His by Carolyn Faulkner (recommended reading txt) 📕

deeply and saying, as he watched the plane become a small dot on the horizon, "Strip."

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Here? Right here?"

He stood staunchly in front of her. "That was the last person on the island but us. Yes, right here, right now. And you know that I don't like to repeat myself."

Raina was already reaching for the spaghetti strap of her flowery dress, but her response was a soft, "Yes, Sir," as she none the less looked nervously around her, as if she expected someone to jump out from behind the nearest palm tree.

When she was done and completely bare, he affixed her cuffs in place - ankle and wrist - and took the small bundle of her clothes and tucked it under his far arm, as he wrapped the other around her waist and began to slowly guide her to the low slung house. "Do you think I'm lying to you about us being the only two here?" he asked, noting her nervously scanning head with a growl.

"No, Sir," she peeped, those eyes flitting to his quickly, then to the sandy ground in front of them.

"Good. Then calm down."

After taking a good long look into his eyes, she answered more assuredly, "Yes, Sir."

The entire month they were on that island, she was never allowed to put on clothing. When she got cold, he allowed her to wrap herself in a sheet, but nothing more than that. She wasn't allowed to close any doors - not that there were many in the ultra open design of the flowing house, but still - not even the bathroom door. Their shared closet had enough clothes for him for a month on his side, but her walk in dressing area was completely bare, except for a pair of sturdy leather sandals he insisted she wear if she decided to walk about the island, which she never did unless forcibly compelled by him.

Knowing that she liked to cook for relaxation and as a point of pride was quite accomplished, he'd had his personal chef create quite a few meals that were stocked in the deep freeze, but he'd also stocked ingredients for meals of hers that were his favorite - which actually ended up being the simplest things she cooked.

The only other things he had brought or bought could all have been categorized under entertainment... in one way or the other. He'd broken down and had the island wired for satellite, and bought two large plasma TVs, for her, because she liked to have the television on a lot, even if she wasn't watching it. They'd actually collected a list of the movies they'd always wanted to see and had never gotten to, and he'd had them procured and brought here, along with stacks of books, and an ornately carved wooden trunk that he'd given to her as a wedding present, that contained all of the toys he intended on using on her. With the exception of a few duplicates, it contained pretty much every sexual toy and implement they owned.

He'd bought the island after he'd made his own first million, feeling somehow that, because he'd added to the family coffers, he could feel free to indulge himself in this one thing. Otherwise, he rarely spent any money on himself, beyond a typical playboy love of fast cars. He was a working man, and that was what he did for fun.

Until her. Until his Raina.

She was his entertainment. He could play with her endlessly and never become bored, and that was largely what he did for the entire month, bringing her to excruciatingly hard orgasms on their bed, on the kitchen counter, and while she was tied, spread wide, between two extremely handy palm trees, facing the open ocean nude, like some kinky Venus.

He knew that she would have a very hard time with that, despite the fact that that he'd reassured her from that first moment that he'd denied her clothing that they were alone. Raina worried that some passing ship or fisherman or merman or whatever might possibly catch a glimpse, but he was firm in his guarantees. This island was well situated in the middle of a cluster with three other, smaller, uninhabited islands that he'd acquired as soon as he could, and for just that reason - complete privacy. He spent all of his life around people, and when he came down here, he just wanted to be alone. In all of the time he'd spent down here, he'd never seen another soul, or even so much as another boat.

So when she'd tugged back on his hand when he'd told her that first time that he wanted them to go stroll along the beach, he'd given her a look that had spurred her on, but he knew he hadn't really succeeded in reassuring her.

Frankly, he didn't much care if someone on a boat or a ship got an eyeful. It was as if he thought someone was going to set up to sell tickets to see the bound, naked lady on the eccentric billionaire's island. But he wasn't going to waste his breath repeating himself. He was just going to do with her exactly as he pleased.

The first thing he did once he got her secured was duck under one outstretched arm and come up behind her, spreading his hands wide and claiming her breasts. There was no other way to describe it - those big, platter sized hands came up and seized those wonderful mounds, plumping them up, massaging them in a much less than gentle manner, loving the way she inadvertently rubbed her bottom against the front of his khaki shorts as his fingers found those straining nipples and tugged and rolled them mercilessly.

When she threw her head back, trying to move to cope with the ache his pinching, pulling fingers were forcing on her, it landed on his broad shoulder, and his lips descended on the side of her neck, nibbling his