Forbidden To Say No - The Billionaire's Plaything (An Erotic Romance Novel) (11 page)

When I finally hear something real - something I know I can't attribute to the air-conditioning - I know I've either been revisited by my host, or finally lost my mind. Thankfully for my melodramatic brain, it's the former. He peeks around the door, almost as if he expects me to have made some sort of miraculous escape. When he sees that I haven't, I'm rewarded with that sly, gorgeous smile back upon the side of his lips; my prize for losing several painful hours of my life to him. He's changed clothes - a purple shirt, a blue suit jacket, a blue set of pants - and his hair seems different somehow; neater, more presentable.

"Miss Everett," he says, rather predictably, looking around the room one more time at the articles of torture, exciting himself into a higher pitched fervor. "I'm sorry I had to leave you like that. I'm afraid a producer's work is never done."

"Mmm hhmmm," I hum against the soggy mass of the tangerine, still washing my mouth in a foul, tangy taste. I want to forgive him;
no!
I want to give myself back to him!

"And I see you've worked just as hard this morning."

He crosses his arms, and I watch as the fabric of his suit jacket tenses against his undoubtedly thick musculature beneath.
Funny
, the thought briefly courses through my mind that I haven't yet seen him topless. I guess it isn't yet my place to ask.

"But it's okay," he continues, slowly pacing towards me, one painstakingly slow step at a time, making me hum and fidget and tense with excitement. "You'll get what you need."

Hands on my shoulders, pressing fingers into my skin. I haven't felt another human's touch in hours, and it feels so good. He spins me around, so that I'm back in that old familiar position; facing the back of the armoire, my butt extended outwards. The pain of the ginger root has long subsided. Either I got used to it, or it lost its luster. Still, I'm reminded of the searing hot rush as soon as he puts his fingers to it, yanking it out quickly, making my puckering asshole throb with burning, fiery pain.

I snort out of my nostrils, exhaling deeply as my body tries to adjust to the harsh touch of another. My heart is thumping in my ears, my fingers trembling in their restraints above me. I hear the unmistakable shuffling of clothes, and look down to my feet to see his pants lying discarded upon the floor.
Oh God, is this it
? What I've wanted, what I've craved for so long?

"Mmmhmm!"

He drives into me like a man devoted; thirsty for flesh, desperate to feel my insides once more. I can't help but cry out, humming against my gag as loud as I can, feeling the relief wash over me. All of a sudden I'm dripping wet again, like he never left me.

"I do think we make a rather good team, you and I."

Ever the professional, I nod up and down, feeling the length of his member drive into me from behind, feeling every bump and contour along its surface until there's nothing left, and he's buried within me totally. My right leg sets off in tremors, buckling beneath me under the immense strain, and neither of us seems to care. As he pulls out, slowly, trailing terse, moist skin of my slit with him as he goes, I already feel empty without him.

Then, he surprises me. One hand plants itself firmly into my ass cheek, digging its fingers deep into my flesh. The other, to my relief, travels around to my face, putting its fingers to the side of the duct tape pressed tightly to my cheek, and after several moments of grasping for a loose spot, tears it painfully from my face in one almighty motion. I instantly spit the partially chewed tangerine out onto the floor of the armoire, and yelp in pained pleasure, feeling him slam his hips into me forcefully, driving his rod back within me.

"It's good to have you back, Miss Everett."

"It's good - to be -
ohhh
," I'm so messed up I can't even finish my sentence; he instantly picks up the pace, steadying his grip on my ass with one hand, whilst punishing my pussy with all the force of his hips, slamming himself into me over and over and over, producing a most satisfying wet
slap
with each stroke. My knees buckle beneath me, long turned to boneless jelly, before the resultant pain from my stinging, skinless wrists above causes me to jolt back upwards. I scream through gritted teeth, and my billionaire boss knows just what I need.

"You know, you amaze me," he says, grunting between each word, not for a single moment letting his pace upon me slip. "You haven't even asked about salary yet."

