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

by Ashley Spector

  The unhappy thought enters my mind; I know so little about him. I mean, when you meet up with a guy, and consider surrendering yourself to him, shouldn't you at least do more than search wikipedia for his name? I'm just stalling the inevitable, though, as I feign indifference, trying my best to present a face of indecision. I know fully well what I'm going to do. It's truly an offer I don't dare refuse.

  "Yes." I say, solely, opening my mind to the possibilities of characters he'd want me to portray for him, all of them submissive, and all of them delighting in the opportunity to give themselves wholly to their billionaire host.

  "Good," is all he offers, sipping from his glass quietly, in a demeanor no different from having concluded some generic business deal. I sit nervously, tapping at the table with my fingernail, before he continues; "then, do something for me, right now."

  "What?"

  "Take off your underwear."

  What? I pretend I didn't hear that, leaning in toward him closer, and seeking assurance that he didn't just say what I think he fucking said. He's ice cool - his face an unchanged, stony picture of calm, collected confidence - and he does little more than repeat himself.

  "Your underwear. Take it off."

  I feel my pulse racing once more and the thinnest layer of sweat builds on my brow. This is insane; they may be on Daniel's payroll, but there are waiters here nonetheless! I look around with watery, worried eyes, hearing the jostle of activity in the kitchen, and the occasional metallic clanging of pans and dishes. We're not alone, and never would I dream of doing such a brazen public exhibition! So as I put my hands to my legs, and anxiously skirt them along the tentative, goose-pimpled skin of my thighs, the manic question reverberates around my mind: what the fuck am I doing!?

  He doesn't say anything more; he knows he doesn't have to. He just watches me with lecherous eyes, enjoying the power he apparently has over me. I've never felt like this before; compelled by a higher authority, unable the face the prospect of disappointing my new employer, and driven by the rush of nerves this whole experience brings me. I put my index fingers to the hips of my underwear, and picking my butt up from the chair whilst pretending to adjust my seating, slide them to my upper thighs, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. My heart pounds away inside my chest - my fingers and toes tingling with anxious, nervous tension - as I push them to my knees, and down to the floor below.

  He looks back to the menu as I step out of them, signaling the presence of someone behind me. I quickly pull my blue dress back down to my knees, feeling a gentle draft of cold air upon my moistened vulva beneath. I can see from the look on his face - stern, and dutiful somehow - that it won't be enough for him.

  "Why don't you show me just how committed you really are?" he asks, exciting a simultaneous twinge of excited nerves within me, "why don't you touch yourself?"

  My jaw hangs agog, and my face quickly climbs to a crimson red, radiating heat from every pore. I knew he was going to put me through my paces; after this morning's events, I sure knew I wasn't coming here to bake girl scout cookies, but hearing him utter those words make it sound so much more real! In my head I cycle through a stock selection of rejections - hell no, I'm not that kind of girl, that's cheap, etc - but of course, my mind isn't exactly in control right now. He is.

  I close my eyes, blotting out all accusing stares from the non-existent restaurant-goers nearby, and put both my hands back beneath the table, finding my inner thigh - almost ticklish to the touch - before tracing a finger along my skin, up to my awaiting and impatient pussy.

  I hear him take another sip of wine, undoubtedly enjoying what he sees, as I find my clitoris already engorged and impetuously demanding my attention, standing out from between my lips. I circle a fingertip upon it, slowly, feeling the blood rush around my body sumptuously, and the tides of nerves within me slowly dissipating. When I open my eyes, I see exactly what I expected; Daniel sitting quietly and calmly, watching me intently, the side of his lips contorting in a smug, knowing grin.

  I'm startled when the waiter glides up to us, smiling graciously, apparently and thankfully unaware of the salacious things his boss is making me do.

  "You know, I think we'll skip dinner for a bit" he tells the waiter, folding the menu and placing it in his arms. "I'm not hungry yet. Are you?"

  I shake my head, trying to ignore the fact my damp panties are still lying on the floor down there. The waiter departs, and we're all alone again.

  "How about I show you around," Daniel says, with a sly grin. All I can think about is how high his gorgeously jagged cheekbones ride in his face when he's satisfied. "I have an office upstairs. I think you'll want to see it."

