Billionaire's Pet 3

By: Christa Wick

Alone, Griffin Montgomery paced the wide length of his library. He had kept the room locked during Katelyn’s stay. More than any other place in the world, the house’s library was his sanctuary and had been from early childhood. Since his mother’s death, the room’s only other visitors were Philip and Claire and, once quarterly, a cleaning staff to dust and polish under his housekeeper’s watchful eye.

Now, standing in front of an easel with a table of paints and brushes at his side, Griffin contemplated the unthinkable — bringing Katelyn to the room. More unthinkable, he wanted to paint her.

His gaze scanned the room. His landscapes filled the spaces between floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Above the fireplace, a cleaner section of wall indicated the recent removal of another painting. His mouth twitched and his brows drew together in a scowl.

Leaving the painting out on display was not an option. With Katelyn’s quick mind, she would have recognized its place of importance and that the painting was by Griffin’s own hand. Of course, as observant as she was quick, she’d notice the blank spot, too.

He closed his eyes, picturing the object of the painting. Not a woman or a man but a dog. A sleeping bloodhound, to be exact, sitting on a thick fur rug with a quiet evening’s fire warming his backside. Maudlin, yes, but Jupiter and his handler had found a nearly unconscious Griffin lost in the woods on a winter night when he was thirteen. Undoubtedly experiencing guilt over why her son had run off into the estate’s woods, Griffin’s mother had convinced the dog’s owner to part with him for a very large fee.

Jupiter was seven at the time, old for a bloodhound. He somehow survived another four years before age and bloat finally took him. Griffin had felt more grief at Jupiter’s passing than he did in later years when his father and then his mother died. Hell, at the end of their lives, he felt no love for his parents, but the painting of Jupiter still had the power to squeeze at Griffin’s chest.

That was exactly why Katelyn couldn’t see it. Her beautiful hazel eyes would go all soft and knowing and she would ask him about the dog. Then her questions would venture into other areas of his past. As private and stoic as Katelyn was, the woman wanted to get personal with him. She wanted to know him beyond his cock and money.

Not acceptable.

His scowl deepening, Griffin wrapped his hands around the edges of the canvas he had finished priming a few hours before. He could not allow Katelyn into the library. Nor could he continue playing with her, not with her injured ankle and the blow to her head from when she fell on the jogging path. Teasing and loving her in bed through the night had been low risk — for Katelyn.

He, on the other hand, had been infected with an unfamiliar weakness. Every step away from her that morning had clawed at his stomach and tried to hook and drag him back into the bedroom. Fuck if he hadn’t wanted to cuddle on the bed with Katelyn tucked in the circle of his arms, his nose pressed against her thick, fragrant tresses and his fingers leisurely stroking her yielding flesh.

Releasing the canvas, Griffin rubbed roughly at his cheek. Giving her his bedroom to use had been his first mistake. He knew already that, when Katelyn left, he would have to switch rooms, maybe even throw out the bed and set fire to the sheets that had encased her willing body.

At Griffin’s command, Philip and Claire would quietly erase evidence of Katelyn’s stay. Not once would they comment on his display of weakness, but they would know one of Griffin’s pets had finally burrowed under his skin.

Hell, they likely knew already — he had brought her to stay at the estate overnight. His past lovers only came for business events — formal balls, the company’s egg hunts at Easter and the executive Christmas party. The women never stayed the night. If he fucked them after the guests were gone, it was bent over his desk, the grand piano or the billiard table and strapped down as often as not. Before his cum had time to dry on their thighs, he packed them in the back of the limo for Philip to chauffer home.

Striding past the easel, Griffin dropped heavily onto the divan he had repositioned for Katelyn’s sitting. He pressed one of the silk pillows across his face to block the room even as his mind continued to race its perimeter in search of an escape.

He couldn’t paint Katelyn and he couldn’t play with her as planned. He needed to send her home with a check for the agreed upon sum and return to the work he had neglected the last few days or rent a very experienced submissive to relieve his frustrations.

He snorted and pulled the pillow tighter to his face. He would need to rent an entire dungeon of submissives to fuck Katelyn out of his system. With a dozen women plugged, gagged, bound and blindfolded, he might find one he could look at for an hour or two without seeing Katelyn’s face.

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