Forced to Forget_Blackmailing the Billionaire Series

by Tasha Fawkes

  So, there is the question again. Why did I allow myself to be talked into this? At first, I didn't think it really mattered. My mother would get the political clout she seemed to think we needed—that our company needed—along with another network of potential partners, clients, and associates. She can't possibly think she’s actually doing me a favor… finding me a wife, a partner? I sigh. If she only knew…

  "You'll think about it, won't you, Daniel?"

  I glance up, not even bothering to ask what she was talking about. I totally spaced out. I nod, offering a small smile. "Of course, I will." That seems to calm her, whatever was talking about, and we both finish breakfast; she with a self-satisfied smile, and me just going through the motions with only one thought in my head.

  When will I see Ashley again?

  Chapter 16

  Ashley

  I’m back at work, trying desperately to concentrate on my job. I think I've read the same manuscript page five times but my mind keeps wandering. The holidays are over. Time to get back to work. After taking several days off over the holiday season, I’m woefully behind.

  Unfortunately, I’m so distracted it seems impossible to focus on editing. I read the words on the computer screen, dotted with red font that substitutes for my red editor's pen, but all I can see in my mind's eye is Daniel. Great. It was bad enough when I had a one-sided crush on him, admiring him from afar. Now? Did I just drop into a rabbit hole? Am I destined to make my life miserable because of my growing attraction to him? Even at that moment, trying to concentrate, I know what is happening.

  The newness of our secret relationship is not solely to blame. For me, spending time with Daniel is exquisite. It isn't just the sex either, which, after a few experiments, I found far less intimidating and much more invigorating than I ever imagined. That basement of his…

  "Stop it," I whisper, once again forcing my attention back to the manuscript. I can't allow myself to grow attached to Daniel. Impossible. I’m good at keeping my feelings to myself, or at least I am unless I put them down on paper. As in my manuscript, where all my inner feelings have been allowed to see the light of day. On my laptop. If I hadn't left my laptop open, if he hadn't read my manuscript, if we hadn't "indulged" in his basement playroom several times already, I wouldn't be in this position.

  I’m not sure which was worse. Admiring him in secret or growing fonder of him with every moment we spend together. Even though I know that my attachment to him won’t be reciprocated, at least not in the way I would like, it’s still better. Being with him is better. He’s fascinating. Handsome with a gorgeous, hard body. But oh, so much more than that. I want to know everything there is to know about Daniel Stone. Not his resume. The person. At the same time, I know doing so is fruitless.

  Daniel made no promises. Nothing of the sort. I know that he isn't just mentoring me so that I can write better. I also know I’m not his only sex partner. It’s obvious by his experience and confidence in that underground world that he belongs to, and apparently has, for quite some time. And along with that world comes a multitude of sexual partners and subs. I understand that. At the same time…

  "Ashley!"

  I glance up at Tory's hiss, her eyes wide and one hand, hidden from view by others in the room in front of her chest. Her index finger pointing down the hallway, at the end of which is Daniel's office. My eyes widen when I see him standing near the end of the hallway opening into our large office space divided into cubicles, frowning.

  "Didn't you hear him? He's asked for you twice!"

  I shake my head to clear my mind, nod in his direction as I stand, ignoring the curious gazes from not only Tory, but two other editors as I cross the main room and approach Daniel, straightening my skirt as I go. Rather proud of my performance, I smile as I approach.

  "I'm sorry, Mister Stone, I was embroiled in a manuscript-"

  "If you have a moment, I'd like to talk to you about the Jespersen manuscript you edited last week."

  "Of course," I say, following him down the short hallway to his office. His expression appears harsh. Am I in trouble? Did he change his mind about us? My mind jumps from one worry to another. Is he going to curtail our secret relationship, or even worse, fire me? I shake my head. Don't be stupid. Nothing is wrong. Our interactions at the office have to continue as they always have. Pure business. I’m quite proud of the work I’d done on the Jespersen manuscript. I can only wait and see what he wants.