  I nod, silently, and subserviently. He climbs to his feet, bathing me in shadow, and breezing one of the candle flames out with his action. Extending a hand to me, he lifts me from my seat genially, and ignores my antsy glances beneath the table, to where the last layer of resistance protecting me from this rich and raucous billionaire lies, abandoned. I can't believe this; I feel like the girl who got the golden ticket, like this entire day's events have been just one delirious, fevered dream. A few days ago I was rehearsing lines for TV commercials, now I'm dining with the most powerful man in Hollywood?

  He leads me through a set of double doors, and to an ornate staircase - dark brown, mahogany wood, silver chandeliers, and bright red painted walls, making this look like something out of pre-revolutionary France - before leading me upstairs, one step at a time. I don't dare ask where we're going; it wouldn't be fitting with my role, I understand that. I just keep my head bowed down low, and try to mentally prepare myself for what Daniel asks.

  When we reach the top, and pass through another set of doors, I'm surprised by what I see; no bed, no couch, and no kinky, sordid sex dungeon. I guess I shouldn't be so prudishly expectant. All I find is a small room, with bare red walls, and a laptop sat lonely upon a desk.

  "I told you it was my office," he says with glee, letting go of my hand. It's lonely in here, not what I'd expect; there are no expensive looking paintings, no posters of movies past bearing his proud name as producer, not even a mirror. Strange for a guy so well-groomed.

  "It's a bit -" I hesitate, wondering whether or not to question my new employer directly. As he looks upon me with waiting eyes, I continue; "- empty?"

  "What, did you expect a hot tub?"

  I giggle to myself a little, more out of nervous expectation than anything else.

  "It's Spartan. No distractions, no indulgences, no fucking about, and no excuse not to work."

  "No personality," I pipe up, forgetting myself for a moment. I instantly regret it, and putting a hand to my mouth, immediately go to apologize. I needn't bother.

  "Hah!" he erupts in laughter, finally raising his voice out of that calm, collected monotone, and assuming a much more exasperated manner. "Yes! You're the first person who's dared to tell me that, Miss Everett!"

  I blush, tilting my face to one side, hiding it from his beaming, smiling intensity. The first person who's dared to tell him? Maybe I should be flattered; maybe I should be happy to have finally snapped him out of his controlled, superficial coolness. In actual fact, those words drive me to a sense of overriding guilt; like there's something I need to get off my chest, immediately.

  "Daniel," I say, keeping my eye line carefully away from his, "I guess I should tell you, I mean, uhm -"

  I've lost my train of thought again. He gives me the time to finish, waiting in silence, undoubtedly studying my every movement with those eyes again.

  "I don't know where this is all going. I don't expect to know, I guess that isn't in the job description. But - there's one thing I should say. I'm a virgin."

  I'm a virgin; God those words are so pathetic. I hang my head low, feeling the sweat-matted, crimson heat radiate from my forehead and cheeks. He doesn't speak, even as the moments turn to seconds, and the seconds turn to minutes. I finally look up to him, and he's standing with his arms crossed, and
an eyebrow raised. Oh fuck, what have I done? Did I fucking ruin things already!?

  "I'm sorry, I just -" I don't finish my sentence. I don't have the time. He charges across the room, angrily making up the short distance between us, takes me within his strong, thick arms, enveloping me tightly, and plants an impassioned, driven kiss upon my flapping lips. I'm shocked - I open my eyes wide only to see his closed for the first time - and nervously find a place on his back to put my hands, as his lips smack against mine repeatedly, taking me by force, and removing any opportunity I have to reject him. I close my eyes at last, relaxing my shoulders, and my back, as his tongue darts energetically into my mouth, teasing and tantalizing me. I'm so caught up in his embrace I don't give my mind the chance to jump its inevitable nervous somersaults.

  He holds his arms around me tightly, clutching me like some precious, invaluable artifact. I like the feeling; I'm warm, and for the first time this evening feel somehow secure. I even manage to kiss him back; pressing my lips against his, and teasing the surface of his lips with my tongue. Then, he takes a step back, releasing his grip on me, and leaving my standing alone in the middle of the room.

