HATE LOVE: A Billionaire Boss Romance

by Katie Ford

  “Hey,” Enzo grunted, turning away. Yannis didn’t even say anything, just looking around like he was bored.

  But I was supposed to be flirtatious and fun tonight, so I tried again.

  “Hi,” I cooed, doing my best to purr. “I’m Ellie, nice to see you again.”

  I held out my hand to shake but both men stared at it like they didn’t know what to do. Miles cut in.

  “You losers, shake her hand! What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think she’s waiting for?”

  And grudgingly, Enzo took it, his big bear paw almost crushing mine, rough and greasy at once. But at least I only touched him for a second and then it was over. Yannis still wasn’t paying attention, looking off into the darkness, almost like he was scanning the neighborhood. Oh well. You just can’t win some people.

  But Rachel was now beyond excited, almost jumping up and down.

  “This is soooo cool!” she cooed, linking both arms around Miles’s neck, draping herself on the blue velvet blazer. “Where’s the club? I can’t wait! This is so different from the usual Vegas thing, we’re going to have so many stories to tell when we get back, it’s gonna be frickin’ amazing.”

  I was a little embarrassed because what happened to playing “hard to get”? Rach was letting everything hang out, but I scolded myself again. Stop Ellie, I frowned. Just go with the flow and relax. So I pasted another smile on my face and tried to look excited.

  “Can’t wait!” I chirped. “So fun!”

  Miles threw his head back and laughed then.

  “Cara,” he said gently, unwinding Rach’s arms from around his neck. “This is a super-discreet, top secret place that only the best people know. Trust me, you’re gonna love it. Enzo! Yannis!” he said. “Let’s show these ladies a good time.”

  And sure enough, Yannis stepped up to a door that I hadn’t seen before. It almost blended in with the wall, there was nothing but a crack indicating it was there, the concrete façade smooth otherwise. And with a practiced knock, he rapped on the hard surface.

  Nothing happened for a moment, although I could swear someone was looking at us. I’m not sure what made the hairs on my neck prickle, but I swear I could feel eyes on us, on me and Rachel in particular, taking everything in before the door swung silently open.

  “Come on,” chuckled Miles, leading the way. “Come on, this place is fuckin’ awesome, you’re going to love it.”

  And my hopes rose as we stepped through the door. Because instead of raucous party music, soft strains of something classical greeted us. And the foyer we’d entered was luxurious and dripping with elegance, set with marble floors, a beautiful colonnade leading to another hallway, sprays of flowers on either side. A woman nodded at us with a tray of drinks.

  “Welcome to the Club,” she murmured, bowing slightly. Wow, the brunette was breathtakingly beautiful with her hair swept into an elegant topknot, a bodyhugging black dress on. This was their coat check girl? Suddenly I felt hot and embarrassed, face flaming, like I was crass and rude next to this woman’s understated elegance. But I made myself smile and murmur, “No thanks, I’m good.”

  She merely offered the cocktails to the rest of my party, and sure enough Rachel downed one immediately, the pink liquid disappearing down her throat like water.

  “Mmmm!” she said, lapping her lips a little, shooting Miles a lascivious look. “Have a sip, loverboy.”

  And the swarthy man chuckled.

  “I am, I am,” he remarked, although I noticed he didn’t actually drink the drink, merely holding it with one hand as Rachel balanced in the crook of his other. That seemed bad, but maybe he didn’t like girly tropical drinks, the kind filled with fruit flavors. Because that’s what this one looked like, just a step away from a pina colada with a little umbrella sticking out.

  But even with the odd location and the weird drinks, I was still excited to see what lay beyond the hallway. Because the air of luxury entranced me, I admit. I was curious, excited, and wanted to let loose on this one night, I could sleep in as much as I wanted tomorrow, heck, even for the rest of the week. I could be a walking zombie for the rest of our vacation so long as I had a good time tonight, let my hair down to party.

  So I turned towards the men, ready to move on, when suddenly a rough set of hands grabbed me around the neck.

