Submitting to the Billionaire(4)

By: Georgia Le Carre

“No, no,” he sobs. “I beg you don’t hurt me. Please.”

“I don’t understand,” he wails. “If you know I have nothing why do you keep asking for what I haven’t got? What do you really want?”

I grab a fistful of his sweaty hair and raise his head. His eyes search mine, hoping for a glimmer of vulnerability. He sees none. Only icy cold eyes. He knows this is one debt he must pay. I smile coldly.

“I want your wife, Nigel.”

Chapter Three


It’s still dark when I wake up. The first thing I do is glance at my mobile phone. No messages from the hospital during the night. Good. No news is good news.

Relieved, I slowly turn my head and look at Nigel. He is sleeping on his side and facing my direction. A lock of his dark hair has fallen over his forehead, and the little lines of stress around his eyes and mouth are less noticeable, making his boyishly handsome face look almost sulky. The sight makes me smile.

No matter how bad things are with Dad at the moment, all I have to do is look at Nigel’s face to make me realize just how incredibly lucky I am. I have everything I have ever dreamed of. The perfect husband. The ability to spend my days doing the thing I love; writing. Never having to worry about financial problems. Living in my beautiful house tucked away in a leafy area of fashionable Fulham. I sometimes even think I live in a little slice of heaven.

And …

Next year, I will be twenty-three, and that is the age Nigel and I have earmarked to start our family. Nigel wants six children. Obviously, we won’t have that many. I think I’ll be happy with four, or even three for that matter. Gently, I brush the lock of hair off his forehead. He is a deep sleeper and doesn’t stir. I hope all my children have his gloriously dark hair. Especially the boys.

A little flutter sets up in my stomach at that thought.

After all these years, six to be precise, my love for him has settled into a delicious warmth inside my chest. Of course, I don’t pretend to understand the hectic world Nigel inhabits when he gets into his suit and walks out of our front door.

In fact, if I can help it, I don’t want to know that world. Once when we were first married, I travelled into the city to meet him at a swanky bar. At first, he seemed to be the Nigel I knew. Then, without any warning, right before my astonished eyes, he morphed. He was unrecognizable. Veins bulged in his neck, his face became red, and his eyes filled with murderous rage. The most foul language imaginable began to pour out of his mouth. He even used the C word. Absolutely horrified, I watched him mercilessly rip into a poor barrista. All that fury and venom because the man had let too much water run into his coffee!

I couldn’t say a word. I was too shocked. I had never seen that side of him before. All I could do was stare blankly while he explained to me that to succeed in the city one has to be willing to unleash the ugliest, cruelest and most intolerant version of oneself, and watch it run wild.

I felt horrible.

I told him that I didn’t care if he didn’t bring home as much money as he did. I didn’t want him to have to do that. I offered to get a job and help with the household finances if he wanted to take a different career path than the high-pressured world of being a broker.

He laughed and said he wouldn’t give up what he did for the world. That it was actually a liberating thing to be wild and cruel and ferocious. I can even remember his exact words.

“Especially, when you haven’t slept all night, and you have ten callers lined up, and you know every one of those fuckers wants to call you a four-letter word.”

No, I don’t understand his world at all, but I love him dearly so I try and do anything I can to make his life better.

I reach up and gently kiss his naked shoulder.

He is so tired he doesn’t respond, but I have a vague stirring between my legs, probably because of what he did last night. He had to work late and by the time he came home I was already asleep.

He woke me up with butterfly kisses all over my body, and then he made love to me. Mad, passionate love. It’s been a very long time since he was that hungry for me. He couldn’t get enough.

When it was over and I had come hard, he held my face gently between his palms and whispered that I was the most important thing in his life. That he would die for me. It reminded me of how it was at the beginning when we were in the first flush of love.

He was thirty-four and I had just turned sixteen when we met. I had gone to a friend’s birthday party and her uncle came along. The uncle was Nigel. He was so crazy for me he would wait outside my school. At first I wasn’t sure, but he was so handsome and so experienced that from the moment he kissed me I was a goner. Since I was so young we had to keep it a secret from my father.