by Claire Adams
When he returned to me a third time, he entered me with his cock. It felt like heaven, and I prayed that this time he would fuck me until we both came.
"Please let me come on your cock. I'll be a good girl, I promise. Please just let me come on your cock," I begged pathetically.
"You've learned your lesson not to defy me or be bratty?" Ethan asked sternly as he stroked inside me with deep, powerful thrusts of his mighty dick.
"Yes, I've learned my lesson. I'll always obey your every word," I vowed.
"Good girl. Now let's see if you mean it." He pulled out of me and released the bonds on my wrists and ankles. He commanded me to climb on top of the table and masturbate for him. I did as I'd been told, laying on the table with my fingers stimulating my most delicate folds until I was writhing and screaming as I orgasmed.
Suddenly, Ethan grabbed me by the thighs and pulled me to him where he was standing at the edge of the table. He wrapped my thighs around his waist and plunged into my pulsating pussy, entering me at the exact moment I was vibrating with orgasm.
I threw back my head and screamed out loud with the intensity of my pleasure as wave after wave of intense pleasure threatened to tear me apart, as he fucked me into new and greater heights of ecstasy. I never knew it was possible to orgasm during an orgasm, and the levels of pure euphoria my body could achieve. My screams echoed off the ceiling and walls as my climax seemed to last forever.
"That was incredible," I gasped, as slowly our breathing returned to normal when at last our joint orgasms had come to an end.
"You're incredible." He kissed me lovingly. "I hope I didn't hurt you too much."
"You could never hurt me," I said naively, not knowing just how wrong I was. I looked at the pile of plates, glasses, and food that was spilled all over the floor and gasped. "I guess we'd better clean that up."
"No, just leave it. I'll give the maids an extra-large bonus in the morning. Let's go take a shower."
"I don't feel right about just leaving it for them," I fussed. "You go take a shower, I'll stay and clean this up quickly and then I'll join you."
"Are you disobeying me again?" He glared playfully, making a mock angry scowl as he pulled me close and kissed my lips lovingly.
"No, sir. I'll be a good girl." I grinned at him with sparkling eyes and let him lead me upstairs to the shower in his massive bedroom suite.
The hot water felt good on my skin, but there were painful welts on my ass that made me wince when the spray of water hit them.
"I have a salve in my top drawer that will sooth the pain and help them heal faster," he said apologetically.
"I'll find it," I said, as I wrapped a soft towel around my body and left him to enjoy the hot water for a few minutes alone.
The salve was easy to find in his dresser drawer and I sighed with relief as I applied to cool cream to my sensitive skin.
"I don't have anything to put on. You tore my dress," I called out, as I heard Ethan exiting the shower.
"Look in the box under my bed," he called out. I did and found a large box wrapped with a pink paper with a ribbon tied in an intricate bow. Like an eager child on Christmas morning, I ripped into the box and gasped at the beautiful, cashmere pajamas inside, as well as panties and a camisole top. They fit perfectly and felt wonderfully soft on my skin.
Feeling comfy and playful, I jumped on his bed and piled the pillows behind me, so I was sitting up. It reminded me of when I was kid and I would watch television in my parents’ bed. I found the remote control easily on his nightstand and turned it on. An image of Ethan filled the screen. He was being interviewed by a reporter on a popular show.
"Hey, look. It's you!" I cried out happily, but Ethan stuck his head out of the bathroom door and pointed at the cell phone in his hand.
"Someone just called. It might be important."
I knew it would be one of the downfalls of being in a relationship with a billionaire. Ethan would constantly have demands on his time and people desperately needing his attention. The secret would be for me to have something that kept me busy of my own; something that fulfilled me and made me feel happy. My modeling career was the perfect solution.
Since Ethan was on the phone, I decided to enjoy watching the interview. The reporter was talking to him about the party Friday night.
"The All American is an impressive motorcycle, but what everyone's really buzzing about is this ravishing model you have showcasing the bike on the cover and the inside photo spread. Who is she and where did you find her?" the reporter asked, making my heart skip a beat.
"Miss Kayla Brandt. She came into our L.A. offices during our walk-in auditions with no agent and virtually no experience. But when she got on that bike, she just blew me away. You can see she has a natural charm that just lights up the page. When she smiles into the camera, you feel like she's smiling just at you. I knew I had to have her for the cover."
"It looks like the two of you were quite cozy at the launch party. Tell me, is there anything between the two of you?"
"Miss Brandt did a terrific job showcasing the All American in this month's issue of Speed Magazine. I respect her tremendously and felt a real connection with her when we were working together on the cover shoot. So, it was really good to see her again at the party."
"Are the rumors true that you two are now a couple?" the reporter pressed.
I felt my heart leap into my throat. I couldn't wait to hear Ethan validate our relationship on national television. I'd never been one who needed to show off my romantic relationships publically, but this would validate it to everyone who had their doubts (like my mother) that what we had for each other was real. What came next out of Ethan's mouth hit me like a punch to the gut, and made me double over, gasping for breath.
"No, we're just very close friends."
How could he say that? How could he deny our relationship like that, after the weekend at the hotel and now tonight in the dining room?
