by Claire Adams
When I got to his mansion, he opened the front door himself.
"I gave all the maids and servants the night off," he explained with a sexy grin. He looked fantastic in a dark-blue suit with a pale-blue tie. I thought about what he had done with the last tie he had, and my pussy began to quiver with anticipation.
"Have a seat. Dinner is ready." He showed me to the dining room where the table had been intimately set for two, with fine china, crystal wine glasses, and a bottle of expensive Merlot chilling in a bucket of ice nearby.
We dined on delicious cuisine, prepared by his private, French chef. We started with an appetizer of brie cheese crepes with béchamel sauce graniteed, followed by spinach salad with champagne vinaigrette.
The main course was a mouthwatering filet mignon with a rich brandy crème sauce, and for desert, chocolate mousse. We sat for hours as we ate and talked and laughed and drank.
Ethan listened avidly as I told him about all the phone calls I'd had that day. He didn't give me unsolicited advice or try to bully me into taking the modeling jobs he wanted me to do like Mick would have done. He just listened and gave me his unconditional support. It felt good to finally get that from a man, and I realized in that moment just how much I'd been craving that all my life.
"I can't believe I've been hogging the conversation this entire night. Tell me about your day? How was the office?" I blushed, realizing we'd done nothing but talk about me for hours.
"I don't want to talk about business. I do that all day at work. I want to talk about something else," he said, and his voice suddenly became thicker. The way he was looking at me so lustfully let me know exactly what he had in mind, but I felt like being playful.
"What if I want to talk about work? Tell me about your day, Ethan," I said with an intentionally petulant pout.
"I just told you I didn't want to talk about that. Are you being bratty?" His eyes sparked with delight, even as he glowered at me in mock anger.
"I can be a brat if I want to," I taunted and tossed a green bean from my plate across the table at him.
With amazing reflexes, he leapt up and yanked me out of my chair. He grabbed my dress and ripped it off my body with his strong hands, tearing the thin, cotton fabric like it wasn't even there. As I stood before him, trembling in nothing but the sexy, black lingerie, I enjoyed watching his eyes dilate as he looked me up and down, and I felt a distinctive bulge within his slacks press against my thigh.
"You are a naughty girl, aren't you?" he said with an appreciative growl. He pushed the contents of the dining table onto the floor with one swipe of his arm, causing the dishes to fall to floor with a noisy crash. Glaring at me, he said, "Now, I'm going to teach you how to be good and not such a brat. Bend over the top of this table and spread your legs wide."
I did as I'd been told, laying my torso flat against the top of the table with my ass sticking up in the air, and my thighs spread wide. Using the cloth napkins from the table, Ethan bound my ankles to the legs of the table, forcing me to keep them that way. Then, he tore my cotton dress into long strips which he used to bind my wrists stretched out in front of me to the legs on the other side of the table, forcing me to stay bent over, with my breasts pressed flat against the hard, wooden surface.
"Now, naught girl, I'm going to teach you what happens to brats." He sounded threatening, but I wasn't afraid. Indeed, my entire body was quivering with delight as I excitedly waited to discover what pleasures he had in store for me. Was he going to spank me like he did in the hotel or whip me with flogger like he did in the bedroom? The answer surprised me.
Ethan left the room, and when he returned, he was carrying a long, black, leather whip. The sight of it sent chills down my spine and I shuddered, but my pussy grew slick with the juices of my arousal.
He cracked it in the air, and the sound of it was fearfully loud. Then, he coiled it around his hand and rubbed the leather braid against the bare skin of my upper thigh where my stockings didn't cover them and up around my naked butt cheeks. He pushed my thong aside and found my lips were wet and ready, and he gently massaged me there, making me moan with pleasure. Then, he inserted the handle of the whip inside my slippery slot, fucking me with it there.
I strained within my bonds as my pleasure grew, and the sound of my panting and moaning echoed off the dining room walls.
"I'm going to come," I gasped as I felt my orgasm drawing near, and that's when Ethan suddenly and cruelly withdrew the handle, abruptly ceasing the stimulation moments before I could climax.
"No, naughty girl. Only good girls get to orgasm," he snarled, and I realized then what my punishment would be.
He stepped back away from me then, unfurled the whip and gave me a few light flicks with it on the fleshy part of my thighs and buttocks. It stung painfully, and I yelped out with every smack of the leather on my delicate flesh; but he was an expert, and knew just how to wield the weapon without breaking the skin or causing me serious harm. The pain was more emotional than anything: humiliating me like a small child being beaten by a disapproving father.
After just a few strikes with the whip, he returned to my side to fondle my pussy with his fingers. I was even wetter than before and he fucked me this his fingers, delighting in the feel of me.
Soon, I was panting and gasping with pleasure again, but once again, he denied me the ecstasy of orgasm and stopped just short of letting me climax. He drew back, and whipped me again, using careful strokes of the whip on my butt cheeks while I struggled and cried out in pain.
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 winc
e 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 happen. 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 ne
ver 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.