  I follow him into the office. He shuts the door, locks it, and then practically body-blocks me from entering the room. My back bumps against the door and he raises both hands and places them on either side of my shoulders, effectively trapping me. I stare up into his green eyes, uncertain. Why is—

  "Take your clothes off," he growls.

  I stare up at him, startled as a flush of heat rises in my chest and travels up my neck until my cheeks flame with heat as well. "Here?" I gasp. "You want me to take my—"

  One hand moves quickly, grabbing a handful of my hair. He takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving mine. My scalp tingles. His other hand leaves the door and gropes my breast. I immediately feel a surge of wetness between my legs and my nipples tingle. He wants to—

  "I said to take your clothes off. If you don't obey, you're going to pay for your lack of obedience."

  My heart skips a beat. He’s serious. He wants to… in his office, in the middle of the day! I know I have to obey, but at the same time, what if somebody—

  His grip on my hair tightens. I wince. Without further thought, I quickly unbutton my blouse. He watches my every move. My trembling fingers unlatch my bra, which hooks in the front. His gaze dips from my face down to my breasts, and I feel my nipples harden under his gaze. I waste no time unzipping my skirt, stepping out of my slip-on flats, and divesting myself of my thong. I stand naked in front of him, waiting for his next command.

  "Blow me."

  Again, it takes my mind a few seconds to catch up with his words. As I stand there, dismayed, his hand moves. A second after that I feel the open palm of his hand slap the side of my ass. I gasp.

  "Did you hear me? I said blow me."

  Praying that no one will knock on the door, that no one in the outer office had any indication of what we are doing in here, I quickly nod and reach for his belt.

  "No."

  His grip on my hair forces my chin upward, forcing me to look up at his face. His expression blank, his gaze roams my body. I glance quickly away. He stands so close that I feel the bulge in his trousers.

  "Faster."

  I glance up again to find him looking at my face, no clue as to what he’s thinking, but my fingers work faster. He doesn't want me to unbuckle his belt, so I proceed to lower his zipper. He remains silent. I reach inside and feel thin fabric. Boxers. I find the opening and reach for his cock. It’s rock hard. I wrap my hand around it and maneuver it upward along his inner thigh until it juts from his pants. I glance down at it, not sure exactly—

  Both hands on my shoulders, he pushes me downward. Kneeling. His engorged penis aims straight at my face. His hands leave my shoulders and grab either side of my head.

  My heart pounding, I take him into my mouth. For several seconds, he remains perfectly still. I freak a little bit, because I don't particularly like doing this, not with Stewart, not with any of my previous boyfriends, and maybe not—

  "Suck harder."

  I tighten my lips around his head. I grasp his cock at its base with one hand using a firm grip, slowly stroking and laving his shaft with my tongue while at the same time minimizing the length his dick can reach into my mouth. I have a pretty good gag reflex, and if—

  "Let go."

  His dick still in my mouth, my hand still wrapped around it, I glance upward. He isn't looking at me, but staring at the door, jaw tight and eyes half-closed. I don't want to let go. I don't want him shoving his cock down my throat. I don't want… should I use my safeword? No. He isn't hurting me, he isn't putting me in any dang
er, but I definitely don't want… it isn't about what I want. At the moment, it’s all about what he wants. Reluctantly, I release my grip on his cock. I continue to suckle, my hands braced against the outside of his rock-hard thighs. He presses his hips forward, his shaft sliding deeper into my mouth. His head touches the back part of the roof of my mouth. Instinctively, I pull my head back. He growls low in his throat and tightened his grip on my head.

  "Don't move."

  I still myself and continue to suck, gradually increasing pressure, then easing back, all the while his hips begin to thrust a bit harder, a bit faster. And then it happens. His dick goes too far. He holds my head in a vice-like grip and I panic. The gag reflex kicks in and I barely prevent myself from biting him while a horrid sound rips from my throat. My grip on his legs tightens.

  He freezes. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, not wanting to look up at him. I don't want to see anger or annoyance. I feel embarrassed, but I can't help it. So, I kneel there, his cock in my mouth, my tongue hesitantly rolling over his head. He says nothing but he lets go of my head.