I realized that my mother had been right. Ethan wasn't invested in our relationship like I was. To him, I was nothing more than the flavor of the month; this issue’s model to fuck and then toss aside when the next issue came out. It made me sick to my stomach, and yet I couldn't stop watching the interview.
Now the reporter was asking him about something different. "Everyone is speculating on the one question you never seem to want to answer. Please tell our viewers now, Mr. Colson: how did you come up with the name of your company, Speed Motorcycles?"
Ethan turned ghostly pale and held up his hand covering the lens. "Sorry, I forgot I have an important video conference with someone half-way around the world that I really can't delay. It would be an insult to them to keep them waiting. Thanks for coming in and thanks for the interview. I love your show. I watch it all the time."
I watched in surprise as Ethan forced the reporter to back out his office and then closed the door in his face.
"There you have it," the reporter said straight into the camera. "Why won't Ethan Colson answer this simple question? What does he have to hide? All I can say for certain is, he won't be able to keep it secret for long."
The interview ended, and I shut off the television. It dredged up all the things I wanted to talk to Ethan about. Why wouldn't he reveal how he had come up with the name of his company? What was the secret addiction Gwyneth had forewarned me about in the lobby of the hotel? What was I to him? Was I a girlfriend like he had told his friends at the party or nothing more than a fling like he had told the reporter?
I knew these were dangerous questions that would probably get me hurt and might end up with Ethan never wanting to see me again, but I also knew I couldn't go on this way not knowing. No matter if it resulted in the end of our relationship, I had to learn the truth about these things, and I had to hear it from Ethan's own lips.
"Ethan, we need to talk," I said, striding towards the bathroom.
"Shit! Are you out of your fucking mind? You're trying to ruin me. Well, I won't let it happ
en. I'll destroy you first."
Ethan was yelling into his cell phone at the top of his lungs, and it terrified me. I had never seen him so deeply angry. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew my petty worries needed to be set aside for now. Whatever he was going through, it was bad, and he needed me.
Seeing him in jeopardy like that made me realize one important thing: I loved him, and if he was suffering, I was going to be by his side to support him and help him through it. It didn't matter if he didn't love me in the same way. It didn't matter about his past, or his secrets, or how he behaved in interviews.
All that mattered was I loved him, and I was going to help him no matter what.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ethan
I'd never been happier. I was at the top of my industry with Speed Motorcycles ranked as the number one motorcycle company in the country. People from all around the world were now clamoring to buy one of my bikes, and the orders for the new All American were already breaking industry records.
I had a great house in Beverly Hills, California that I loved to come home to every night. When you spent your childhood wondering if you were going to have a roof over your head some nights, nothing meant more than that kind of security. I had bought my parents a house so they'd never have to know that worry again, too, especially my dad. I had a vacation property in Hawaii and another in Colorado. My garage was filled with more cars than I could possibly drive, especially when I had a collection of motorcycles that I loved even more. I could go anywhere I wanted, any time I wanted, just because I fucking felt like it, and nobody could stop me.
Best of all, I had found a woman who fulfilled my every need. I had thought being successful meant being able to go down to the hottest club and hook up with any chick I wanted to. I thought being free was going out with a different hot model every Friday night. I thought being in a committed relationship would kill my soul and ruin all the things in my life that made me who I was. I thought all the poor suckers out there that were tied down to one woman had sacrificed the best parts of themselves; that if I did the same thing, I would lose my creativity, spontaneity, and the essence of my manhood.
It's how I viewed what happened to my father when my mother left him and he tried to drown himself in depression and alcohol. I never understood why he yearned for her the way he did and why he took her back so willingly when she returned, telling him it had been a mistake and she wanted the two of them to help each other get well. I never understood that kind of unconditional love.
Now, with Kayla, I finally did.
It was too big a step for me to say I loved Kayla, but she was the first woman that made me ask that question. From the moment I saw her at that audition, looking like a shy fawn, and then when her top fell off and the adorable way she reacted, I was fascinated by her.
Then, when I spent the entire day with her, teaching her how to ride, that fascination turned to inspiration. She was so daring and persistent. No matter much something scared her, or how many times she failed at it, she wouldn't give up. She just kept trying until she got it, and even then, she wouldn't quit until she got it right. She was a perfectionist, and a daredevil, and still completely sweet. Her patience was unending, and her willingness to keep going was inspiring.
I gained a respect for her that day. It made me want to open up to her when we were sitting under that oak tree and share my story with her, and when she shared her story with me, what started out as fascination and then inspiration turned to compassion.
I yearned to protect her, provide for her, and take care of her. She suddenly meant something to me, far more than just some dumb, sexy model I wanted to fuck and then toss aside. She was being used by that asshole boyfriend of hers and needed someone like me to show her how she deserved to be treated.
It felt good taking care of somebody — really good. I loved seeing the way her face her lit up, watching her eyes sparkle, noticing how that beautiful smile spread until she was glowing. Once I had taste of making her smile, I wanted more of it. It was addictive, like a drug, and all I could think about from that moment was making her smile — that and kissing those perfect lips.
