The Billionaire's Match Is Three Percent novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: Day Twelve

On Friday at noon I stood in front of Winston's closet and looked at his ties.

He owned forty of them.

He had never worn one in front of me.

They hung in a perfect row, sorted by color from dark to light.

"Day 12," I said.

"I know what day it is."

"The model says today is when we end."

"The model doesn't know us."

"The model knows everyone."

He stood behind me in his shirtsleeves, with Phyllis's seventeenth message of the morning still lit on his phone.

She had written, in her usual way, that she was clearing his afternoon and would tell no one why.

"I don't want to talk about the curve," he said.

"What do you want to do?"

"Anything you tell me."

I chose a tie.

It was dark blue silk, narrow, and soft as water.

I turned around and held it between my hands.

"Do you trust me?" I said.

"Yes."

"Take off your clothes. All of them."

He did.

He undressed in the pale light from the window, without hurry, and without once looking away from my face.

He stood there at last, long and lean and naked, already half hard.

I walked around him once.

"On the bed. On your back."

He lay down on the white sheets.

"Hands up."

He lifted his arms.

I wrapped the silk around his wrists, over and under.

Then I tied it to the wooden slats of the headboard in a knot I had learned on a climbing wall.

I tugged it to check.

"Can you move?"

He pulled.

"Not much."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"It doesn't hurt."

"Then you don't move."

I took off my clothes slowly.

I took off my glasses last, folded them, and set them on the nightstand next to his watch.

I knelt between his legs and looked.

He was breathing fast through his nose.

His cock lay hard against his stomach.

He was watching me as if I were a bomb he hoped would go off.

"You're going to take what I give you," I said, "and no more."

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I'll take what you give me."

I started with my mouth on his stomach.

I kissed a line of small wet kisses from his navel to the crease of his thigh, never touching what he wanted.

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