  Wanting to please him and make up for the fact that I gagged… actually gagged… I continue the momentum while he stands perfectly still. I worship his thick, pulsating cock with my tongue, suckling for a second, then using my tongue to stroke along his length. I pause to suckle again on his head gently, even once or twice nibbling softly at the tender, glistening flesh there. I make a humming sound deep in my throat, but they come out more like passionate moans, which they actually are.

  My own desire surges. My breasts ache for his touch, as does my pussy, gently contracting and relaxing in much the same rhythm as my mouth along his cock. I continue to moan, not because he asked me to, but because at this moment, I’m supremely happy and self-satisfied with myself. I can't believe I’m doing this; giving Daniel Stone a blowjob in his office while just outside the door my peers work away, none the wiser. He shifts and his hands clasp my shoulders.

  "Get up."

  I release him from my mouth and immediately stand, looking up at him. His pupils dilate, he stares down at me and then gestures with his chin toward his desk.

  "Go stand beside my desk, facing it."

  I do as he demands, but not before I glance down at his engorged shaft. It’s dark, throbbing, pulsing with a life of its own, the veins threading along its surface filled with pulsating blood that causes that shaft to do a little dance of its own. His head glistens with moisture. I walk over to the desk and stand with my back toward him. He approaches from behind.

  "Bend over and grab each corner of the desk with your hands.”

  I face the narrow side of his desk and do as he asked, my body tilting slightly forward.

  "Back up,” he commands.

  His hands on my hips, he forces my feet to move several inches back.

  "Spread your legs."

  I do and hear him move toward the window. I hear a zipper and then a rustling sound. He kneels and grasps my left ankle and wraps something soft around it. I hear a clinking noise, and then realize what he’s doing. A leg spreader. It’s maybe twenty-four inches long. In a matter of seconds, the cuffs are placed around my ankles. I lean over the desk at a forty-five-degree angle. He adjusts my positioning to exactly how he wants me. Occasionally I feel his cock brush against my thigh or my ass. My wet and throbbing pussy aches for him but he takes his time. The anticipation is killing me. I want to tell him to hurry, but I can't. He’s the Master. Not me.

  I hear him shuffling nearby, then the sound of tearing. The snap of plastic. Another surge of wetness moistens my slit as I realize he’s slipped on a condom.

  "This room is soundproofed," he says. "But I don't want you to make a sound. Do you understand?"

  I nod, swallowing. He had his office soundproofed? When? How— What is he going to do? Why would I scream—

  In one, swift, powerful thrust, he enters me from behind, surging deep into my wetness. It’s so hard, so fast, and so unexpected that I can't prevent the gasp that escapes my throat.

  "I told you to be quiet!" he hisses.

  A hand reaches under my arm and grabs my breast, squeezing. I wince but keep quiet. Several seconds later his grip eases and his fingers tweak my nipples. Touch gently and then grope again. Pain, pleasure. Pleasure, pain. Not blinding hot pain, just enough to awaken my nerves. His hips thrust forward forcefully. Even through the fabric of his trousers during that brief contact, I feel his heat, the occasional brush of his legs against the back of mine. Despite my awkward positioning, I feel my own desire burgeoning. Every time his cock fills me and he dives deep inside, I feel as if I’ll burst.

  He remains perfectly silent, only his hips moving. His breathing grows harsher and deeper. He pushes down against my upper back, so much so that my face is nearly pressed onto the surface of the desk. I desperately want to let go of that desk, to reach back, to touch him, anywhere, but I don't dare. And then, with two final thrusts, I hear the soft, rumbling groan rumble upward from his chest.

  Finally, he stills. I don't move, my own body humming with electrical, stimulating sensations. Still buried deep inside me, he wraps his left arm around my chest and lifts me upward while his right hand reaches around my hip and gropes my mound. Held captive in his embrace, my back pressed tightly against his chest, his thumb and fingers work at my slit until my hips begin to rock of their own accord. He stops fiddling with my nub and grabs my right hand, encases it in his, and then lowers it once again to my pussy. Together, my hand encased in his, he brings me to the fullness of my pleasure. I climax, my body held firmly against his, his dick still deep inside me. I barely manage to prevent the moan of pleasure that escapes, although I do throw my head back against his chest. I feel his harsh breath against my ear as the waves of ecstasy sweeps over me, so much so that my knees nearly buckle. I don't have to worry. He holds me up.

