Don't Ever Stop: A BDSM Billionaire Romance

by Rock, Vivie

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, handing over the beige and pink blazer I’d worn every spring for the last three years. The green dress had capped sleeves, revealing a lot of my upper arm, and I felt suddenly naked beside this well-dressed woman. I should’ve bought myself a shirt and pants at the mall yesterday. At least that way I’d have been covered up.

  ‘You can go straight up,’ Judy said. ‘Top floor. Room one.’

  Top floor? Room one?

  ‘The elevator is over there,’ she said. ‘Just press number seven, for the seventh floor.’

  I thanked her and got into the elevator. Even the elevator in this place was spectacular. It was made of transparent glass, taking me right up through the core of the building. I could see what was happening on every level. The first floor contained a maze of desks, and workers separated by small partitions. Some were scurrying around, rushing clipboards of information from one area of the building to another. Others were sitting at their desk, eyes glued to their screens, typing away at what had to be speeds of over a hundred words per minute. On the third and fourth floor there were closed off rooms, with doors and windows – private interview spaces, no doubt, and meeting rooms. The fifth floor looked like a conference space: a red-headed woman with glasses was pointing to a huge electronic display board behind her, containing a graph with a steeply rising line going across it. The woman looked pleased. She was nodding a lot, and there were people in the room sitting with their hands raised, and a row of photographers kneeling at the back, taking pictures.

  The sixth floor looked by far the most executive. It contained large leather sofas, impressive drinks cabinets, and a group of (mainly) men, sitting and discussing something with serious expressions and a drink in their hands.

  Finally, the elevator reached the seventh floor, and I was faced with just one door in front of me. This room, the only room on this floor, curved all around me, like a doughnut. It had no windows, so I couldn’t see in. All I could see was the number one, on the door, in large gold type.

  So this was it. Whatever was about to happen to me, was about to happen right now.

  I smoothed down my dress, stepped forward, and knocked.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Unmistakeable Eyes

  I heard footsteps approaching the door, then the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  ‘Come in,’ said a deep voice.

  I looked up for the source of it. I felt like I was looking up to the top of another skyscraper, this man was so tall. Finally, I got the the shoulders, the neck, the chin, the lips… the eyes. Those eyes. One blue, one green. They were the unmistakeable eyes of Redmond Cooper.

  ‘Rose,’ he said, waking me out of my reverie. ‘This way.’

  He locked the door behind me, then led me into the room, an enormous cube, with just a small circle in the center, where I had got out of the elevator. In every direction, around me, I could see the botanical plants in the glasshouse between us and the outside world. They were beautiful, at just the right height so that they did not so block out the sun, meaning the building was still bright and airy. Beyond the foliage, I could see snatches of blue sky, a swirl of cloud, the clean edge of the nearest skyscraper. It was magnificent.

  ‘Take a seat here,’ he said, pointing to a small, black stool containing a Chinese design. It had a thick lacquer finish, with detailed engravings underneath. I couldn’t tell what the engravings were at a glance. I thought I saw etchings of a man and a woman, but I sat down before I’d figured it out.

  The stool was lower than a chair, and Mr. Cooper remained standing up, towering over me. ‘Do you know why you are here, Rose?’ he asked. My stomach got butterflies at the sound of his voice. It was like the lowest strings on a double-class, being plucked with each word he spoke, the vibrations traveling deep inside me.

  I shook my head. ‘No, sir,’ I said.

  Sir?

  Mr. Cooper paused, looking down at me for a moment, and then smiled. ‘Let me get you a drink and explain,’ he said. ‘Green tea?’

  I nodded, not really sure what green tea tasted like. He walked over to a large desk and pressed a button on the intercom system. ‘Two green teas, Nisha,’ he said.

  I wondered if Nisha looked like Judy. Another perfectly-dressed catwalk-model-esque employee. Someone else to make me feel dowdier still in my cheap, starchy outfit. I dreaded to think what Redmond Cooper thought of me.

