When the door opened again, I was on the verge of crying. I couldn’t help but remind myself that Oliver Rush was a billionaire too. Probably with his own team of associates who knew what they would plan for the people who killed their leader. Isn’t that how it worked in movies and television?
This time, someone came through the door.
Jonathan Black.
He looked angry as he jammed his cell phone into the breast pocket of his jacket.
“You look terrified,” he said.
I blinked and nodded, not wanting to tear up in front of him.
“Oh, Isabella Grace… did you think, even for a second, I wouldn’t come back?”
I blinked again, refusing to move anything else until he took the silk cloth off my mouth.
Jonathan came to me and pulled the cloth down. I took a deep breath with my mouth and then looked at him, my lips shivering.
“Look at you,” he said. His hand reached out and touched my face. His thumb moved along my lips – top then bottom – and finally down to my chin. “I would never leave you or harm you. You’re a piece of me now, Isabella Grace. Understand that. We share lust and secrets. We’re… together…”
The words were smooth, calm, and romantic. His eyes now looked normal, his dark erotic stare working its effects on my body. I found myself opening my legs and bending my knees, desperate for release. I could care less about being tied to the railing, my mind focused on the deep burn between my legs.
“I can’t say I’m coming with good news,” he said, “but I can say that a beautiful woman is tied to a railing with a look in her eyes that’s speaking volumes to me. We’re both so tense right now. With what happened and all…”
His hand moved down my face to my neck then my shoulder. He slowly shifted around until he was behind me again. That’s when his right hand came back into the picture, cupping my backside, only for a moment before coming around to my pants. With the flick of his fingers, my pants were undone.
“I’m going to have you,” Jonathan said. “I’m not going to untie your hands. I expect you to scream too. I want to hear your voice echoing up and down these steps.”
I groaned and thrust back at Jonathan. I had questions, but I knew better not to ask. I trusted that Jonathan had a plan. The wall I spent my life putting up, block by emotional block, he had torn down in a matter of days. Using his hands, his eyes, his words, his body.
Both of his hands came to the top of my pants. I had to close my legs to allow him to slide my pants down. I wiggled my hips for good measure, wanting to tease him a little, but he didn’t like that. His fingers gripped tight, all but his thumbs felt like daggers in skin and muscle. I screamed, my voice giving Jonathan the echo he wanted.
“Don’t do that,” he growled. “Stand still so I can take your fucking pants off.”
I froze and felt my pants move down to my ankles. I stepped up and out the best I could, giving me enough room to spread my legs wide. My panties were clung to my wetness but Jonathan tore them down to my knees. His left hand was at my knee, holding my panties and his right hand came up, touching me. Dry fingers to wet skin. Two of his fingers curling at me, spreading me, touching my aching hole. He ran by my slit, all the way back and up. He touched sensitive areas and then moved along my backside to my lower back.
My sex was open, throbbing, begging to be filled. Jonathan’s left hand came up, his fingers torturing me as then moved slowly up the back of my legs. He cut in and touched me again, his fingers touching me in their own erotic way. His middle finger moved all the way to the front of my body, rubbing my sensitive clitoris. By now Jonathan knew how to please me and that was just one of many spots to go after.
With gentle movements, his middle finger rubbed left to right. Enough that I had to moan. Enough that I had to thrust at him, wanting more. Enough that I could feel pleasure boiling and moving through my body. But not enough that I could come. The master of sexual desire, giving and taking, and commanding had arrived, and he was behind me, enjoying me.
His fingers came back along my moisture, his fingers spread so he could touch and tease everything. He moved the same as his other hand, touching another tender spot, making me jump and cry out, my small voice creating a small echo. Both hands were on my ass and he thrust at me with his clothed body.