I had kissed a lot of women over the years. I'd slept with more gorgeous models and sexy socialites than I could even remember, but there was something about Kayla Brandt that I knew I would never forget.
The way her skin felt to my touch, the way her lips tasted, the way her body responded to mine in just that right way; it was intoxicating. I could hardly believe it when she told me that she'd never played bondage sex games before, except I knew nothing about Kayla was dishonest. She was authentic in every way, from her unenhanced breasts to every word she said, Kayla was always genuine.
I guess that's what made the sex with her so incredible. I knew she wasn't faking it or trying to act like she thought I'd want her to. The reactions she gave to every touch were her true sexual responses, and that was erotic as hell. When her skin shivered and her mouth sighed, I knew I had truly affected her on a deeper level, and when she clutched at the sheets and screamed out in passion, I knew I was really giving her the best orgasm of her life.
It seemed oddly selfish to think of it these terms, but making Kayla come was the greatest pleasure I'd ever known. It made me feel gratified in a way I'd never experienced before. I had always been an over-achiever, getting top grades in school, working my ass off for Krueger, and then working even harder to create Speed Motorcycles and turn it into what it was today, but all that hard work and been selfishly motivated. I was serving myself with the ultimate goal of achieving wealth, and I'd succeeded. I was now outrageously rich with no one in my life to share it with or enjoy it alongside me.
When I was Kayla, however, making her writhe on the bed with delirious pleasure as I fucked her all night long, I was giving something to someone who truly deserved it. Kayla Brandt had felt unloved and unappreciated most of her life; she was craving male attention and acceptance. I wanted to be the one to give that to her and reward her with pleasures unlike anything she'd ever known. I wanted to be the one to make her light up in that way and to say that I was her man.
She had the kind of body I knew I would never get tired of, and the kind of personality I could just sit and talk with for hours. Nothing about her was boring, fake, or annoying. She was just terrific all the way around, and I never wanted to be without her.
I guess that said it all. I wanted to be in a relationship with Kayla Brandt. I wanted to be with her alone and no one else, and I wanted her to commit to the same with me. I was ready for this next stage in my life.
It felt good to come to this realization and I felt invigorated. Just moments ago, she and I had been fucking wildly on my dining room table. Now, I was in the shower, having this amazing catharsis while she was in my bedroom rubbing lotion on her perfectly round ass.
I turned off the hot water and reached for a towel as I stepped out of the shower. I couldn't wait to tell her I was ready to commit to her, and see what she said. A flash of fear washed over me as I wondered if she would reject me, but I had to shake it off. Every instinct I had told me that she felt the same way as I did. I just had to go for it.
I could hear the television blaring in the bedroom and realized she must have turned it on. I strained my ears, trying to figure out what she was watching when I became aware of the sound of my cell phone ringing. I found it on the bathroom counter and answered it.
"Hey, buddy. It's me again." The voice sounded drunk, or maybe high.
"Charles Dorsey?" I asked, placing the voice with the asshole junkie I'd had to throw out of my office that morning. "It's late. Why are you calling me at home at this hour?"
"I thought we were friends. We used to be friends. Remember?"
"Yeah, I remember." He was definitely high. All I wanted to do was end this conversation quickly so I could get back to a much more important one with Kayla.
"All those nights at the frat house: you, me, Vick, Bradley, Mike, and what was
the name of that other dude?"
"I don't remember. I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Charles." I started to hang up, but he stopped me.
"Oh, yeah, Speedy. Remember, Speedy? How good it felt when you got that first buzz? How it made us feel like we could do anything."
Shit. That part of my life was behind me. The last thing I wanted to do was take a stroll down memory lane with a fucked-up friend of mine from my fraternity days who never learned how to stop partying and get off that shit.
Charles was talking a mile a minute into the phone. "I remember this one time we were all fucking loaded as shit. You shouted out, ‘I can move at the speed of sound,’ and you climbed on the banister of our fucking stairs, straddling the railing. Then I said, ‘You look like you're riding a motorcycle.’ And then you said, ‘A motorcycle that runs on fucking speed.’ Then I said, ‘Yeah, a speed motorcycle.’
“You laughed your fucking ass off, and then you said, ‘If I ever start my own company, I'm going to call it Speed Motorcycles,’ and I said, ‘Yeah, you should totally fucking do that, only I want half because it was my idea.’
“Well, guess what buddy? It's time to pay up my fucking half."
"You're out of your fucking mind. Good night, Charles," I said, feeling annoyed.
"No, I went to see a lawyer today after you threw me out of your office. He agrees, I've got a claim. We came up with the idea together. You owe me half the money from your company, but I'm willing to settle out of court. Give me a million even, and we'll call it fair."
"That's bullshit. You might have a lawyer, but that claim will never make it to court. Any judge will throw it out as being ridiculous, and if you can find one who will listen to you, I've got a team of lawyers that will bury you under 50 tons of paper. Forget the whole thing. Sober up, Charles. Get yourself into rehab."
"Fine. You might be able to keep a judge from hearing my story, but someone else will listen to it. I've got an appointment with Becky Wilson tomorrow."