  "You've kissed before. It isn't so bad, is it?"

  I shake my head, fighting back the blushes of embarrassment.

  "Miss Everett, I want someone who will be willing to be there for me always. To deal with my best moments, and my worst moments. And most of all, like I said, I want someone who won't say no to me."

  I nod again, and again, fretfully processing everything he tells me. We're building to a climax, and I think I can tell what it is.

  "There are no legal documents yet signed between us. This will be your last opportunity to say no to me."

  He's forceful - the smile long gone from his face, replaced by nothing other than a burning, impassioned assertiveness - and I don't think I have it within me to reject him, even if I wanted to. No, my virginity is his. I know I tacitly consented to that as soon as I followed his lustful commands downstairs.

  "I won't say no." I state, confidently banishing the specters of timidity and anxiousness from my mind, at least for now. "I won't say no to you, now or ever."

  "Good."

  I throw my arms back to my sides, and close my eyes, as he charges back across the room, seizing me back within that warm, immaculate grip. He picks my waiting, donated body up from where I stand, hoisting me into the humid air, before dropping me upon the floor, laying his own body upon me. I struggle for breath beneath his languid frame, as he plants more kisses upon me - upon my neck, my shoulders, and my cheeks - and I can almost feel my eyes rising up into their sockets as he does so. Fucking hell, I've never felt this way before! For the first time, my heart isn't pounding against the insides of my chest from nerves; this time it's just sheer exhilarated excitement!

  I feel his hands wandering up my body, exploring my knees, my thighs, before darting over the surface of my dress, and teasing my eager, soaking pussy over a layer of flimsy fabric. I cry out, yelping as the feeling drives me up the wall, and he responds with a swift palm over my mouth, silencing me from the accusing ears downstairs. I've learnt my lesson.

  "You can tell me if it hurts" he whispers in my ear while pulling the dampened material of my dress up to my belly button, exposing every inch of my waiting pussy to his touch. I bite down slightly upon his finger over my mouth, as I feel his finger dart over my clit. God he knows how to fucking tease me; I writhe my body against his, anxious awaiting the arrival of a digit, a finger, a thumbprint, anything upon my devoted clit. When it finally comes, I hum gratifyingly through his fingers.

  "Let's go with one finger" he whispers, circling the digit of one finger upon my bud, before tracing it down the length of my vulva, and pushing it into my sopping hole, meeting utterly no resistance from within. I fidget around on the spot, delighting in the sensation of his joints grinding against my inner walls, as he tries his best to steady me from the top. My hands go to my breasts, rubbing and kneading them selfishly over my dress. Daniel knows just what I need next:

  "And how about two?"

  With that, he pushes yet another finger into me, spreading my slit even more so, and giving me something to really hold onto. I clench myself around him, jealously gobbling his fingers up, involuntarily feeling my pussy and asshole tighten in rhythm, as he plays me like some divine instrument. I bite the fleshy joint of his fingers at my mouth, suppressing another moan, and he obviously likes what he sees.

  "Three."

  The word comes as shock and a relief to me. Three fingers? I've only ever put one in there before! He drives the ring finger of his right hand into me, pushing past my soaking exterior, meeting the other two within. He has me now; I'm penetrated, and utterly receptive to his every wish. It hurts as I clench around him a little more, but any pain is soon overwhelmed by the throbbing, swelling pleasure that floods from inside.

  "Mm, that's - really - nice," I whisper between a rare gap between his fingers, apparently unable to think of anything more descriptive to say. Then, as soon as the niggling, abstract moments of pain subside, he stops, and pulls his fingers from me slowly.

  "What's the mat -"

  He presses a finger to my lips, implicitly shushing me, before putting the strong, potent palm of his hand to the side of my breast, caressing it briefly, and flipping me over onto my stomach. I lie with my chin resting upon the hard, carpeted ground, my dress riding up to my waist, and my bare, rounded ass seated high into the air, presenting him with an open, defenseless target. I gasp loudly, as he lies back on top of me, and feel something hard jabbing me in the back of my thigh.

