeymoon, I didn't care.

I'd assumed we would be gone for whole week at least, but Daniel told me that three days was the longest he could be away from work. I wasn't too happy about the idea of our time being cut short - especially if it meant things between us were going to change. But there was no use in thinking about that now.

Instead, I focused on what we did have. Even after just a few days, I'd grown used to waking up beside him, seeing him while his eyes were still unfocused and his hair was askew. I'd always thought it was ridiculously corny when people talked about how someone could be more attractive when they were groggy and unkempt, but now, I understood. There was nothing intimidating about him when he'd first woken up - everything from his slightly puffy eyes to his sleepy, crooked smile was downright approachable, and I never thought I'd say that about a man like Mr. Thorne.

On the last day, it was time for my "moon landing." I was strangely giddy about it, maybe because it was something to focus on besides the reality of our honeymoon ending. After a simulated launch and orbit - during which I admittedly did open a bag of Funyuns and then try to catch them all in my mouth - it was time.

They had outfitted a whole room to appear like the moon's surface, with walls and ceilings speckled with stars, and an image of the earth on one side. The suits we were wearing were heavy and uncomfortable, though certainly not as bad as the real thing. I resisted the urge to quote Neil Armstrong as I stepped out onto the rocky surface.

If I stood there for long enough, I could almost convince myself it was real.

It wasn't, of course - much like my marriage to the man who was currently hopping back towards the lunar lander.

We had to catch a flight early the next morning, but once we got back to the hotel, it was clear that neither one of us felt like sleeping. It started with a smile, on his part - a crooked little number with a secret meaning that I now understood. Next thing I knew he was nibbling on my ear and telling me I'd been bad, which I wasn't sure I had been, but his voice was playful and I didn't really mind in the least.

"Bad girls get spankings," he said, and I cooed.

I stretched out over his lap, arching my back. I'd had boyfriends spank me playfully before, and I'd always found it gave me a pleasant tingle. But I'd always been too shy to ask for more. His hand was warm and strong, and even though it stung, the hits reverberated in my core, turning it molten-hot, making me quiver. I was moaning for him by the time he flipped me over and took me hard and fast, slapping his hand over my mouth when I got too loud.

It was hot, quick, and explosive. I thought that would be it for the night, but a little while later, after we'd ordered a snack from room service, he wanted it again - sweet and slow now, taking our time. When we finally went to sleep, I swear the sky was starting to lighten.

-

The next morning, he was very quiet. We packed slowly, and I didn't bother trying to engage him in conversation. I slept for most of the plane ride, again, and after we got into our taxi back home, I remembered that I wouldn't be going back to my apartment.

Ever.

Strangely, the thought didn't bother me as much as I thought it would.

As much as I'd like to say I was productive for those first few days as Daniel's stay-at-home wife, I spent most of it wandering around aimlessly, watching terribly daytime T.V. and trying to acquaint myself with the place. I unpacked some boxes, and shopped around for art studio supplies online - an easel, maybe? A new desk? A nice chair? I could spend as much as I wanted, and somehow that was more intimidating than liberating. On the third day, when Daniel got home from work, I realized I'd spent the last two hours clicking around the website for one five-hundred-dollar working stool.

He kissed me chastely on the forehead when he walked in, as he always did. We hadn't made love again since coming home, and I hadn't pressed the issue.

"I'm having trouble deciding what to get for my studio," I said.

"Get it all," he said, smiling, just before he stuck his head in the fridge.

"I think we might have a space issue." I walked into the kitchen. "So, how was your day?"

"Fine." He came up for air with a carton of orange juice. "I submitted some forms to the government today, so there's a chance we'll be called for an interview in the next few weeks. Remember what we talked about?"

It felt like a thousand years had passed since then. "Yeah," I said. "I think so. Maybe we should go over some of the details later."

"Of course." He was pouring himself a glass. "I'm not worried. And you shouldn't be either. We'll do just fine."

"Sure," I said. "It's nerve-wracking, though." Not to mention, it was the first time we'd talked about the nature of our arrangement since the honeymoon, and I suppose I wasn't quite prepared for it.

"Well, just try not to think about it for now," he said. "No use borrowing trouble."

"Why'd you bring it up, then?"

"Sorry," he said, grinning. "Greek for dinner?"

"Sure." I sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar. "One of these days I'm going to cook some real food for us."

"Why bother? We've got some of the best restaurants in the country within a twenty-mile radius." He made a dismissive hand gesture as he opened his phone.

"Well, at least it would give me something to do," I muttered.

He set the phone down on the counter and came over to me. "Anything you want to do, you can do it," he said. "You have your car. You have my credit card. Do whatever you want."

"I don't know what I want."

It was true, in more ways than one.

Wisely, he walked away and left me to think. I didn't really want to think, but it was better than trying to talk about it.  

I successfully pushed thoughts of the interview into the back of my mind, and the next day I ordered an easel and a light table. Before long, I had actually set up a studio in the larger of the two spare rooms. We got rid of the bed and superfluous furniture, and the place was roomier than I expected it to be. With the curtains open, the windows even let in a nice amount of natural light.

I started drawing in charcoal again. Slowly, at first, because it had been a while. But before long I had a few rough sketches, and one pretty good drawing of my childhood home. I'd always done still life, mostly. I never liked the challenge of trying to capture the nuance in people's faces.

I came to bed every night when Daniel turned in, but he never touched me beyond a peck on the lips. I wasn't sure if I expected it to change, but I suppose I thought it was worth the shot.

He got the call from the INS a few weeks later.

After he told me, I spent a long time pacing. There was no more drawing in the cards for me. I read everything I could find on the internet about surviving marriage fraud interviews. But none of the write-ups were particularly encouraging, because every single one of them warned me that if I had a sham marriage, there was absolutely no chance I'd be able to convince the INS otherwise.