An Heir For The Billionaire: His Every Command (Part One) (A BDSM And Domination Erotic Romance Novelette) (2nd Edition) (2 page)

The restaurant was surprisingly quiet; I could hear that the patrons were talking, but it was done in politely muted tones, creating a low hum that was a pleasant accompaniment to the smells of cooking food that rode the air. Inhaling, I took in exotic spices, seafood, searing meat, and things I couldn’t even identify. I turned and watched Randall approach the modest, elegant hostess desk situated only a few feet from the front door. The woman behind it smiled broadly but politely when she saw him. “Good evening, Randall. It’s nice to see you in again; your usual table is ready.” The woman turned to me and gave me a less broad but still polite smile. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am; Randall already knows his way, I’m sure.” Randall chuckled and gestured for me to precede him. I followed as the hostess led us through the restaurant. The scents intensified as we moved closer to the open kitchen, where I could see dozens of chefs moving in carefully choreographed synchronicity.

The table was cozy, and was removed from the main dining area. The white tablecloth was absolutely spotless and perfectly crisp along the circular edge of the table. The place settings were basic, which gave me a sense of relief; while I had some grasp of how to deal with complex place settings, I wasn’t sure what I’d do if there had been a dozen pieces of table silver in front of me. Instead, there were a couple of crystal glasses, a plate, and a few pieces of silverware. Randall stepped between the hostess and myself and pulled a seat out for me, and I caught the hostess’s amusement at the gallant gesture. I sat down and watched as Randall coolly and casually slipped the hostess a bill whose denomination I couldn’t read.

Almost the moment that my date sat down across from me, a waiter approached the table, all polite attention. “Good evening again, sir,” he said. “What would you and your companion like to have as an aperitif?” Randall glanced at me to see if I had any opinion on the matter before answering.

“I believe we’ll both have a negroni,” he said. “And you can simply tell Vincenzo that I put myself in his hands this evening. Whatever he thinks is best.” For a moment, I felt the full weight of Randall’s status and as the waiter nodded and left us, I wondered what insanity had possessed me to agree to this date. Just how wealthy was the man sitting across the table from me? And what had caused him to ask me out?
Rich guys typically think they can just buy anything or anyone
, I thought to myself, remembering some of the more well-to-do guys I had dated in the past. None of them had ever had the air of casual command that Randall had demonstrated though. And I had never been with anyone who was so thoroughly certain of their position in the world that they could just walk into a super-exclusive restaurant with a stranger and expect perfect service. More to the point, I had never dated anyone who had a standing reservation anywhere, much less a place as expensive as this. The hostess had implied that Randall was here constantly. Who was this guy?

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had a negroni,” I said, at a loss. Randall raised an eyebrow slightly, the faint smile never leaving his face.

“It’s an excellent cocktail, very good for the appetite, but most places that offer them don’t do them justice; I only order them where I know they’ll be right. I should ask: do you have any seafood allergies? Or food allergies in general?” I laughed.

“I have never met a fish I haven’t been able to happily eat,” I replied, feeling some of my unease evaporate. “As far as I know, I don’t have any food allergies.” Randall nodded.

“Are you an adventurous eater, Jasmine?” I considered the question for a moment.

“If you’re paying, Randall, I am as adventurous an eater as I have to be.” Randall chuckled and I felt myself smiling and relaxing again. The waiter appeared again and deposited two glasses of a vivid red-orange liquid on the table, one in front of each of us. It had an orange slice floating amongst the ice, and the glass itself was interesting in shape; it looked almost like a brandy snifter.

“Chef Vincenzo sends his regards, and I will bring your first course shortly.” Randall nodded and the waiter left quickly, giving us privacy once more. I picked up the cool glass and took an experimental sip; the drink was potent, bitter and sweet all at once, with a heavy alcohol flavor that hit me hard. It was definitely a drink for sipping, I thought, wetting my lips with the liquid once more. The orange seemed to mellow the drink a little bit.

“What do you think?” Randall asked, sipping his own and putting it down, smiling at me faintly.

“I like it, I think. I can definitely see how it could stimulate the appetite.” Randall nodded. We started to talk about ourselves; I was curious about the mysterious man in front of me, who had invited me to dinner after seeing me giving my ex-boyfriend hell. Before we could get very far, the waiter arrived again, depositing tiny plates in front of each of us.

