Don't Ever Stop: A BDSM Billionaire Romance (9 page)

Still dizzy and weak, I found myself nodding. I
was
hungry. I had been skipping meals lately. A lot of meals.

‘Good,’ he said, satisfied. He handed me a glass of water. ‘How do you feel now?’

‘I’m alright,’ I said, taking a few sips. ‘I think I’m okay to go back to my desk.’

Mr. Cooper helped me up. His strong palms encircled my waist, helping me to my feet. He held on to me for a few moments, making sure I wasn’t about to faint again.

‘Thank you,’ I said. Those strong hands, so big and warm, felt amazing just millimeters from my skin, separated only by the thin cotton of my dress. In fact, I enjoyed the sensation of his hands on me so much that I felt suddenly embarrassed. ‘I’m fine,’ I said quickly.

He held on to me for just a second more, and then his hands slid away. ‘I’ll see you next week, Rose,’ he said, as I began to walk towards the door. ‘Look out for my emails in the meantime. Remember to do as I say.’

‘I will,’ I said, holding on to the nearby dresser for support, making sure I wasn’t about to have another funny turn. I noticed a book lying on the dresser, and picked out a strange, unfamiliar word in the title. ‘Kinbaku,’ I said aloud, running my fingers over the book cover.

Mr. Cooper coughed behind me. ‘You’d better go now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got work to do.’

I looked up at him apologetically, noticing how flustered his expression was all of a sudden. I remembered coming in the room, how Mr. Cooper’s eyes had flicked over to the dresser, no doubt to this book he’d left lying here. Was he trying to tidy up before I entered the room today, but he’d forgotten to put this one away? Why shouldn’t I see it?

‘I’m sorry,’ I said automatically. ‘I’ll leave now. Thank you for your help today. Thank you for not being mad at me.’

Mr. Cooper nodded, and I left the room, the skin around my waist still tingling where his hands had touched me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Teacher's Pet

When I got back to my desk, Tegan was looking pissed. ‘What the fuck, Rose?’ she asked. ‘Where have you been? I thought you’d done a runner.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I told her wondering how many times I’d apologized today, and it wasn’t even midday yet. ‘I was upstairs, talking to Mr. Cooper.’

Tegan raised her eyebrows. ‘Come on, Rose, call him Redmond. Everyone else does.’ She pretended to be getting on with her work for a few moments, but obviously had more she wanted to say. She turned back to me. ‘What were you talking to him about, for all that time, then? Spill the beans.’

It was my turn to pretend to be busy then, lifting up pieces of paper and moving them across my desk, as if I was filing. Really, I was just concentrating on trying not to blush. ‘I’m learning shorthand,’ I told her. ‘He’s helping me with my revision.’

Tegan frowned. ‘Helping you? What, like, tutoring you?’

‘No, no,’ I said. ‘He’s given me a load of notes I have to read over in my spare time, and he’s enrolled me for an exam next week. I just needed to talk to him about it this morning.’

‘Well you were gone an awfully long time,’ said Tegan. ‘Be careful. You don’t want to get a reputation as teacher’s pet…’ Tegan turned back to her work, put on her headphones and began typing.

I switched on my monitor and entered my password. I tried to think peaceful thoughts. Five new emails: two from tech support, one round-robin, one email confirming my membership to a press images website, and one email from Mr. Cooper. I ignored the others and clicked on that one.

Rose,

Please ensure that you eat the following today:

Lunch

Tuna pasta salad (no mayonnaise)

Wholemeal roll

Banana

Snack

Flapjack (oats and raisins - no chocolate)

Dinner

Chicken and vegetable stir-fry (sweet and sour)

Brown rice

Yoghurt

Bedtime (10 p.m.)

Hot chocolate

Sincerely,

Mr. Cooper

CEO at Global Media Inc.