  Panting, my body feeling boneless, I sag against him. My ears ring and my head stops spinning and gradually clears. My eyes focus on the clutter of paperwork on his desk. He kneels behind me and unbuckles the leg spreader. I don’t move.

  He points over my shoulder toward the small bathroom door. "Go get yourself cleaned up."

  Chapter 17

  Daniel

  I watch Ashley walk toward my office door, where she stoops down to pick up her clothing before stepping into my private bathroom. Her back to me, I admire her shapely figure. I love the way her narrow waist flairs slightly into gorgeous, well-shaped hips. Her ass is firm and tight. I could probably stick a quarter between her ass and the top of her thigh and it would stay there. Athletic, although I don't think she’s engaged in any sports. Maybe she had an active childhood. I don't know. Maybe—

  I don't allow my mind to wander, but force it back to the present. I feel satiated. I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. Even my interludes with Crystal often left me feeling dissatisfied, or actually un-satiated; as if something was never quite finished, not sexually, but emotionally, or maybe even mentally.

  I shake my head as I reach for the box of Kleenex in my top desk drawer and remove the condom, bundling it up inside the Kleenex, and then another, before wadding it all up and throwing it in the trash can. I tuck myself back in my pants, zip up, and adjust. I hear the water trickling in the sink in the bathroom.

  I glance up at the clock on the wall. She's been in my office less than ten minutes. No one will wonder about that. Still, I don't want her to linger. Not because I don't want to spend more time with her, because God knows, I do. But not here. Not in my office.

  Maybe later tonight, or tomorrow—

  My cell phone rings. I move to my desk and reach for my iPhone and turn it over. The light blue background of the screen distracts me from the bathroom door, behind which Ashley is probably— I glance down at the screen, scowling when I see the caller ID.

  Karen. My sense of relaxation, that elusive sense of calm that enveloped me during those few blissful moments with Ashley are doused as effectively as
a bucket of cold water thrown over my head. Poof. Gone. Immediate tension, annoyance, and dissatisfaction surge upward. I sigh and answer the call.

  "Hello, Karen." What will she complain about today? Probably that I didn’t show up for the cake tasting appointment yesterday or maybe because I didn’t make a final decision on the floral arrangements? I don't have time for this. I told her—

  "Hi, Daniel. What are you doing?"

  For a second, I consider telling her the truth. "I'm working."

  "What are you working on?"

  What the hell? For a brief second I think she might be suspicious, that her bat radar has picked up on something in my voice. Or perhaps she has a hidden camera in my office or something. I shake my head, feeling stupid. "A manuscript," I answer. "What do you need? I'm busy."

  She makes some pouting sounds, then chuckles softly. Before Ashley, and in the early days of our faux relationship, that throaty chuckle was enticing. Sexually charged. Now it just grates on my nerves.

  She gets to the point. "Fine. I know that you gave me charge over all the decisions regarding the wedding, but honestly, Daniel, I don't feel comfortable doing all of this by myself. You are going to be part of this marriage, after all. Do you think you could work up some enthusiasm and take on a couple of the tasks yourself?"

  "I don't know anything about planning for a wedding," I say, my gaze flicking toward the bathroom door as it opens and Ashley steps out. She’s all put together again, although her cheeks are still flushed. I gesture for her to sit in the chair in front of my desk. At least for a minute or two until some of that color leaves her cheeks. She might as well be wearing a flashing sign that says 'I just got fucked by my boss'. I grin at her. Her cheeks blossom with color.

  "It's not like you have to plan anything, Daniel. But do you think you can squeeze enough time into your day to make some calls to a couple of country clubs in the next day or two? I've got the church taken care of, but I'm not sure where I want to have the reception. I'm overloaded with the florist, the baker, the wedding planner, choosing the décor—"