An Heir For The Billionaire: His Every Command (Part One) (A BDSM And Domination Erotic Romance Novelette) (2nd Edition) (7 page)

“I’m looking for Randall Barksby,” I said quickly, feeling vaguely silly in my adventure surrounded by all of the serious business going on around me. The woman’s eyes widened slightly and she looked at me more sharply. I tried to divine what was going on behind her dark brown eyes, but she kept her face a polite mask as she scrutinized me, giving me no hint.

“Mr. Barksby is generally very busy, ma’am,” she said, keeping the polite tone in her voice. “Do you have an appointment? I’m afraid I can’t allow anyone up to see him unless he’s expecting them.” I had to think fast.

“I was told Mr. Barksby is the CEO of this company, do I have the wrong individual?” I asked, keeping my tone professional and crisp. I needed to at least seem like I knew what I was doing, I told myself sternly. The woman’s chilly façade melted just a fraction.

“Yes, Mr. Barksby is the CEO of Barksby Industries. Did you have an appointment to meet with him?” I forced down the surprise I felt at the admission that Randall was exactly who his card proclaimed him to be. I decided I would have to let the situation play out, and give a proper pretense.

“I have an important document to deliver to him,” I said, gesturing to my purse. It was large enough to contain something like a file or an envelope. As long as she didn’t ask to see it, I was safe. “I’m not supposed to let anyone other than Mr. Barksby see it,” I added, to forestall the question. The woman accepted my assertion easily and reached into the desk for a slip of paper. She scribbled something on it quickly and slid it across the shining surface toward me.

“Show this pass to the security guard at the last elevator, and he’ll allow you to use it to go up to Mr. Barksby’s office.” I took the pass and felt a moment’s fear; what if there was a Randall Barksby, CEO of Barksby Industries, but the man that I had met last night wasn’t him? I wracked my mind as quickly as I could for a way to confirm that I wasn’t about to embarrass myself and cause a scene that would end up with me being escorted out into police custody. An idea popped into my mind and I almost laughed at the audacity of it.

“I’m sure you understand that I need to make sure that I’m not handing my document over to a personal assistant or a secretary or even a second-in-command who might have access to Mr. Barksby’s office,” I said confidentially. The receptionist nodded understandingly. “Do you happen to have a picture of Mr. Barksby that I could look at? I’ve never met him before and if I mistakenly give this to someone else…” I let the sentence die off, giving the woman a meaningful look. She hesitated a moment before looking down at her terminal, mulling over what I said. She typed a series of commands into her computer and turned the screen to face me. The man in the picture she showed me matched the man I had had dinner with the night before; the same piercing blue eyes and dark hair, the same air of confidence and gorgeous bone structure. I smiled at the woman. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” She gave me another polite smile, a little warmer this time, and turned back to her work as I began to move away from the desk, headed for the elevators she had gestured toward when she had explained about the pass.

The security guard barely glanced at the slip of paper before laying a key card against a sensor next to the elevator, activating the doors. He gave me a little smile as I passed him, and I wondered what it was he thought I was there to do. I didn’t entertain the question for very long; the elevator doors closed and I looked for the buttons to choose my floor, realizing that I hadn’t been told for certain where Randall’s office was in the immense building. There weren’t any buttons at all other than a small “Door Open” and “Door Close” and I almost pressed the open button to ask the security guard what to do about the situation when the elevator began to rise. Stunned, I realized that this elevator had to be for the express purpose of going to and from Randall’s office; that explained the security guard manning it, although I thought that with the sensor and key card setup, it would be easier just to hand a key card to any visitors needing to get to his office.

The elevator was whisper-quiet, not even any annoying music playing; my heart was pounding in my chest. I wondered if Randall would be sitting in his office when I arrived, and how he would react to my showing up. He had given me his card, hadn’t he? I bit my lip, suddenly not sure I liked where this adventure was taking me. What would I say when I got there? What excuse would I make? I fidgeted, trying out several lines in my mind. I thought, irrelevantly, that I had never had worse first-date jitters, which was funny because when Randall and I had actually been having our first date—and maybe our only date—I hadn’t been nervous at all.