I know I’d agreed that Mr. Cooper would help me out with this, but seeing it there on my screen, in black-and-white, it felt strange. I did have a problem with food. I’d always had one. It’s not that I was anorexic, I was just terrible at remembering to eat. I always seemed to get distracted, there always seemed to be something else to do that seemed more important. A couple of years ago, I was diagnosed with anemia. It hadn’t progressed to a very serious stage, but the doctor gave me some iron pills and told me to change my diet. More leafy green veg, meat, fish, brown rice, nuts seeds and pulses. I’d been determined to sort myself out on the way home from the doctor’s surgery, to buy myself a nice big steak and some curly kale. But, as always, I forgot. And I kept on forgetting. I still took iron supplements every day, and my health was back to normal, but I did find myself getting pale and tired very easily these days, and I knew I needed to be more careful, to avoid complications in the future…

So perhaps, as weird as it was, I’d give it a go. As I read over the words in the email, all those delicious-sounding food-words, I actually felt my mouth begin to water. I felt something else too. A deep, warm thrill, somewhere in my core. It felt kind of amazing. Someone was telling me what to do; exactly how to live my life – what to eat, how much work to do, when to go to bed. I’d normally go to bed at eleven or even twelve, if I got distracted reading a good book, or watching a movie, and yet now, I had clear instructions. Mr. Cooper knew what was best for me, and he was expecting me to carry out his instructions to the letter.

I felt another thrill at the thought he might be watching me somehow. Observing me to check I was obeying him. I’d never had this sort of attention from someone before. It felt oddly exciting.

Tegan glanced over at my screen and I minimized my inbox, hiding the email, and bringing up a boring Word document about planning permission instead. It was for some non-story I’d been asked to research, just to keep me busy while I was still learning the ropes.

Tegan looked away again, and continued typing. Why did I feel the need to hide Mr. Cooper’s email? Did I feel, deep down, that there was something wrong with it? Or did I enjoy knowing that I was keeping a secret? I wasn’t sure.

I had thought, briefly, as I got into the elevator after leaving Mr. Cooper’s office this morning, that I might tell Patrick about this. But I’d very quickly decided against it. I’d felt myself pull away from Patrick once Mr. Cooper saw us in the street. I feel like, if we hadn’t seen him that night, we might have carried on drinking, and maybe I’d have ended up sharing a drunken kiss with him… But seeing my boss standing there, so tall and erect, his moody eyes fixed on me, had made me want to keep my distance from Patrick.

I’d started thinking about Mr. Cooper, too. I’d started thinking about him every time I took a shower, and in the moments before I fell asleep in bed. I thought about him as I took the subway into work, feeling the seat vibrating beneath me, sending shivers up and down my thighs, across my abdomen, into the recesses between my legs.

As I thought about him now, I felt the muscles in my ass begin to clench, and my thighs begin to tremble. I felt soft and warm between my legs, and found myself tightening and releasing my muslces, letting my groin rub gently, almost imperceptibly on my desk chair. I replayed the meeting I’d just had in Mr. Cooper’s office in my head. The glasshouse. The fainting. The red leather chair. Those eyes, looking down on me.
Kinbaku
. That word suddenly came back to me, from the book I’d seen lying on the dresser.

I opened my internet browser, and typed it into Google. I clicked on the first result that came up, and read the following:

Kinbaku is a form of Japanese erotic bondage involving ropes. It literally means ‘tight binding’, and is normally differentiated from shibari, as shibari describes the art and esthetic of the bondage, but kinbaku, in addition to this, refers to the sensual, sexual connections between binder and bound.

I hid my internet browser and took a moment to catch my breath. Erotic bondage? Had I read the title of that book correctly?

My heart was drumming in my chest. I felt so warm and wet between my legs, but I was scared, too. Terrified that I was uncovering something that shouldn’t be uncovered. That I was on the cusp of something far bigger than any of the idle gossip I’d been hearing around the office since I started.

I needed some air. I’d go and get some lunch. I knew what I needed to have.

Just then I noticed another email pop up. It was him. Shaking, I read it:

Meet me at Tambara, at 7pm tomorrow night. I will buy you dinner, and give you an explanation.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cards Are On The Table

Tambara was the most expensive restaurant I had ever been to. I could tell that before I had even set foot in the place. It wasn’t the restaurant I saw Mr. Cooper outside the other day, when I was with Patrick. This one was even deeper into the pricey end of Midtown. The door of the restaurant did not have a menu outside, advertising its food. Instead, the restaurant name was presented in elegant gold lettering, and the archway leading inside was woven with hundreds of tiny, bright flowers, forming a sweet-smelling lattice to welcome its customers in. It must have needed re-weaving every couple of days, and was surely at least eight hours’ work. It was absolutely beautiful.