“Isabella Grace,” he whispered. “She’s all mine. Nobody will ever touch her. Together, we are…”
His voice lingered and a second later, both hands were off my body. I listened to the sound of his belt and turned my head to watch Jonathan strip himself from the waist down. He left his suit jacket on, adding to the unpredictable scene before my eyes. When he dropped his pants and pushed his boxers down, letting his hard, throbbing erection pop free, I moaned. I pulled at the blood red silk cloth holding me in place. I was frustrated, desperate to touch him.
He took himself in his hand and moved towards me.
In his dominate fashion, Jonathan didn’t just fuck me like I needed him to. He instead played with me, rubbing the engorged tip of his cock at my juicy lips first, then with wide circles, he teased my hole, opening me little by little but never fully penetrating me.
I tried to thrust back at him, offering my body, bending my knees, pumping myself, but he resisted me with every move. I half expected him to get angry at me for such daring moves but he enjoyed it. It was a sexual game of cat and mouse with the added allure of being in the stairway of a hotel.
When he finally decided to have my tender slit, he did so by gripping my hips, holding me up, and thrusting with a force that sent a shockwave of both pleasure and pain throughout my entire body. The thrust took me off my feet and I cried out a whimpering sound that carried more upstairs than down. He held there and groaned, his beautiful erection throbbing inside me as I throbbed on him.
As he pulled back out at a deadly slow pace, my body gave up and gave in. The orgasm hit me like a brick wall, starting at the pit of my stomach like an explosion of heat. It went up to my breasts and down between my legs with a wetness and pulse that became so tight on Jonathan that he had a hard time getting back inside me. He used one of his hands to open me. With two fingers, he spread me again and thrust back in.
I started to cry out but the cry died a couple seconds later as my breath filtered away. I was left with deep gasps of air and a few grunts that were animal like.
Jonathan enjoyed my body, moving with amazing speed, caring only about himself and keeping my sex in the perfect position. His thrusts were continually hard, bucking me off the ground again and again. When we heard the sound of voices approaching, Jonathan froze deep inside me. He tensed and throbbed, pressing hard against me. I started to cry out and his hand quickly went to my mouth. On his hand I could smell not just Jonathan, but also the subtle sweet hint of myself.
It drove me wild.
His grip was hard as the voices grew louder. Our breathing today was intense; we both had no ability to control it. I looked over my shoulder and saw Jonathan looking over his. He caught me looking and started to fuck me again, this time with short but purposeful thrusts. Each one saw the tip of his erection digging at my insides. The orgasmic pleasure started to collide with the wrong of it all… committing murder… being tied up… fucking in the stairway… people right on the other side of the door.
I started to groan.
Louder by the second.
Jonathan’s grip became a vice but it didn’t matter. I was winning this battle because my body couldn’t contain itself. Each time I groaned, my sex throbbed, squeezing tighter, leaving Jonathan’s face looked like he was going to lose himself.
The voices then started to fade. The people were walking down the hall. Jonathan turned back towards me and exhaled.
“Fuck, this is fun,” he said. “Oh, Isabella Grace, I wish you could see yourself. Feel yourself. Tied up and perfect. Under my command… I’m going to fill you now.”
“Yes, Mr. Black,” I replied, remembering my direct order.
<
br /> That set Jonathan off.
His hand moved from my mouth and took its place back at my hip. He lifted me off the floor and held me, so I had to grasp the railing. I knew I had nowhere to go thanks to the tie job he’d done with my hands but it was my reaction. I wiggled my toes and pointed my shoes down but still couldn’t feel the ground.
What I did feel was the immense pressure of Jonathan inside me. Without my feet on the ground it just added to the pressure in my body, leaving me dangling in more than one way. I ached for him as he fucked me. I came again for him, leaking and pulsing. All I wanted was him to fill me, just as he said he would. The connection between us grew by the second, starting with lust then sex then domination then murder… and now back to the first three. It was a cycle I hoped would be endless. To see how far Jonathan could push me. To see how far he would push himself. I could do without the murder, but if this is what it got me…
Jonathan started to grunt louder, his thrusts turning into violent pumps that I accepted. Each hit forward came with slight pain. My muscles and legs started to feel sore. My feet tingled, wanting to touch ground. His speed grew more and more too, his hands tighter. He was ready to have me and at the last second, he put my feet back on the ground. That allowed me to quickly pump back at him, tightening my tender slit around his shaft, pulling and forcing the orgasm from him.
