The Billionaire's Payment (BBW Erotic Romance) (6 page)

“I didn’t want to.  I was planning to go and live with my grandparents in India…then my grandmother died.”

Then I wouldn’t have met you. 
The thought made me unbearably sad.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“An actress,” I told him, unable to hide the wistful note in my voice.  “My grandmother was a great Bollywood actress.  I wanted to be just like her.  Our favourite movie was
Khabi Khabie
and we used to sing along whenever we watched it. 
Khabi Khabi, mera dil mein
…” I broke off, embarrassed when I realized that I had been humming the words.

“Go on, it sounds wonderful,” he encouraged.

“No.  My grandmother was the singer not me.  She had a great voice.”

“Didn’t your mother want to be an actress too?”

“Yes, but according to my grandmother, Mum couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.”  I laughed and then covered my mouth, feeling embarrassed at my disloyalty.  But I couldn’t help myself as I remembered her cameo role in one of Grandma’s hit movies.  “She was given a small part as my grandmother’s daughter in a movie.  She looked really wooden.”

I fell silent as I thought about my grandmother.  She would have been sixty-four in November—less than two years older than my father.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

“It was all arranged.  My grandparents were going back to live in Mumbai and they were taking me with them.  She was going to introduce me to Sanjay Leela Bhansali who directed two of Bollywood’s greatest movies starring Aishwarya Rai,
Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam
and
Devdas
.”

“I’ve met Aishwarya Rai, well she’s Rai Bachchan now.”  He smiled as I looked at him in astonishment.  “She and several other Bollywood actors were at the 2006 Commonwealth Games.  She’s ever bit as beautiful as she appears on stage.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to compete with her and the new breed of Bollywood actresses,” I admitted.  “Things were so different in my grandmother’s time, but there are still really good roles for mother and grandmother figures in Indian cinema.”

“
You
as a mother or grandmother?”  He seemed amused by the idea.

“With the right makeup I would make a great mother or grandmother!” I informed him indignantly and then laughed too.  It was a compliment.

“You were telling me about your grandmother,” he prompted.

“I’ve been depressed since she died just over four years ago.  She was the only one who seemed to understand me.”

“How did she die?” he asked gently.

“She fell and hit her head on my grandparents’ marble entryway.  I remember the night.  She was taking me to the Zee Cine Awards.  They were being held in London that year and she was so excited.  She was on standby to present an award if one of the presenters cancelled at the last minute.  I was already dressed and waiting downstairs.  She came down safely and did a twirl to show me the full outfit.  Her heel must have caught the hem of her sari.  She fell backwards.  My grandfather was standing right there, but he couldn’t catch her…she fell…sometimes I can still hear the sound of it.”

Jared gathered me in his arms. “Sorry, baby, I won’t have asked if I’d known the subject was still so painful.”

“It’s alright.”  I stroked the soft hairs on his forearm and the action soothed me.  “My mother never talks about her.  There are no pictures of her up in the walls of our house.  Sometimes it feels like I only imagined her.  But then I watch one of her movies and it brings her to life again.”

“What about your grandfather?”

“He lives all alone in India with a house full of servants.  He was still willing to take me with him, but my mother refused to let me go.  He’s never forgiven her for bringing shame on the family name, so she spites us both by keeping me here.”  My eyes widened as a thought struck me.  “Oh my God, I think I might have been conceived in this very hotel.”

“What?”  Jared stared at me in disbelief.  “If there was any doubt left in my mind that you were the perfect woman for me, this erases it.  This adds to the symmetry.”

I wanted to ask him what he meant about me being the perfect woman for him.  Was he talking as a wife or as a lover?

“It’s a bit of a sordid story really,” I admitted, responding to his question rather than ask him several of mine.

“Go on.”  Jared’s voice sounded angry.

“Mum was here for the Miss World Pageant and somehow her tiara got misplaced.  She made a huge fuss and demanded to see the owner of the hotel.  An employee rushed away promising to get Mr Codrington, your grandfather, I think.  She and Dad have different versions of what followed next—he claims that he told her his name when he arrived on the scene; she claims he didn’t.  To cut a long story short, my mother thought he was quite attractive and during the conversation managed to find out he wasn’t married, so she decided that she wanted him.  She wanted to live in London and a good-looking, suave, much older hotel owner would be the perfect husband for her.  I don’t know how she managed to give her chaperon the slip, but she ended up sleeping with my father and then telling him that they would have to get married or my grandfather would kill her.  Dad had been divorced for three years at the time and was glad to marry her.  He’s always said that she was like a little spitfire when she’s angry and he fell in love with her at first sight.  It was only when she introduced him to her chaperon as the hotel owner David
Codrington
that Dad corrected her that she realized her mistake.”