I took in a deep breath of jasmine as I walked through the archway and into the restaurant.

Inside, it was even more exquisite. The walls contained intricate wooden carvings, and the candlelight shone in such a way that gentle, shapely shadows danced across them, drawing the eye around the artwork in all directions. On each table was a beautiful cut-glass vase, containing sprigs of lavender, filling up the room with their sweet-smelling perfume.

I could also smell cedar wood and spicy miso, fresh fish and the sharpness of lemon. It was a feast for the senses, and it was heavenly.

The waitress, a beautifully-groomed Japanese woman, in a tight, seashell-pink kimono, walked me over to a private table in the corner. Mr. Cooper was already there. He watched me walk over to him, his expression hard and severe. When I sat down, he softened. ‘Rose,’ he said gently. ‘Thank you for coming.’

The waitress handed me a menu, and I thanked her, feeling woefully out of place in this beautiful environment. I was wearing a fitted blue dress, made out of t-shirt material, with three-quarter length sleeves. It felt both too frumpy and too casual. I never seemed to get my outfits right. ‘Thanks for inviting me,’ I said pathetically, waving my menu around in the air out of embarrassment. Sometimes I really was a goofball. ‘So what’s the best dish here, then?’

‘I’ve already ordered for us,’ Mr. Cooper said. ‘You won’t be needing the menu.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ I put the menu down. I knew my boss was controlling what I ate, but surely not when I was out at a restaurant? I’ve never had the opportunity to go to a fancy place like this in my life. I was kind of disappointed I didn’t at least get to pick one thing off the menu.

‘I’ve been here before,’ he said, as if sensing my disappointment. ‘I know the best dishes.’ He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if savouring his surroundings, and then his gaze flicked back to me. ‘They make their own silken tofu here. The wasabi is grated fresh. The spicy miso with lobster is a specialty. I’ve ordered plenty. Don’t worry.’

I felt embarrassed; I didn’t want him to think me ungrateful.

The waitress appeared, said something which sounded Japanese to Mr. Cooper, and he nodded, handed her the menus back, and then said something in Japanese to her. ‘There are over 40 types of saké on the menu,’ he told me. ‘Wait until you try this one.’

The waitress brought over a small ceramic flask, along with two small, cylindrical cups. She bowed and then walked away.

‘Juyondai,’ said Mr. Cooper, ‘is a much sought after, rare brand of saké. It’s produced by the Takagi Shuzo brewery, which was established in the seventeenth century. The brewery uses old methods but also experiments, making its output both traditional and ground-breaking. This saké here,’ he motioned at the flask, ‘is Ryugetsu Junmai Daiginjo Hyogo Toku A Yamada Nishiki.’ He paused. ‘
Toku A
is the highest grade of Yamada Nishiki that money can buy. You’ll see in a moment when we taste it. There are subtle hints of aniseed, but it’s floral too. Exquisitely delicate.’

I’d never tried saké. I wasn’t even sure if I liked it. I knew it was made of fermented rice. That didn’t exactly entice me.

‘The flask is called a
tokkuri
,’ he said, ‘and the cups are called
choko
. It is tradition for members of a party to pour out the drinks for each other.’ He looked at me and smiled. ‘I thought we could do that.’ He pushed a choko towards me. ‘Why don’t you pour mine first?’

I looked up at him, relieved that he at least looked amused, and wasn’t taking this scenario too seriously. But something about the way he was smiling told me he was enjoying watching me squirm, too. I reached for the tokkuri, and lifted it carefully, noticing that my hands were shaking. I looked up at Mr. Cooper, who looked down at the choko, and I began to pour. The saké trickled out. My hand was shaking so much that the flask trembled against the cup, making a rattling sound as I poured. ‘Sorry,’ I said mechanically, trying to be more careful, tilting the flask further away from the cup, but in doing so, pouring way too much saké out, and spilling some on the tablecloth. ‘Oh god, oh no. I’m really sorry, sir.’