  ‘I saw you onstage at the awards ceremony,’ he began, beginning to pace up and down the room, his shoulders back and hands calmly at his sides, as if his walking up and down the room was some kind of posture exercise. I remembered taking an ‘etiquette’ class once, when I was a lot younger, and doing a similar activity while trying to balance a book on my head. I stubbed my toe, if I recall correctly.

  ‘I saw the way your colleague, Jen, treated you,’ he continued. ‘And I saw the startling effect it had upon you.’ He stopped pacing now, and turned to face me. ‘There are many things about business I like, Rose,’ he said, gesturing at his lavish office, his own slice of the sky, the exotic glasshouse behind him. And then his expression changed, mouth downturned, eyebrows furrowed, as if tasting something sour and unpleasant. ‘And there are some things I do not like.’

  I felt my knees begin to tingle. At first it was just the faintest twitch, and then, suddenly, they were full-on trembling, awaiting the confrontation that I felt might be about to come. I pressed my legs together to try and control the spasms. I didn’t want Mr. Cooper seeing me freaking out like this. A man in his position, seeing someone turn to jelly in his presence… it would surely disgust him.

  Be strong to get along, I told myself, trying to conjure up the spirit of my father’s beloved catchphrase.

  ‘One thing I particularly do not like,’ he told me, ‘is bullies.’

  Bullies?

  ‘There’s a difference between being strong and being a bully. A big difference. And that night, at the awards, Jen was a bully.’

  I found myself getting the urge to stick up for Jen in her absence, to tell Mr. Cooper that she was just drunk, that she’d taken the day off work yesterday, probably out of shame for what she did. But instead I sat in silence, pressing my legs together.

  ‘So I’ve had her fired,’ said Mr. Cooper.

  ‘Fired?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Christina, your boss, made it clear that we don’t need people like that working for the newspapers in our city. People like that give the media a bad name.’

  I felt a rush of excitement, that Mr. Cooper had the power to fire people - even people that worked outside of his own company. But that excitement was also tempered by guilt. Jen had lost her job because of me…

  ‘That’s not why I called you here, though,’ he said, at the same moment there was a knock at the door. ‘The reason you’re here is much, much more important.’

  Redmond Cooper summoned in his assistant, and Nisha entered, carrying a silver tray containing a pot of steeping tea and two china cups. She placed the tray on an elegant coffee table nearby, and then straightened herself. ‘I’ll get your chair, Mr. Cooper,’ she said. Although she was polite, there was something moody about her. She scowled as she pushed a plush, red leather chair, across the carpet. It had the look of a dentist’s chair, with a back portion that lowered, and a front portion that raised, so I imagined, if Redmond Cooper so desired, he could lie perfectly horizontal on that chair.

  Nisha left it upright though, and pushed it into the center of the room with apparent ease. I was relieved to see that Nisha wasn’t another six foot tall, leggy blonde, and that Mr. Cooper did in fact employ a range of body types. Nisha was plump, with short, brown curls, big breasts, and wide hips. She was wearing a tight cerise dress, which accentuated her curves, and I couldn’t help but notice Mr. Cooper’s eyes flick briefly towards her ass as she walked away from us.

  ‘Will that be all, sir?’ asked Nisha, stopping at the door, still scowling.

  ‘That’s it, thank you, Nish
a,’ Mr. Cooper replied, and she left.

  He took a seat on the red leather chair, which was so high he still towered over me, and then he looked at the silver tray on the coffee table. ‘We’ll give that another couple of minutes to steep,’ he said, softly. ‘In the meantime, I can get to know you a little better.’

  He turned his full attention on me, his strikingly-colored eyes piercing me, as if they were penetrating my soul. ‘Tell me, Rose,’ he said. ‘What do you want from life?’ His expression became more severe. ‘Tell me the truth.’

  My legs could no longer control themselves, and they began to shake, terribly, while I prepared myself to begin some nervous rambling.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bone China

  I began to give my usual speech. The one I gave my parents when I returned home from university. The one about seeing the world, learning new things every day, building new connections with people and places. The same old stuff I’d been telling myself, and everyone else, that I wanted for the last decade. The stuff I felt so afraid of actually doing.