“David and your mother probably played each other.”  Jared sounded amused at the thought.

 “I was born less than nine months after they got married.  My mother claims that she suffered post-natal depression, so I had a nanny almost from the day of my birth.  When my grandmother came to see me and realized that my mother didn’t hold me or play with me, she begged my mother to let her take me back to Mumbai with her, but my mother refused.  My grandmother stayed with me for six months and then came back every summer to spend three months until I was sixteen.  Then she persuaded my grandfather to buy a house over here and I live with them.  He was mostly away in India on business, so it was just the two of us.  We had so much fun!”

“Your life has lacked fun in these last years.  It sounds like you’ve been living the live of a ghost and your parents did nothing about it…except to try to use you when the need arose.  I’ll make sure that you have more fun than you can stand.”

I smiled and hugged him tightly.

“Your mother is such a beautiful woman.”  I tried not to let his words hurt me.  They were the truth.  “Yet I sense she’s jealous of you.”

“Because of my grandparents,” I explained.  “They see through the façade she shows the world.  My grandfather refuses to spoil her and that infuriates her. She’s beautiful, but she uses that beauty as a weapon.  She’s the least traditional woman I know.  Never cooks Indian food and hates when I talk Hindi.  Yet, whenever she has to attend any sort of British function she wears a sari—she never wears one to an Indian function, though.   She likes being seen as exotic and different.”

“I’ve seen her in saris…her nipples…”  Jared coughed and I knew he was embarrassed to confess that he’d admired my mother’s brazen, pointy nipples.  “I always thought what a lucky bastard your father was.  Now I’ve met you, I’m the lucky one.”

I tried to still my heart.  He’s talking about sex and not love!

“Do you eat Indian food?” I asked, trying to lighten the conversation.

“Not since university.  My chef’s French and I tend to let him surprise me.”

“I’m going to cook you a nice Indian curry, but I will need the ingredients.”

“Write them down and I will have someone get them for you.”

“It would be quicker if I just went out and bought them myself.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”  He nibbled on my neck and I obediently arched it.  “I want you right here where I can be inside you…any time, day or night.”

“Yes,” I whispered, wanting him to take me now.  How could I have thought that anything in
Fifty Shades of Grey
was gross?  In less than a day of Jared’s lovemaking I understood the need to have him buried so deeply inside me…front or back…that his body fused with mine.

“But first, my sweet, I’m going to spank you.”

“Why?  “Did I do something wrong?” My voice trembled as I asked the question.  I wasn’t worried about the pain, it was the thought that I had somehow displease him that almost brought tears to my eyes.

“No, my sweet.  You’re perfect.”  Jared’s hand which had been caressing my bottom moved to gather some of the moisture abundantly coating my clitoris.  It was embarrassing to be so wet, but he’d seemed to like it when he had eaten me earlier, so I guess he liked it.  He slid a moistened finger into my rectum.

“Ah…ah.”  The pain was maddeningly sweet.

“Tilt up,” he ordered and I arched my lower back obligingly.  He then forced another finger inside me and I gasped out my pleasure as he pressed them in to the knuckles.  I forgot about his promise to spank me as he once again turned me facedown on the bed and slid his hard length inside me.  Reaching for the lube he moistened the large plug again and slid that into my rectum and once again I was caught between the hardness in my two places.

It wasn’t until he had pulled out of my vagina when I had come, taken out the plug and worked himself into my bottom, inch by thick inch, and brought us both to completion that he said, “You respond beautifully, but I sense that you’re holding a part of yourself back from me.  Spanking will release the tension in both your body and your mind.  It will free you to be the person you were meant to be and in turn you will receive pleasure in its utmost form.”

“Jared, any more pleasure than you’ve already given me will surely kill me!”  I wasn’t being facetious.  There were times I felt like I hovered between life and death.

“You won’t die, my love,” he assured me with a light kiss on the tip of my nose.  “Instead you’ll feel gloriously alive!”

“I’m not sure, Jared.  Once this week is over I have to go back to my old life,” I said uncertainly.   What if he made me into some sex-crazed woman who needed sex like a drug?  What if I went around attacking men in the street?  

“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 all the way home in the taxi.