“This is a selection the chef has called ‘Salt and Sweet,’ designed to be an accompaniment to the cocktails you chose. Enjoy.” And he was gone. I glanced around the restaurant briefly; the nicest place I had ever been to was an upscale steak house, and even that place hadn’t had the quiet, sophisticated elegance of the restaurant that Randall had brought me to. I turned my attention onto my plate again. I recognized blue cheese, though it was a much finer texture than I’d had before, with strong marbling of the mold in pristine white. I recognized a slice of perfectly ripe pear, razor-thin, lying on top of it. There was also a date wrapped in bacon, a slice of another cured meat drizzled with honey, pale melon with dark salt, and a few other tiny items. I looked at Randall, who had already started eating his appetizer, though somehow he was still watching me. I picked up my fork and started to eat, taking bites between sips of the cocktail.

“Tell me about yourself, Jasmine,” Randall said, and we started chatting in earnest, though at a leisurely pace. I explained that I’d been working my way up as a copywriter, the only decent job that my degree had been able to secure me. I found myself gradually opening up to him, following his lead; the appetizer plates were taken away and another course followed, with the cocktails being replaced with glasses of wine that complimented each course. I had never eaten so well in my life. Every so often I had to stop in the middle of what I was saying to enjoy the food in front of me: aromas, textures, flavors more complex than I had experienced in my life, perfectly balanced and seasoned. I noticed, but didn’t remark on the fact that while Randall encouraged me to tell him everything about myself, he dodged my questions about his history and what he did for a living. “I make a very comfortable living, and I enjoy my work—but I also know when to get away from it,” he said, giving me a smile.

Somehow the conversation turned to the future; I remarked that while I could possibly see myself getting married, if I found the right person, I didn’t think I’d ever want kids. “I have younger siblings,” I said, remembering all of the times I’d been made to babysit. “After enough years of changing diapers, making sure toddlers didn’t kill themselves, and listening to screaming and crying and tantrums, I think I’m just about done.” Randall raised an eyebrow at that, the smile leaving his face for a moment. There was something in his bright eyes I couldn’t quite read—but then in an instant he was back to polite curiosity and amusement.

I was trying to resist his subtle charm, but between the alcohol and his easygoing manner, I found myself becoming more and more curious about him, intrigued by his charisma. He made just enough eye contact with the waiter to be polite, thanking him quietly at each course while somehow giving me the impression that his attention never wavered from me. I was becoming intensely attracted to him in spite of myself, and in spite of the instinct in my mind to be suspicious of his motives in treating me to such a luxurious meal. We were eating dessert—a bizarre but delicious confection with a sweet vinegar reduction and perfectly ripe berries, hints of chocolate that I couldn’t see somewhere in the mixture, when Randall’s teasing began to become more seductive.

“I’m sure you’re aware that you’re a tremendously gorgeous woman, Jasmine,” he said, putting his dessert spoon down and finishing the last sip of the crisp, sweet wine that had been served with the final course. “It can’t be a mystery why I invited you to dinner. I wanted to get to know you—and of course an evening in the company of such a beautiful woman is a reward in and of itself.” He leaned forward slightly. “I wonder something.” I felt myself blushing at his intent gaze, which lingered at my lips before traveling down to my breasts for just a moment. He looked into my eyes once more and smiled. “You’ve demonstrated that you’re an adventurous eater, certainly… and a very passionate woman. How brave are you?” I licked my lips unconsciously, tasting the lingering sweetness of the dessert wine.

“I’d like to think I’m fairly brave,” I said cautiously, wondering where he was going with the question. Randall’s eyes caressed me again.

“You’ve seen that I’m held in fairly high esteem here. If you stripped naked, they would continue to serve us without any interruption.” I laughed, putting my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. I was shocked at the assertion.

“I think I’ll take your word on that,” I said when I recovered; glancing around to see if anyone had heard. If they had, no one gave any indication. It did seem as though we were a world apart from the rest of the diners in our secluded area, everything a distant hum.