  "You're - going to - fuck me?" I ask, managing to stammer my way through a complete sentence. He doesn't reply; the unbuckling of his belt, followed by their descent down his legs to the floor beside us is a response enough. His boxers soon follow, and as I lie beneath him - my heart pounding into the floor and my lungs gasping for breath - I feel the tip of his unseen cock begin to prod around my ass and pussy lips from behind. God, the tension is killing me.

  "Do it," I beg of him, unable to stand the teasing any longer. I'm so wet I swear I can feel the occasional bead of juice flowing from me; my stomach is alive with butterflies and my fingers and toes tingle in expectation, "Please."

  He has mercy, driving the length of his hardened rod into me, prizing my pussy lips apart from behind, and grinding his way past my dampened defenses. I bang my fist upon the floor, yelping with pleasured pain into the carpet. It hurts - a slight throbbing, seething pain - but not enough to make me hate this. The pleasure he brings me conquers all, and when he's fully enveloped inside me, and I can't extend my ass any further into his hips, he reaches around with the soaked fingers of one hand to play back upon my delirious clit.

  I gasp yet again as he withdraws, and slams himself back into me, violently deflowering me. My nails dig into the carpet, my mouth open wide to taste the dirtied, dusty floor, and my eyes screwed closed, putting me back inside my own little world. He's found a steady pace now, slamming his hips into my ass with more force than I'd expected, paying no heed to the delicate sensibilities of the virgin, while his fingers rub my clitoris from side to side, upwards and downwards, driving beads of juice out of my pussy and down his dick.

  "God," I murmur, trying to keep my voice down, and losing my breath to the joy. "Daniel, I never - thought - it'd be like this."

  He chuckles warmly, before moving his arm energetically across himself - wiping away the sweat I'd imagine - never granting me a moment's rest. I extend my ass backwards to meet his strokes, one by one, and soon feel the inevitability of my orgasm building in writhing, twitching torrents.

  "Oh God, Daniel, I'm gonna -"

  I don't even get to finish my sentence. My throat is possessed by a shrill cry, as my right leg sets off in shuddering spasms, apparently trying to escape the intense feeling he brings upon me. I clutch my breasts selfishly, squeezing their erogenous flesh, giving myself something to hold onto while
he batters my pussy from behind. I clench, tighten, and constrict around him, but he doesn't care, pounding himself into me like a man possessed. A tidal wave of satisfaction breaks over my wracked body, followed by another, and I have to jerk myself away from the activities of his finger; my clit a hypersensitive mess.

  When it's over, I lie face down, depleted; my pussy a sore, sopping hole, and my nerves quite rightly cooled. Daniel slows to a stop, before withdrawing, his role in my defloration apparently over.

  "How was your first time, Miss Everett?"

  I bat a handful of sweaty, unkempt black hair away from the front of my face, opening my eyes for the first time to find everything ever-so-slightly blurred. His face takes a moment to appear to me, covered in a sweaty sheen, but otherwise as impressibly dapper and cool as always. I'm wrecked.

  "Was I your first?" I ask him, seized by the demonic curiosity of my post-orgasmic haze. "Your first virgin, I mean."

  "I don't know," he replies, going through his past memories, arching his eyebrows down towards his eyes, thinking as hard as I've ever seen him. "You're certainly the most honest."

  The most honest? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I'm too orgasm-addled to think about it right now, but I at least enjoy the compliment. I lie for a moment, catching my breath, as he does the same. Then, something strikes me; a sense of responsibility or duty I didn't have before.

  "This job," I say, speaking to him on a familiar and cozy level I thought I'd never find, "the role of the girl who can't say no. When do I start?"

  He breaks out into smile. I do so love to see those teeth of his, and that strangely duplicitous smug smirk. He springs to his feet, and for the first time I see his member; glisteningly wet, semi-flaccid, and remarkable simply for the fact I just had it inside me. Businessman-like as always, he apparently had the forethought to keep his pink shirt on throughout.

  "The day after tomorrow" he begins, lowering his voice to an impersonal, cold tone; the one I imagine he'd use for business. "I'm going to give you a list. A shopping list, if you will. And your preparation for this role, as you put it, will be to find me every item upon that list."