The elevator pinged quietly before I could even get my thoughts together. The doors spread open to reveal a huge, luxuriously appointed space that was one single office. I stepped out of the elevator and stared around me, realizing quickly that Randall was absent. That, at least, relieved my concern for the moment as to what I would say when I saw him. I took a moment to look around me; Randall had excellent taste, I decided—or at least he obviously had good taste in decorators. The office was quiet and somehow comfortable in spite of its immensity. At the far end, a large, old fashioned-looking desk stood out from a wall, the surface cleared of everything but a computer with a state-of-the-art monitor. There was a small seating area with cozy-looking couches and chairs, a low coffee table with a few magazines on it spaced cleanly, and a bar hugging the wall near it, small but evidently well-stocked; in addition to a few wines and bottles of expensive-looking liquor, there was an espresso machine and a fridge. The floor was carpeted, the room swallowing up the sound of my footsteps. I made my way toward Randall’s desk, peeking around it.

Curious, I tugged at the drawers, though I told myself that I wouldn’t be able to open any of them; surely a man like Randall kept everything under lock and key, and the only key would be in his possession. I was surprised when a small drawer responded to my tugging, and I found a pair of handcuffs—probably a novelty—on top of a bunch of file folders. I smirked to myself, playing with them for a moment as an idea began to occur to me. I slipped my blazer off and folded it in half, draping it over the arm of the desk chair. I opened one of the cuffs, stopping only for a moment to wonder if Randall had a key for them. I told myself that they certainly weren’t police-grade, that even someone as powerful as Randall wouldn’t have handcuffs of that quality just lying around; even if there wasn’t a key, there would be some kind of mechanism to get them off, a switch or a latch or something. I attached the cuff to my wrist and then opened the other end, looking around the desk until I found a place to attach it. Randall had enjoyed seeing me bound to a filing cabinet, I thought, remembering how he’d taken the lace from one of his shoes to accomplish it. Let’s just see how he likes me handcuffed to his desk, waiting for him.

I didn’t have long to wait at all. Just when I was starting to think that it had been a bad idea to handcuff myself to his desk—thinking of the possibility of him arriving with a business associate or a potential client, an employee, anything like that (even his mother!)—Randall’s private elevator pinged. My heart started pounding as I thought of all of those possibilities in a rush. Before I could put my anxiety into action, by trying to find the latch or some other unlocking mechanism, Randall stepped out of the elevator alone. He was looking down at his phone as he stepped off, and I took a second to appreciate my date from the previous evening; he was just as handsome as I had remembered, his dark hair and lean body, in a different, equally expensive-looking suit that was easy to admire. His footfalls were swallowed up by the carpet as he came further into his office, reading something that apparently interested him very much.

When he looked up with a sigh, he saw me immediately. I smiled, feeling anxious still; would I come across as desperate, unhinged? I thought to myself that I really hadn’t thought this particular stunt out very well. “Jasmine,” Randall said smoothly, moving quickly across the floor toward me. His bright blue eyes were almost glowing with interest. “You’re more resourceful than I thought.” I felt myself blushing, remembering the way he had talked me into taking my panties off in the middle of the restaurant, and then talked me into a tryst in the back room. It was probably the stupidest thing I had ever done, I thought, glancing at the handcuff that attached me to his desk. “It’s nice to see that you’re so well-prepared.” He closed the distance between us, stepping around me to sit down in his desk chair, his gaze intent. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me, and I wondered if he was expecting me—if he was that sure of his ability to charm. Maybe the receptionist had told him that there was a red-haired delivery clerk who’d gone up to his office.

“I pride myself on fast thinking,” I said; my mouth was suddenly dry, and I was biting my lip, looking at Randall looking at me. His gaze lingered at my neck, my breasts, and then my wrist where the handcuff attached it to the desk. “You did give me a card with your address, you know.” Randall smiled, sitting back and letting the silence spin out between us for a long moment. I fought down the urge to fidget, returning his gaze with a little smile on my face.

After a moment, Randall stood, crossing his enormous office to go to the bar. “I would ask how you managed to find a pair of handcuffs, but I know exactly where those were in my desk,” he said, his back turned to me. He was getting something out of the fridge. “Would you like something to drink, Jasmine?” My throat was like the Sierra.