As he came, he pumped harder than ever, bucking and lifting me with each throbbing fill. His hands came to my lower back and he pressed, up on his toes, slowing his thrusts, using my pussy to milk himself. I felt the defined head of his erection rubbing against me so hard and so tight, the last few droplets of his release entering me.
Then as fast as it all began, it ended.
Jonathan pulled from me and picked up his pants. He cleaned himself up nicely before tending to me. I thought he would untie me, but being the dominate gentleman he was, he lifted my panties up. When his fingers could touch me, he did, rubbing the creamy mess of our public sex all around, then smearing it up along my backside, moving between me, touching my other tender hole. He was gone again, this time to lift my pants.
From there, he stepped down the steps to face me, holding my face in his hand once again.
“You’re just perfect,” he said. “You make everything right. The wrong keeps coming to us, doesn’t it, Isabella? But we handle it, together. They’ll find our message, won’t they?”
I nodded. I pictured the bloody corpse of Oliver Rush and shivered.
“They’ll find it,” Jonathan said. “The rest of the world will know. You belong to me, under my control. Nothing will stop that.”
“Of course not,” I said.
Jonathan came forward and kissed my lips. Once. He then lifted his head so our noses touched. Then, with the smallest of spaces between us, he reached down and started to untie the blood red silk cloth from my hands.
“We’re on the move again,” he whispered.
“I figured that.”
“We have to go back to go forward. Do you understand that?”
“I don’t know.”
Jonathan half smiled. My hands were free so I stood up and started to buckle my pants. His hands clamped on my wrist a second later, causing me to jump. I knew it was Jonathan but even still, I looked up the steps, half expecting to see someone standing there. Waiting for us. To kill us. To lock us up.
The steps were empty.
“We have to go now,” Jonathan said.
He took the steps and I followed, trying to keep my balance, but each step I took I could feel the wetness between my legs rubbing, a second by second reminder of the sexual ability of the sexy billionaire taking me along for another one of his adventures.
At the bottom of the steps, in the basement, which would also serve as a private parking garage, Jonathan put his hand to the door and stopped. He turned and pulled me in close, letting our bodies touch. We stood in silence for a few seconds, my breathing heavy, his calm.
“Don’t trust him,” Jonathan said. “Promise me.”
“Trust who?”
“Trust me,” Jonathan said. “Always.”
“Of course,” I said. “Always, Mr. Black.”
“Good. Just don’t trust him.”
I opened my mouth and Jonathan shook his head.
I didn’t speak, I waited.
Jonathan pushed on the door and it opened.
“And we’re off,” he said. His grip on my hand tightened. With a growl and hate in his voice, he added, “to see my father…”
-4-
As I sat in the backseat of yet another black vehicle, this one a small, sleek car, I realized that a good portion of Jonathan’s life must have been spent traveling. In the calm roar of the engine, I was able to finally take a moment to relax and assess myself, Jonathan, and our situation.
The driver of the car was a built man, with a thick neck, wide shoulders, tattoos on his knuckles. The font was thick and I wasn’t able to read what was written. He stared ahead, focused on the road and nothing else.
I wanted to ask Jonathan about our destination but my memory held tight to the sound of his voice when he spoke before. About his father. I could understand the contempt for a father and I hoped I would have the chance to understand Jonathan’s story and even share mine. There were so many ways for us to become connected, to continue to tie our souls and needs together over and over, making it impossible to get away from each other.