  Mr. Cooper kept his eyes on me the whole time I spoke. The more he looked at me, the more nervous my rambling became. I could feel my cheeks getting redder too.

  ‘What do you really want, Rose?’ he asked, interrupting me, firmly but with a certain warmth. ‘Don’t tell me what you think you’re meant to want. What do you really want from life?’

  I bit my lip, and looked around the opulent room I was sitting in, at the objet d’arts Mr. Cooper had collected on his no doubt magnificent travels. What looked like a whole row of ceremonial drinking horns in a cabinet otherwise full of gleaming, golden trophies. Small, carved ivory figures on a plinth in one corner of the room. A small, but perfectly carved Ancient Greek style statue of a boy in the other corner. This was certainly nothing like Christina’s office. And not a speck of dust in sight.

  ‘What I really want from life,’ I began, aware that I was about to say something I’d never dared let myself speak before, ‘is peace.’

  Mr. Cooper nodded, kind of bored-looking, as if I’d just told him I wanted ‘oxygen’ or ‘carbohydrates’.

  ‘No,’ I said, growing a little braver. ‘I’m not talking about world peace. I mean, of course that would be nice, but I’m not just giving the stock phrase Miss America might give at some lame beauty pageant.’

  Mr. Cooper raised his eyebrows, amused.

  ‘I’m talking about inner peace. I’d like the noise inside me to calm down, to settle; to be able to close my eyes and hear nothing but peace… I want to be able to sit in a silent room, and simply let the sensations wash over me.’

  Suddenly, Redmond Cooper was sitting up straight, watching me with intensity. It egged me on to go further.

  ‘I want every ounce of anxiety, nerves, the I-can’t-do-this inner monologue to drop away from me,’ I continued, ‘and to just be able to surrender…’

  Mr. Cooper coughed, and then reached over to the teapot and poured us both a green tea. ‘Rose,’ he said, handing me a china cup. It looked so dainty, almost translucent. It looked like real bone china too, which I knew was actually made of bone ash. It was also extremely strong, in spite of its appearance, and very difficult to chip.

  ‘Thank you for being honest with me,’ Mr. Cooper said. ‘I asked you to do it, and you complied. It takes guts to do that. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to do it.’ He took his own cup, raised it to his lips, and blew gently over the hot liquid.

  I looked into my cup. It was like looking at liquid amber. I lifted it to my lips, smelling the exotic dark, savoury steam rising off it, and then took a sip. It was a strange taste. Floral, herbal… a little smoky, maybe.

  ‘It’s Que She,’ said Mr. Cooper. ‘Also known as Sparrow’s Tongue.’

  I couldn’t hide my grimace.

  ‘It’s produced in the Sichuan province, on Emei Mountain, one of the Four Sacred Buddhist Mountains of China.’

  I nodded, as if I knew where that was.

  ‘It’s traditionally regarded as a bodhimaṇḍa, or place of enlightenment. It is said that, as early as the sixteenth century, martial arts were practised in the monasteries of Mount Emei.’ I think Mr. Cooper sensed he was losing me, as he returned to the subject of the tea. ‘Gets its name due to the shape of the leaves. It’s one of the more delicate green teas. You can just make out the faint aroma of chestnut.’ He breathed in deeply over his cup. ‘Some say the Lonjing variety is the world’s best green tea, but I much prefer the fragile, unassuming beauty of this one.’

  I took another sip, trying to acquire a taste for it, but struggling. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ I said, ‘but why did you bring me here today?’

  The words hung in the air between us for a moment, clumsy and awkward, and I felt terribly embarrassed, even rude, for being so direct.

  Redmond Cooper placed down his cup. ‘I want to help you, Rose,’ he said. ‘Seeing Jen bully you in public like that reminded me of something similar that happened to me, early in my career. I almost lost everything. I don’t want it to happen to you.’ He opened out his palms as he spoke, making me weirdly trust what he was saying, even though it sounded so unlikely. ‘I’ve done a little research into you. I’ve read some of your advertising copy. You’re not so bad, you know. With a little training, I think you could make a very good journalist.’