I giggle. At least, I giggle inside. On the outside, I just groan, moan, and yelp. My slit begins to contract around him remorselessly, squeezing every inch of skin he has to give me. My leg won't stop trembling, and my breaths rush in and out of me as if I'm running a marathon. When I feel his body begin to harden - his strokes becoming less and less assertive - I begin to lose myself to a certain petulant self-congratulation. Is this it? Is this the moment where I make my boss come?

His fingers shoot into my skin once more, finding the crimson mark on my ass cheek where he brutally whipped me a few hours prior, and sure enough the butterflies within me make themselves known as he grunts loudly. Before I realize what's happening, he pulls out, and I feel the thick, goopy warmth of molten hot semen spray over my ass, and the small of my back. I exhale loudly, feeling my pussy tense and tighten a few times without him, missing him already. Daniel, on the other hand, fights to regain his breath.

"
Fuck
" he says, succinctly. I couldn't have put it better myself.

I spin myself back around slowly, stepping from side to side, finally finding him in a sweaty mess, his hair unkempt once again, and his shirt hanging down around his spent member, partially hiding it from my greedy eyes.

"You know, I should really get some clothes for that thing," he says, nodding to the armoire the houses me. I watch him gather himself, pulling his pants back up to his waist, buckling his belt back up, and running a finger through his hair, adjusting it back to its former finely styled glory. I forget how I look; beads of sweat shining upon my skin,
DANJEL
painted messily upon my stomach, and my makeup smudged and draining down my face in artful cobwebs.

After tending to himself, he at last turns back to me. Scissors in one hand, my crimson-sore ass cheek in the other, he cuts me from my restraints, readying himself to catch me as I fall. And I sure do fall.

"Holy sh-!" I yell, my knees beneath me buckling under my weight, and sending me toppling onto his shoulder. I've never felt anything like it, but he's there for me. I nuzzle my face into the delicate cotton fabric of his suit jacket, finding his shoulder warm and stiff, and instantly feel at home; like I never want to leave this place. Moments later, he cruelly takes a step backwards, separating us, and steadies me upon my feet with a palm on either shoulder. It was nice while it lasted.

"I think I lost weight," I mumble to myself as I battle to regain my footing. My wrists sting with a glowing, red-hot pain. I look down and note the red rings surrounding each of them.

"We should get you something. Something with long sleeves."

"Yeah, sure" I mutter, lost in my own world, bemused by the state I'm in. Did I do this all for him? I can't even walk straight, my ass tingles with pain with every step, and my knees could do with a transplant. I'm shocked beyond words. Not because of the cruel, inhuman things he's done to me, but because I allowed him, and even
enjoyed
them.

***

He soon leaves me to contemplate the strange new thing I've become. When he returns, barely a few minutes later, he's holding a stack of new clothes, as close to my size as any male could approximate. A long sleeved t-shirt, white. A pair of jeans, blue. It isn't stuff I'd choose to wear, but whatever.

"What time is it?" I gather the presence of mind to ask.

"Three o'clock."

Jesus Christ. I must have been hung up in there for hours. We don't share another word; I don't feel awkward or anything. In the end, what
can
you say in this sort of situation? But something still doesn't feel right for me. He pulled himself out of me, sprayed his essence all over my back, and ever since then I've felt empty somehow. Like I need something more from him. It isn't until he's waked me back to the elevator, and we're standing outside the Dervishire Building in the afternoon Sun, making our pleasant goodbyes that I manage to articulate my desires into words.

"Daniel," I say, turning myself to face him confidently, surprising myself. "What are you doing now?"

He's eyeing me suspiciously, like I caught him off-guard. He certainly didn't expect this line of questioning. He forces his eyes up and down my body, narrowing them curiously, before answering.

"I don't know. I have a hole in my schedule."

This is it; I can't tell you what I'm doing. I can't tell you how I manage to kick up the confidence to make such a bold stand like this, but that empty, voided feeling coursing through me like a dreadful torrent is dictating my actions now. I put my hands on my hips, staring into that gorgeous face of his - those jagged cheekbones, that square jaw, that bristly five o'clock shadow - and make my play.

"Why don't you come for a coffee with me?"