Jonathan had his left elbow on the door with his chin resting on his open hand. His fingers rubbed his cheek. The powerful man was deep in thought, and I knew better than to bother him. And why would I? The sight of Jonathan like this made my body and heart go wild. Nobody could ever compare. Even his fingers were defined in their own way… his long fingers, slightly curled, a small vein running in each one, showing the potential of his strength without speaking about it.
I thought about what it must be like to be a man like Jonathan Black. Traveling the world, managing his multi-billion dollar operation. In constant control, working along a variety of fields and investments, all with the purpose of creating himself more wealth. A billionaire’s passion. As long as I was included in that passion, I would go to the end of the world and back.
And perhaps that’s right where I was headed.
Jonathan’s right hand moved towards me, climbing over my hand and going to my leg. He squeezed and continued until his fingers were between my legs, touching me. As his fingers pressed, my body reacted, wishing we were alone and that I was naked.
“I won’t lie to you,” he said, still staring out the window. “I promise you that, Isabella Grace. But I need your trust.”
“You have it,” I said. “I swear.”
“You trust my decisions?”
I paused. I realized my hesitation and what it could imply then quickly tried to save myself. “Yes, Mr. Black, yes.”
My mind flashed the image of Oliver Rush, dead on the hotel floor. Did he really need to be murdered? Was death a necessity in that situation?
Perhaps.
Jonathan turned his head and looked at me. He looked as powerful as ever, his head slightly tilted back, his eyes staring straight at me. He made me feel like nothing else in the world existed or mattered.
“Tell my driver to stop,” he said.
“What…”
“Tell the driver to stop the fucking car.”
His voice was smooth and yet cold. His hand was still between my legs. I shivered.
I looked at the driver and said, “Excuse me, we need to stop. Here.”
The driver ignored me. His hands were tight on the steering wheel.
“He didn’t stop,” Jonathan said.
“Excuse me, sir?” I called out.
“That won’t work.”
I looked at Jonathan then back to the driver. When I glanced out the windshield I realized two things. First, there were no lights around us. None at all. Second, the headlights on the car weren’t turned on. The driver drove i
nto pitch black. Into nothing… but everything could be waiting.
“Stop the car,” I said.
“Come on, Isabella Grace,” Jonathan said. “Where’s your voice?”
Seeing nothing but now we were moving started to scare me. I reached out and touched the man’s shoulder.
“Hey! Stop the car.”
It was the meanest voice I could manage.
The man looked into the rearview mirror and half smiled.
Jonathan leaned towards me and using his other hand, he took my right hand and started to make a fist. His lips were at my ear, teasing me, making me melt.
“Isabella, I want you to hit him. In the face. As hard as you can.”
I swallowed and tried to look at Jonathan but he was too close for me to do that. I knew by his tone – and the words themselves – he was serious.
“Hit him,” Jonathan said with a growl. “Hit him in his fucking face for not listening to you, to me, to us.”
“Yes, Mr. Black,” I said.
His hand left my fist and I blinked a few times. I couldn’t remember if I had ever actually hit someone before. I know I had catfights in school, just as any girl would have, but this was me being commanded to punch someone driving. He was driving us away from a crime scene that we caused.
And I had to punch him.
The driver continued to ignore me and Jonathan backed away a little, but remained close enough so I could sense and smell him.
He really wanted me to do this.
“You have to stop,” I said, hoping to give a warning. “If not, I’m going to hit you.”
The driver didn’t respond or flinch.
Fine. I had to do this, right now.
My hand started to shake but I began to think about the circumstances around us. Where would we be right now if it wasn’t for Oliver Rush? The touching. The murder. The way my life changed in a second. With the stare of Jonathan Black’s eyes. With the stab of his hand.
I swung.
My fist connected with the side of the driver’s cheek. My hand instantly exploded into pain. I cried out but kept my eyes on the driver, watching as his head snapped to the side but then right back in place.
His Passion (By His Command #4) Page 2