  ‘A journalist? I’ve only been working in advertising three weeks!’ I couldn’t help but blurt this out.

  ‘You don’t want to be working in ads all your life, do you?’

  Nervously, I shook my head.

  ‘Then come and work here. Work for Global. I’ll get you shadowing someone. Make sure you receive the necessary training. Within six months, if you work hard, you could be working on pieces of your own.’ His eyes were glued to mine. I don’t know if it was his penetrating gaze, or the heady scent of green tea, but my head was spinning. A journalist at Global? People work their way up the ladder for years to get a break like this. Most of them never manage it!

  ‘Think it over,’ Mr. Cooper said. ‘I know it seems sudden, out of the blue perhaps. But I mean it. I’m going to take a very close interest in your career, if you’ll let me.’

  ‘I don’t need to think it over,’ I said dizzily, ‘I mean, of course, I’ll do it. I’d be mad not to jump at an opportunity like that. If you’re serious. If you really think that I can–’

  ‘Rose,’ he said. ‘I’m going to let you into a little secret. ‘Ninety-nine per cent of journalism is about attitude. And I like yours. You deserve a break. Let me give you one.’

  My china cup was rattling in its saucer. My hands were shaking. I put it down on the coffee table, and Redmond Cooper reached out his hand.

  ‘Welcome aboard, Rose,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Cooper,’ I replied, teeth chattering.

  ‘Please,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Call me sir.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A Wish

  As I walked out of the building, onto the busy sidewalk, among the hustle and bustle of New York City, I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I was in a dream. Me! Rose Smith! A journalist at Global Media! I almost felt like skipping.

  I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the next part, going back to work and telling Christina the news. She’d had her suspicions about me before I went today, and heavens knew what she’d think once she discovered I’d been ‘poached’ by a rival paper. But before going back to the office, I decided to treat myself with a little walk to the plaza. It wasn’t far from here, and I hadn’t been there for a couple of years. Amid the screeching sirens, reversing lorries, crying babies, and strumming buskers, there was a large square. At one end of the square stood the Natural History Museum; at the other, there was the cathedral. In the center, in addition to a number of pigeons, there was a huge fountain, with ten tiers of ornate leaf designs. I loved the sound of the water rushing down each tier. Even above the ever-changing chatter of the city, you could hear i
t. The one constant.

  As I approached it now, I decided to do something I’d never done before. I decided to throw in a dime.

  I’d always considered it vandalistic to clog up such a beautiful architectural structure with coins; not to mention a waste of money. But people had been throwing in their loose change for many, many years, rubbing the coins for luck. Sometimes they did it with a loved one, or children did it with their parents. Occasionally, you’d catch an elderly woman, standing alone with tears in her eyes, giving the coin a kiss and then throwing it in. Each one of them making their own personal wish. Today I was going to become a part of this old tradition.

  I walked right up to the fountain, and looked into the pool of water at the base. There were so many coins in there. Enough to buy a pretty decent day out, if you were to scoop it all up. I wondered how often the homeless people of New York had done that very thing. Or if they feared picking up all those scattered wishes. Perhaps taking other people’s wishes seemed too much like bad luck, even if it did buy you dinner.

  I fumbled around in my handbag for my purse, and then took out the shiniest dime I could find. It was dated 2013. I looked at the picture on the back of the coin. The torch, olive branch, and oak branch. Symbolizing liberty, peace and strength. Liberty. Peace. Strength. It suddenly made me think of the phrase ‘peace through strength’. An ancient phrase used by the Roman Emperor Hadrian, among others, I seem to remember. I took a History minor in case you’re wondering. I’m not some kind of genius.

  I thought about what I’d told Redmond Cooper. That I was looking for peace. And I thought about what my dad kept telling me. ‘Be strong to get along.’ Would there ever be a way to achieve both? Is the combination of both peace and strength what leads to liberty?

  I brought the coin up to my lips, gave it a soft, quick kiss, making sure no-one was watching me in my bizarre private act, and then I threw in the dime.