Don't Ever Stop: A BDSM Billionaire Romance (13 page)

‘You’re right, Tegan,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve found this job a big adjustment. I’m learning shorthand outside of work, but I’ve fallen behind these last few days. I’ve been exhausted, and my mind’s been elsewhere. I’ll get back on top of things.’ I smiled sweetly. ‘Just you watch.’

Bitch
, I thought secretly.
You’re not my boss.
As soon as I’d had the thought, I felt myself tighten with shock. I wouldn’t normally let myself think something like that. And normally, I’d be devastated for being told off by a co-worker. What was happening to me lately?

I opened up a Word document I was in the middle of composing, a piece about a local school that had had its funding cut lately. I was just putting a few facts and figures together, really. It was for another journalist, a proper one, to take off my hands and spin into some kind of
story
. And they needed it by noon. I had to crack on.

I clicked on my internet browser, and closed that down, so I’d be free to distractions, then I clicked on Outlook, about to minimize the window, to get that out of the way too. But I noticed I had a new email. It wasn’t a round robin. It was addressed just to me. And it was from Mr. Cooper. The subject of the email just said: ‘Negotiation’. It sounded official. I opened it warily.

Rose,

As per our discussion the other night, here are my terms and conditions for the arrangement. You will be required to read through this list thoroughly, print off a copy, sign it, and return it to me in a sealed envelope via internal mail. Absolute discretion is vital.

1. I, Redmond Cooper, and you, Rose Smith, are to undertake an agreement, by which we will engage in a number of ‘scenes’, in which the top (Redmond) will dominate and discipline the bottom (Rose) in any way he sees fit, including but not limited to the use of bondage (namely rope bondage, or kinbaku), sensory deprivation and spanking (using a whip or birch rod), for the purposes of aestheticism and corporeal pleasure for both parties.

2. The top expects the bottom to be obedient throughout the entire scene. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary action, including spanking.

3. Scenes will include episodes of humiliation (for the bottom), verbal violation and infliction of pain (by the top).

4. While sexual arousal may be a by-product, sexual intercourse will not be part of the scene. The top considers sex overly indulgent, and it distracts from the purity of the activity. Furthermore, during a scene, the top’s opinion of the bottom will be so low that she will not deserve intercourse. She must be made to suffer.

5. At any point, either party may use a safeword to stop all action immediately and come out of the scene. If either party says the word ‘red’ all BDSM activity stops. The word ‘green’, on the other hand, can be used to encourage more activity, in either frequency or intensity. The word ‘yellow’ may be used as a discouragement, to stop particular activity, but not stop the scene altogether.

6. Each scene will last up to three hours. After this time, it is expected that both parties will require a rest, and, if necessary, some aftercare.

There was a postscript at the end of the email.

Attached to this email is a confirmation code for a three-hour luxury spa treatment. I have booked you in at the most luxurious spa in New York, this Saturday. Go and get pampered, and then meet me at 5 p.m. for our first scene. A cab will pick you up. You do not need to bring anything.

I couldn’t believe it. He
had
been serious the other night.
Extremely
serious, by the looks of things. He’d drawn up a contract! If I wanted to, I could show this email to personnel, and Redmond Cooper could get in a lot of trouble. Maybe even lose his job.
Newspaper Tycoon’s Saucy Sexploits
. Hey, I could even write the article. My first big story. Ha. I skilled grimly.

I minimized the email and looked at my Word Document, pretending to read over it while I thought about what to do. My heart was thudding in my chest. I felt pumped up with adrenaline. BDSM. He’d used the acronym BDSM! I’d heard of it before, of course, and seen the trailer for that film about the secretary, but I never, ever in a million years thought it was something
I’d
end up getting involved in…

But reading the email had made me get kinda horny again. This was becoming all too common for me now. Grinding my ass into my desk chair, thinking dirty thoughts about my boss.

My mind raced through the possibilities.

Could I actually go through with this? What if I hated it? What if my boss tried to kill me?

And this Saturday, too. I was meant to be picking chard with Patrick.

Oh shit. Who was it going to be? Patrick? Or my boss?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Pick Your Own

‘How does that feel? Tell me if anything feels painful, or if you want me to stop.’

I let out a long, delirious groan. ‘It feels perfect. Don’t stop.’

Don’t ask me why I did it, but I bailed on Patrick. I asked him if we could postpone it, maybe meet up on Sunday instead, but Patrick said he had ‘a family thing’ on Sunday. Which was a bit confusing considering all his family are in Ireland. I had no idea where things stood between me and Patrick any more.

And I really didn’t know if I was doing the right thing being here today, either. But against all my good conscience’s better judgment, I’d ended up at the spa.

Good conscience:
This will all end in tears.

Bad conscience:
I’ve never been truly daring my whole life. This is my moment.

Good conscience:
He will either murder you or rape you. One or the other.

Bad conscience:
He’s polite, he’s been open with me, he’s unbelievably sexy…

So, once again, the bad conscience won out. Perhaps I’d never learn. I guess whether or not you’re truly aware of it, you do pick your own destiny.

‘I’ve warmed up your muscles nicely. I’m going to get the scented oils now, Miss Smith, and give you a deep tissue massage.’

I kept my eyes closed as I heard the masseuse, Jessica, tiptoe away for a moment. Then I heard her soft-footed return, and the sound of oil being rubbed between her palms. I let the sounds and sensations wash over me. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in months. No, scratch that – years. I hadn’t felt this relaxed since before starting my Degree.

I felt Jessica’s hands on my shoulder blades, warm and slick, and I melted into the bed as she began touching me again. Soon I smelt the exotic scent of the oil she’d chosen for me: a dusty, citrusy, peppery, deep, almost smoky, aroma. It was a heady mix. I felt almost intoxicated. I opened my eyes but the effort was too great, and, heavily, they fell shut again.