  “Hey!” I shrieked. “What the?”

  But immediately a gag was bound around my mouth, changing my words into a muffled “mwmwmwm.” I swung my head around, desperately looking for Rachel, but saw that she was in the same predicament. My childhood friend’s eyes were rolling crazily as she struggled against her gag, Yannis swinging her up onto his shoulder like a bag of coal.

  “Mwmwmwm!” she shrieked. “Mmwwwm!” she screamed again, kicking and beating at his back ineffectively.

  Meanwhile, Enzo swung me up onto his shoulder, tying my hands together with a length of rope and my struggles to get free were futile.

  “Mmph,” I grunted, getting a good knee to his chest, banging against his back with my bound fists.

  The loser just increased his grip around my waist.

  “Got a fighter here,” he growled out. “Shit, she’s no sack of flour.”

  Yannis just grunted in reply.

  “That’s cause she didn’t drink the drink like this princess,” he said gesturing to Rachel slung over his shoulder. Because to my horror, my friend was passed out, her body slumped like a rag doll on Yannis’s back, mouth open, a long string of spittle dangling from her lips, oozing to the floor. What the hell? That drink had been spiked? What the hell, what the hell? And where was Miles, her loverboy savior?

  But Miles was right there, looking on with an evil grin, laughing to himself.

  “Oh yeah, these two will fetch us a pretty penny,” he chortled, his voice ringing loud in the marble foyer. “Come on,” he grunted, and strode down the hallway, not looking back.

  I gasped and struggled more, but it was no use. I was securely slung over Enzo’s shoulder, bound hand and foot, with a cloth in my mouth, unable to speak or move. Holy shit. I was in deep trouble and there could only be bad things coming my way.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ellie

  We walked for what seemed like forever. Or maybe it was only forever to me because I was slung over Enzo’s shoulder, with no sense of direction, a blindfold tied over my face. But it felt like hours because there were so many twists and turns, so many changes of direction as we made our way deeper and deeper into a maze.

  And finally, a door creaked open and I was dumped into a small room, my rump bouncing up and down on something soft and cushy.

  “Leave her there until it’s time,” came Miles’s voice coldly. The gag was ripped out of my mouth and my blindfold removed. I opened my mouth to scream but it came too late because the door shut behind me and my frightened cry was absorbed by the walls, no one hearing or caring but me. Oh god, I was alone, still bound hand and foot, with nowhere to go, no way to get myself out.

  But there had to be a way, I wasn’t giving up that easily. I’d been kidnapped by three men, sure, three gross dudes whom we’d only just met, but they were hardly geniuses, I hadn’t been impressed by their intellect when we chatted earlier today by the pool. Plus, when you’re attacked you’re supposed to fight back immediately and vigorously, otherwise the chance of getting out alive only narrows. Of course, I was already deep in the trenches of some scary kidnapping scheme, but I wasn’t giving up. I couldn’t lose hope now, so breathing deep, I tested my bonds once again. There had to be a way. This was my life at stake.

  And gathering my wits, I looked around the room. It wasn’t a dungeon, unless dungeons have velvet covered walls and luxurious furniture, gilded chairs with overstuffed cushions, couches a deep maroon color that you could sink into. In fact, the loveseat that I was on now was a plush purple velvet, like a giant marshmallow, except wine-colored and poofy. There was no artwork on the walls, just a couple recessed lights and a giant flat-screen
TV. Hmm, that meant there had to be cable here, some kind of electricity that I could use to my benefit.

  And as I struggled with my bonds, the flatscreen came to life, flickering on with an intensity that made me squint. Whoa. It wasn’t CNN or MSNBC on the screen. Instead, the camera zoomed onto a chamber of sorts, the lens adjusting and readjusting before finally coming into focus. There was a figure standing on a slightly raised dais, completely covered in a long, midnight-blue robe with a hood pulled down over their face. Then a spotlight flicked on, flaring bright on the shrouded form, and a woman’s voice sounded out, mild and a little bit robotic.

