Tied to the Billionaire

By: Sam Crescent

“What’s in this for you?” he asked finally. “You’re obviously an intelligent and cultured woman. Why get involved with this rabble?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do, sir. These people need help.”

“You truly believe that?”

“I do.”

“And you thought you could make me believe, too?”

“I’d hoped I could, yes. That’s why I asked to speak to you personally. You’re young, educated, a different generation from the greedy swine who raped America for their own gain.”

“Like my father, you mean?”

She blushed in spite of herself. Normally she was more diplomatic.

“Well, then, Olivia—” The way he emphasised her first name made her shiver. “I have a proposition for you.”

Chapter Three

The instant he set eyes on Olivia Alcott, he saw her on her knees. The image came to him unbidden, unlike the fantasies he so often summoned to amuse himself. His twisted desires could not have been further from his mind. He’d been preoccupied with the strike and all the other manifold concerns of his industrial empire. Still, there was something about her erect posture, her trim curves, the set of her lush mouth, that called to his dominant nature and turned his thoughts from business to forbidden pleasure.

She was a modern woman—that much was immediately clear—self-confident and assertive. Although adequately polite, her forthright manner lacked any hint of the deference to which he was accustomed. She spoke to him as an equal. Yet his instincts told him that under her steely exterior lay something soft and yielding, a spirit hungry for surrender to the sort of power he loved to exercise.

Probably she didn’t realise it herself, but Olivia Alcott was a natural submissive, born to be mastered.

This sudden insight distracted him. He could scarcely look at her without imagining her graceful limbs wound with rope, her neat bosom bared to his pinching fingers, her lively brown eyes hidden by the blindfold that would give him licence to use her however he chose. His cock swelled to an uncomfortable bulk inside his trousers. He was grateful that the motoring duster he wore concealed the evidence of his excitement.

When he shook her hand, he sensed her shock of unconscious recognition. Her breath quickened and the colour rose in her smooth cheeks. Her voice grew softer as she entreated him to increase the millworkers’ wages, laying out the arguments, pleading with his better nature. He wanted to make her beg for something quite different.

An inspiration seized him then, a stroke of brilliance that would enable him to solve multiple problems at once.

“Olivia, I have a proposition for you.” She did not resist when he led her to the automobile and installed her inside. As he breathed her lilac perfume mingled with her clean sweat, his erection grew more insistent. “There’s to be a ball this weekend at Wavecrest, my house in Newport. My mother has invited what she considers to be the cream of society, including every eligible—that is, single and wealthy—female she can think of. She’s determined to marry me off to one of these creatures, regardless of my wishes.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Her frown of perplexity delighted him. He could practically see the wheels turning in her agile mind as she tried to understand his motives.

“I need an escort, a woman to keep at my side all weekend so I can fend off the advances of all these would-be Mrs MacInytres. Come back to Newport with me. Spend the weekend. If you do, I’ll seriously consider the question of raising the workers’ salaries.”

Olivia laughed, a bright, clear sound that sent a stab of want to his groin. “Me, a poor professor’s daughter, at a society ball? I’d be as out of place as a Hottentot in the White House! I don’t have the airs and graces of a Vanpatten girl. And what would I wear?” She indicated her dusty brown frock. “I doubt very much this would be appropriate.”

“No one need know who you are—we’ll invent some mysterious identity for you. You can be the illegitimate American child of a Hungarian prince, how’s that? As for clothing, I will supply everything you’ll need.” He gave her luscious body a frank once-over that brought the blush back to her face, to his immense satisfaction. “I suspect your measurements are quite comparable to my sister Ann’s. You could wear one of her dresses. But no, that won’t do—you must be the most resplendent creature at the ball. We’ll stop at Ann’s dressmaker on the way and have you fitted for a new gown. With adequate monetary incentives, I’m sure the dress can be ready by tomorrow evening. We’ll pick up a whole kit for you, tennis and boating outfits, morning attire, underclothes. With jewels to match each ensemble, of course…”

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