‘Mr. Cooper chose this scent especially for you,’ Jessica said quietly as she rubbed the oil into my skin. ‘Frankinscence, sandalwood and ylang-ylang. You’re a very lucky lady. A man thinks a lot of you to pick a mixture like that.’

Her knuckles pressed down my spine, straightening my out, and her hands swept across the muscles in my back, loosening me up with every movement. I let the smells and the slick sounds of oil wash over me, lulling me to a point of relaxation that it was so deep it was almost sleep…

*

‘Miss Smith?’ Jessica asked, her hands on my shoulders. ‘It’s time for you to wake up now. You don’t want to be late!’

I was lying on my back now, naked from the waist up, and covered in oils. Even my breasts were slick and shiny with oil. Had Jessica massaged my breasts while I was asleep? I felt kind of excited at the thought.

Jessica handed me a glass of water, looking down shyly at my body as she gave it to me. ‘You’re very beautiful, Miss Smith,’ she said, blushing.

I looked down at my breasts, which had quickly grown an entire cup size since I’d started eating more, and they were the fullest they’d ever been. Luckily the extra weight didn’t drag them down; they were still just as perky as ever. With the oil all over them, and the nipples erect in the cold, they did look pretty good. Maybe I wasn’t so bad after all. I didn’t look like a woman from a magazine, but who wanted that? Mr. Cooper didn’t seem to want it. Right now, he seemed to want
me
.

I drank the water, which was subtly flavoured with lemon, and then Jessica left the room while I dressed. I couldn’t believe the three hours were up already. I’d had a swim, a sauna and a jacuzzi, followed by a seaweed body wrap, and a massage. I could have stayed here for days, or weeks. I felt like I was walking on air. Everyone had referred to me as Miss Smith throughout the day, telling me that Mr. Cooper had ordered me this or that treatment, handing me strawberries, making me feel like a princess. The only thing I’d found disappointing is that, while the other guests were all drinking as much free champagne as they liked, I was told that: ‘Mr. Cooper has forbidden you to drink. I’m sorry.’

Still, I’d probably had more than enough to drink lately, and I was having too much fun as it was. That said, a drink might have helped steady my nerves…

I pulled on my black skirt and a plain white t-shirt. It was a risky move, but my breasts were so oily that I didn’t feel like putting my bra back on, so I put it in my handbag. I knew that even though my nipples were pale, they’d still be visible beneath the t-shirt. Given that they were so oily, the t-shirt might even grow see-through. But I felt so relaxed that somehow, it didn’t bother me.

I headed into the spa’s reception, sitting on a comfortable chair, breathing deeply, and lazily watching the other guests as I waited for my cab to show up. Most of the guests were wandering around in soft, white towelling robes. Even without their clothes on, I felt like there was something about the people here that made them look rich. They looked like they used good face creams, wore expensive-looking gems on their fingers and ears, had the confident appearance of someone who’d managed to get what they wanted out of life.

I noticed an old man in a robe, sitting in a chair opposite me, staring at my white t-shirt. I looked down. Oh god. It was as I’d suspected. The t-shirt material had become see-through. I didn’t have a sweater with me, either. I crossed my arms, but that had the unfortunate effect of pushing my breasts together, creating an enticing cleavage. The man opposite me licked his lips and then made to stand up. I hoped he was wearing underpants under his robe. I didn’t want to see any nasty surprises.

‘Miss Smith.’ A man in a chauffeur’s uniform appeared at the door. ‘The car is ready for you.’

I stood up and thanked the women at reception, and then followed the chauffeur outside. I couldn’t believe what was waiting for me there. A long, white stretch limousine! I’d been expecting a cab - not this!

The chauffeur opened the door for me, and, in shock, I got inside. I couldn’t believe how big it was in here. The interior was so clean it smelt new. There was a bucket of ice on a low table in front of me, and a bottle of fizzy water inside it. Not as exciting as champagne, but hey, I’d had all this other five-star treatment all day, so who was I to complain?

I cracked open the water and sat back while the chauffeur drove me towards my secret destination.

I wondered where he’d be taking me. A manor house? A castle? A palace?

I wondered, as well, whether I should put my bra back on. The chauffeur was wearing sunglasses. I wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to see me if he looked into his rear view mirror. My guess was that he would.

Before I’d made a decision about what to do, I heard my cell beep inside my bag. I pulled it out and checked the screen.

Rose. Scene begins when you arrive. Lasts 3 hours. Remember safeword if you need it. Hope you had a good day.

I put my phone back in my handbag, and sat back in my seat, getting that nervous churning in my stomach all over again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

In At The Deep End

After a stomach-churning, twenty minute ride, the limo swung a right off the Thruway, and then pulled into a large expanse of concrete that looked very much like an industrial estate. In fact, it
was
an industrial estate. The huge parking lot and overbearing warehouses gave it away. The chauffeur, a quiet man, in his forties, I guess, turned his head slightly as he slowed down the vehicle, and began parking up. ‘Well, Miss Smith, this is it.’

I looked out of the window. No. Surely not. This couldn’t be it. I thought I was meeting Mr. Cooper at a fancy hotel. I’d been dreaming of the Crosby Street Hotel, the Four Seasons, or maybe, given Mr. Cooper’s proclivities, the Mandarin Oriental. But not some seedy industrial park upstate.

I didn’t want to leave the shiny, expensive interior of the limo. It felt so out of place here, in this dump. What was going on? Was my boss going to murder me here after all? Was the chauffeur in on it too?

‘He owns that warehouse,’ the driver said to me. ‘The one over there.’ He pointed to a large, blue, unremarkable-looking building nearby. ‘Said he wants to show you something.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not going to kill you in there.’