  “Welcome,” the disembodied voice said. “Welcome to bidding on Article Twenty, our first parcel for the night. Article Twenty is twenty-two years old, from Little Rock, Arkansas. Handlers,” the voice continued, “please remove her hood.”

  And I gasped because invisible hands pulled the cape from the form, and the material slid fluidly away to reveal the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Red hair curled around a face as sweet as an angel, the glossy tresses reaching almost to her butt, and big brown eyes looked around, a little fearful, biting her lip. Oh my god, this was Article Twenty? Why didn’t they use her name? What was going on?

  But the disembodied female voice continued.

  “As you can see, Article Twenty is young and healthy,” the woman spoke again. “The girl stands five foot nine, measures 36-24-36, with brown eyes and red hair. Article Twenty, remove your dress please,” the voice said mildly.

  The redhead inhaled again, looking around wildly with large eyes. I wondered why she didn’t run, there were no restraints on her hands and feet, although she was barefoot. But she didn’t try to run, instead quivering in place, breathing hard, eyes wide and rolling.

  Suddenly the voice came on again.

  “Handlers, please help Article Twenty with her clothes,” it commanded.

  And two men stepped from the shadows, dressed entirely in black, their faces shrouded with hoods. With gentle hands, they began removing the girl’s dress, undoing the buttons one by one, slowly unzipping the back until the floral material fell at her feet. The girl stood, shell-shocked, still uncomprehending.

  “Handlers, please strip Article Twenty completely,” the female voice sounded out once more, disconcertingly mild. “Please remove all of her clothing.”

  And the handlers did as told. Black-gloved hands went to the woman’s body, unsnapping the clasp of her bra so that the cups dropped away, revealing huge, luscious tits capped with pink nipples. The black-gloved hands also tugged at the woman’s underwear, slowly slipping it down her pale thighs until the redhead was completely nude before us, eyes still wide with fright, breasts trembling, a peek of her pink slit visible as she clutched her thighs together.

  Oh god, what was going on? Why was this on TV? Why didn’t someone help this poor thing, obviously she was completely freaked out, frozen with fear. How could this be happening in the modern age, anyways? Weren’t there women’s rights, all sorts of female liberation movements specifically geared so that stuff like this didn’t happen?

  But events were unspooling so fast that I watched, transfixed, in my little room as the female voice continued.

  “Article Twenty, turn to the right.”

  The redhead managed to respond this time, turning a semi-circle to her right.

  “Left now, please,” the voice continued.

  And the girl turned left, as if there were viewers on her left side as well.

  “All the way around now,” the voice commanded. And this time, the redhead did a three-sixty so that the camera could see all of her body, the narrow, sloping shoulders, the thin waist, the long legs and the delicate jut of her elbows. The video was so sharp, in such high resolution that I could even glimpse splatters of freckles on her chest and the tops of her arms, like sunlight kissing milk. But then the voice took a different turn.

  “Article Twenty,” said that monotone. “Please turn and bend over, putting your hands on the ground.”

  The girl was unmoving, looking around, shocked like a deer in headlights, unable to absorb the order.

  “Handlers,” came the voice again with a tone of finality.

  And this time the two handlers did more than gently remove her clothes. One grasped the redhead around her waist as the other pushed down on her back, and the redhead bent over like a feather, her long red curls dropping to the ground, a slight glimpse of pink flashing between her legs.

  But the voice wasn’t done yet.

  “Legs spread please.”

  And the two handlers reached down and gripped one ankle each, positioning the girl’s feet until she was bent over with her legs apart. Oh my god. I couldn’t believe what was happening. The redhead’s pussy came into full view, beautiful, engorged and moistly pink. Was she aroused? How could she be, after all this, the cold voice, the directions? It was like she was a piece of meat at an auction, being inspected before she was sold, how could she be aroused in the face of so much humiliation?