“I’ll prove it to you. Take your panties off—leave the dress on if you’re more comfortable. Put the panties on the table and see if the waiter even notices when he comes by to bring us coffee.” I felt the blood rush into my face as I blushed a bright red. I squirmed in my seat, feeling my pussy becoming wet from the caressing words that Randall had been treating me to. It was true that my libido was revved up after all of the attention, not to mention getting rid of Matthew in such a dramatic fashion. It wouldn’t have taken much for any man to seduce me in the state of mind I was in, much less one as a handsome and charming as Randall. I glanced around; uncertain of if I should go through with what could be his idea of a joke. “You said you were brave,” he reminded me, a teasing note in his voice. My pride was stung. I bit my lip and glanced around once more, making sure that no one was watching us. I slipped my hands under the table. “Slowly, please. No need for a flourish, my dear.” I raised an eyebrow at Randall, feeling an odd mixture of compulsion and daring. I carefully slid my hands underneath the hem of my dress and up along my legs, shifting my hips and slithering as unobtrusively as I could. I slid my panties down over my hips and along my thighs, down to my knees, and then raised my legs to take them the rest of the way off, pretending I had dropped something on the floor.

I felt almost coy as I sat up straight in the chair, producing my panties and laying them quietly on the table where the napkin had been. I glanced at them: black lace stark against the snowy white table linen. There was no way the waiter wouldn’t notice them. Randall glanced at them and chuckled. “I should have suspected they’d be black,” he murmured, sitting back and smiling in private amusement. “Does your bra match?” I felt myself blushing again, acutely aware of my bare pussy. I felt a draught of cool air brushing across my hot, sensitive skin, and bit my lip, squirming again.

“Yes,” I whispered, self-conscious. I almost reached out to take the panties off of the table, but the waiter arrived and I sat as still as I possibly could as he put a demitasse of dark, rich coffee in front of each of us, his gaze not moving away from either of our faces.

“Excuse me, before you leave, Michael,” Randall said, and I felt my heart pounding with anxiety. The waiter turned toward Randall, and I writhed in discomfort, thinking of the panties sitting plainly in the open, just waiting to be seen. “Is the private meeting office occupied?” The waiter considered the question for a moment and I scowled at Randall, wondering why he was prolonging the torture of my discomfort.

“I don’t believe it is. I’ll make sure. Would you like to use the office? I wasn’t aware you were here on business.” The waiter glanced at me and I thought my heart would pound through the walls of my chest.

“It’s an interview of sorts. Please do let me know when you bring the check.” The waiter nodded and left and I almost screamed. Instead I shakily picked up my coffee and sipped it, taking a deep breath. Randall’s blue eyes were glittering with amusement. “How wet is your pussy right now, Jasmine?” he asked lowly. “I imagine it’s soaking—what with all the excitement...” I felt my hands shaking as I took another sip of coffee and put the tiny cup down.

“You’re right,” I admitted, feeling my chest heat up as the blush crept downward from my face. I was embarrassed and aroused in equal measure, the two feelings somehow intensifying each other with each passing heartbeat. Randall smiled and sipped his coffee, his gaze like a heated caress all over me. The waiter came back, bringing the check in a tasteful black folder; Randall didn’t even look at it before inserting a pitch-black card into the sleeve.

“I was able to confirm that the private office is available,” the waiter said. “Shall I bring your check there?” Randall shook his head.

“Bring it straight back and we’ll adjourn there, if it isn’t too much trouble.” The waiter nodded and left us once more. I raised an eyebrow at Randall.

“Just how much esteem do they have for you here?” I asked, incredulous. Randall’s eyes glittered and I saw him suppressing a smile.

“We just spent somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars. If I wanted to take you into the manager’s office they would have let me.” I was stunned at the offhand way that Randall mentioned spending a thousand dollars on a dinner. The waiter brought back the check and I glanced nervously at the table, wondering how it was possible for him to have possibly not noticed my panties as plain as day. He left before I could get my answer, as Randall was adding a tip and signing the charge slip. “Ah, my mistake; with the tip it’s over a thousand dollars. I take very good care of everyone here, Jasmine. They would never deny me any fair request.” He rose and extended a hand to me. “You may want to take those with you,” he said with a little smile, barely gesturing to my panties. I furtively snatched them up, balling them in my hand and wishing I had thought to get my purse from my house before allowing Randall to whisk me away.