As soon as the words leave my lips I regret them. He narrows his eyes again, looking at me like I'm the spirited employee who just got too big for her boots. But I'm not giving up. I'm not sinking back into my shell like the Chlo of old. I know what I want.

"After all. We make a good team, right?"

He smiles, and I'm back on cloud nine. Without another word, he takes my hand - being careful to avoid my stinging red wrist - and walks me to the road, signaling a nearby cab.
You can't always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need
.

Chapter Ten

I don't know what this place is; I've barely even been to this corner of town before. The cab fare was extortionate enough, but a moment's glance at the chalkboard proudly sitting on the corner has me scrambling for a double take.
Cappuccino for twelve dollars?! A skinny latte for eleven
?! Maybe I'm being overly melodramatic again, but you couldn't pry twelve dollars from my cold, dead, under-caffeinated hands.

Again, it's empty. Even so, we find a place in the furthest, darkest corner, and Daniel soon finds a pair of over-indulgent sunglasses from his suit jacket, finally completing the consummate movie producer look. We've barely gotten our seats and ordered our drinks before I get the dreadful, blood-curdling feeling that this is a mistake.

"Nice place" I say, my voice wavering slightly as I measure the task at hand. He's sitting there, directly opposite to me; his elbows on the table, his palms stretched into a neat surface for him to rest his chin on, and he won't stop staring at me. He's reading me, analyzing every move I make. All of a sudden, I'm back in an audition, trying to remember my lines, and trying to make the best impression that I can. How is it that we've shared such brutally intimate moments today, and yet I'm still being held under a microscope?

"I usually don't drink coffee," I continue, trying to think of something to talk about, and finding little but myself. "It makes me nervous. Too much of it, I mean. Or not enough."

"I can imagine."

That's all I get from him? A few simple words? I should have expected this; given our stilted conversation in the restaurant, and his preferred impulse to gag me, I should have known that perhaps my role as his employee should be limited to as few words as possible. He picks up a nearby newspaper, and scans the front page, raising an eyebrow as he does so.

"I hate the way I am" I finally blurt out, stunning myself with the over-emotional, over-indulgent conversation I've chosen to start. I look down into my coffee, seeing the white foam on the top fizzle and bubble subtly, before looking back to him and seeing him staring back at me, wide-eyed and colorful at last.

"Why is that, Miss Everett?"

There it is again; the rush of confidence from within, surging through my veins, speaking for me.

"I'm constantly trying to sabotage myself. Stop myself. Hesitate. I always feel like there's something in the way. I guess that's -"

I stop myself, unsurprisingly proving my point. Gritting my teeth together in an effort to leap this barrier, I continue.

"I guess that's why it took me as long as it did. You know, to lose my virginity and all."

I could swear he just inched closer to me, leaning forward on his elbows, widening his eyes with interest. I'm not just deluding myself am I? Is he really interested in hearing all this sorry bullshit about me?

"I just wish I had the confidence to stop over-thinking things sometimes, you know? To stop hesitating, and just
do it
."

He leans in closer still, and sways his body from side to side, finding a comfortable place to sit and watch me from.

"I have a sister," I stop myself once again, considering whether it's really wise to tell the billionaire I've been having sex with about my twin, identical in all respects aside from that which I desire the most; her confidence. In the end, I silence my inner critic, and continue nonetheless. "An identical twin sister, actually. Carissa."

He chuckles to himself, putting on an exaggeratedly lecherous grin.

"Well I didn't know
that
."

"Yeah. She's didn't go into acting like I did. She's at law school. Graduating soon and hoping to get into entertainment law. Copyrights and libels and whatever. I don't know what happened between us."

"What do you mean?"

I take a sip from my coffee, and recognize the absurdity of all of this. The billionaire film producer is now my therapist.

"Well, she followed in my father's footsteps. Going into law, going to college, studying hard. And she'll do well, she's confident. When she speaks, you believe her. She has conviction. I, on the other hand, went into acting. Too nervous in myself to stand up for what I believe in, I try to hide myself in a character, pretending to be someone else."