  But sure enough, the girl’s pussy was glistening under the bright lights, and this time the two handlers did something unexpected. They took off their gloves and two pairs of male hands appeared. Before, I hadn’t paid too much attention to the men clad in black, they were shapeless, nameless, faceless minions doing the voice’s bidding. But now things were about to get a lot more personal.

  Because two pairs of male hands pulled the redhead’s white cheeks apart, baring her cunt and ass under the glare, both holes winking, visible, and so gorgeous. It was amazing to see a woman spread like this, aroused, glossy with her own cream, and I watched, transfixed, as one of the men reached his hand to her folds and pulled her labia apart, revealing that clit. Holy shit, they weren’t pulling any punches here.

  “Let the bidding begin,” came the female voice musically, and my suspicions were confirmed. I’d already felt like the redhead was going to be sold in some way, shape or form. It wasn’t quite a livestock auction, but there were definitely hints. It was the way she was being displayed, like a Faberge egg in a perfect glass case, each layer dropping away until her internal jewels were revealed. And in this case, her pussy and ass were the priceless treasures, unveiled, gorgeous and glistening under the harsh overhead lights.

  And evidently there was a flurry of bidding.

  “Thirty thousand,” came the female voice. “Do I hear thirty-five?”

  Holy shit! Someone was betting thirty thousand dollars for the beautiful redhead? That was my dad’s salary at the factory for a year, with OT included. Oh my god, what was going on?

  But the two handlers weren’t stopping at merely holding the girl open and exposed. As I watched, eyes wide and mouth open, one handler dropped his finger to trail wetly between the redhead’s folds, causing her cunt to shiver and tremble, moistening at his touch.

  “Oh yes,” purred the female voice. “Article Twenty is receptive to a man’s touch, she’ll be a knock-out for the right man. Now do I hear forty thousand?” Because the silent bidders, wherever they were, had gone nuts and the price of the beautiful girl was sky rocketing. Forty thousand dollars for the woman? For how long? A night? Two nights? Twenty minutes? I shook my head, still confused at the obviously illegal scene before me.

  But despite the degrading circumstances, the redhead grew more and more aroused under the handler’s touch, his finger niggling her clit, then going back and running gently up one plush lip before trailing across her asshole and running down the other. Oh shit, the redhead was creaming, her body wetly convulsing as they played her and I shivered to myself, my cunt getting hot, an intense pressure forming between my legs. Oh my god, was I turned on by all this? Watching two anonymous men tease a naked girl on screen as she was bid on by more anonymous men? Holy shit, I was really messed up in the head.

  But I couldn’t tear my eyes away because the girl let out a silent gasp of ecstasy then, lifting her face to the heavens, that long red hair draped over her shoulders, breas
ts swaying wildly under her torso. And before my entranced eyes, her pussy contracted wildly, coming hard as the men stroked her, fondled her, making her scream with desire, eyes squeezed shut in delight, breasts shaking to and fro as her cunt creamed wildly, spasming hard, gushing with a clear juice.

  And with a ding, a bell rang out.

  “Sold!” exclaimed the female voice. “Article Twenty is sold to Bidder Three for fifty thousand dollars. Bid final.”

  And I watched as the redhead, gasping, still shuddering from her orgasm was led offstage, knees wobbly, legs barely holding her up. Oh my god, the girl had been sold to some random stranger who’d paid unthinkable amounts of money for her. What was going on? Why weren’t the cops busting in? But I had no time to dwell because as my mind whirled crazily, the door banged open.

  Miles stood there, a nasty scowl on his face.

  “Get up,” he snarled. “You’re next.”

  Of course I couldn’t get up, I was bound hand and foot. But he leaned forward and I screamed at the flash of light. With a quick snip, the knife slashed through the binds on my feet and I was free to walk. Grabbing my elbow, he hauled me up and dragged me stumbling to the door.

  “You’re up next, my little prize,” he sneered again, spittle flying from his mouth to land on my face, the wet droplets sticking to my skin. “And judging from what Rachel’s told us, you’re gonna fetch a good price. A very, very high price,” he wheezed.