“Yes, please.” I heard Randall chuckle, and heard ice clinking into glasses as something was being poured. Randall turned around and came back from the bar, bearing two small tumblers of a faintly yellowish liquid. He sipped one and leaned against his desk, putting the other down next to me. I picked it up with my free hand and took a long drink of it, letting the crisp ginger ale soothe my parched throat while whatever it was mixed with burned at the same time.

“You look quite charming like that, you know,” Randall said, reaching out and running a cool hand along my body through my clothes. I felt myself blushing, my pussy already starting to get wet from the excitement and Randall’s receptive response to my prank. “I wonder just how prepared you are, though…” the observation ended on a drawl, and Randall’s hand slipped down to the hem of my skirt, moving underneath the fabric up to my panties. He tsked, running his fingers lightly over my pussy through the thin lace, shaking his head. “Not quite 100% ready for me, are you?” He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties and tugged them down off of my hips from underneath my skirt, letting them fall down from my knees. I stepped out of them and he picked them up, depositing them on the desk. “Thankfully, there will be no need for you to remain quiet.” He moved away from me and opened a drawer with a key he took out of his pocket, bringing out a console and pressing a button. “I have this entire floor and now no one will be able to come up and interrupt us.”

Randall put the console aside but left the drawer open, picking up his drink and taking a long sip as he looked me over again. “That shirt will have to go,” he said, his voice ringing with finality. He stepped around the desk and stood in front of me, appearing to contemplate it. He reached up and found the seam at the top; it was sleeveless, showing off my arms from my shoulder down. I gasped as he tore one side and then the other in a series of quick movements, before ripping it down the front and letting it fall away from my body as a wisp of ruined fabric. I was surprised not only by the show of strength but also by the fact that he had just utterly destroyed the shirt I had come in wearing; what was I going to do when I needed to leave? “Don’t fret, Jasmine. I have something you can wear out—lord knows I don’t need a scandal.” He smiled slightly, looking down at my breasts, barely covered by my bra. “You chose white this time. Very interesting.” He reached up and cupped my breasts through my bra, squeezing them until my nipples hardened against his palms. I moaned lowly, his attentions sending a rush of pleasure through my body, an echo of the abuse he had dealt out the night before. I was still a little tender from his attentions.

Randall leaned in and kissed me hungrily, probing my mouth with his tongue and holding me tightly against him for a long moment—so tightly that I could feel his cock stirring in his pants. When he released me, I reached out to touch the growing bulge, but he walked away from me before I could, returning to the opened drawer. I felt excitement stirring inside of me, not just at the obvious prospect of another tryst, but curiosity at what it was he wanted from the drawer. What did a CEO of an enormously wealthy company keep in a desk drawer that could be of use to him in a sexual interlude?

Whatever it was, he took it out carefully, keeping it concealed as he put it into his pocket, smiling to himself. “I believe I already told you that you need not fear making noise—I won’t ask you to remain silent. But I must punish you for the fact that you set yourself up to tempt me without being completely prepared. You understand, don’t you Jasmine?” I nodded, wanting to know just what form my punishment would take this time, breathless and waiting. My pussy was starting to get wetter by the second, my muscles tightening with desire. I remembered Randall’s thick, hard cock from the night before, and anything that brought me closer to feeling it inside of me again was something I was more than happy to participate in.

Randall unhooked my bra, pulling it away and letting it slide down my arm to fall against the desk where my wrist was trapped. He pinched my nipples lightly and I moaned; it was not nearly as brutal as he had been the night before, and I let myself be lulled as he slowly rolled the sensitive nubs between his fingers, sending little jolts of pure pleasure through my body. I closed my eyes, arching into his touches, in a haze of increasing arousal. I was utterly unprepared for the sensation of something closing on my right nipple, the sharp pressure of something much less pleasant than Randall’s fingers. I opened my eyes as I gasped at the shock, looking down instinctively; a clothespin was attached to my nipple, sending waves of tingling agony from it straight to my pussy—in spite of the torment, I felt myself becoming soaking wet, the pain somehow laced with pleasure at the same time. I was so shocked by the change that I didn’t interfere or even notice that Randall was moving again until my left nipple was trapped in a matching clothespin.