Insatiable: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Sophia Desmond

  I paused. I hadn't known.

  "Of course. You didn't notice. We were in many of the same classes."

  "Tom, you barely ever spoke to me since..."

  "Since we hit puberty and you start hanging out with older boys who played sports and I stayed home playing video games. We were best friends up until then."

  God, he was right. I remembered it all now--I hadn't thought about it in so many years--what a weird, nerdy little tomboy I was, hanging out with the boys at recess playing Pokemon, trading collectible cards. I never got invited to other girls' birthday parties, but I would go to the local arcade with my guy friends after school and play games until my mom came to pick me up. That was until they closed the arcade and I started hanging out with girls and playing volleyball seriously, while eating as little as possible…

  But Tom really had been my best friend of all. Had it really played out like that? I think, maybe, it had--I remembered I got my period when I was twelve, and that was the year I also started wearing a bra and by then, I was already taller than the boys--I looked like I was fourteen or fifteen. I remembered eighth grade graduation, two years later, and my boyfriend at the time, a high school football player, grinned at me from the audience. That was when the girls started being nice to me too--when I started dressing more like a girl, when I started wearing make up. It had felt so natural. I hadn't even noticed that I had stopped going over to Tom's house to play video games on the weekends and after school.

  "Tom, I'm sorry--but you can't blame me for something that happened--God, fifteen years ago? When we were kids no less."

  He shook his head, and took a long sip of martini.

  "I'm not blaming you. I'm just explaining."

  He was right. I was starting to blame myself.

  "I didn't know how to talk to people. I didn't know what I was doing with my life. But then, you know, Hurricane Katrina hit. And I thought--well, I'm of no use to anyone here--maybe I can go down there and do something? So, I dropped out of high school, caught a Greyhound bus to Louisiana, and started doing whatever I could."

  "Tom, I had no idea." I had tears in my eyes. "What did your parents think about it?"

  "They loved it. They didn't know what to do with me. They thought it would look good on my college applications, which of course, it did, though I don't think they realized what dropping out meant."

  I remember, foggily, Tom's parents--both intense, high-achieving doctors at the local hospital--I think they were both departmental heads?--always trying to give us healthy snacks when we were playing Pokemon or Goldeneye, asking when we'd be starting our homework. Tom, in fact, always finished his homework on the bus home from school and I would just copy his. He always made sure to edit ours afterwards, adding in one or two mistakes or changing the wording, so that they weren't identical. We both got great grades, because he would explain the questions incredibly lucidly for a nine-year-old as he went through them--tell me why the slightly wrong answer he was adding to his sheet would make sense, would seem like a plausible, slight mistake.

  "New Orleans was a shock, of course. It was a mess. I got shot at a few times. But eventually, I started working with a community organization, first just doing their bookkeeping, and then developing supply chains to get food and water to people, calling up businesses as far away as Florida and strong arming them into sending donations. Then, I got interested in engineering, and I began taking on some DIY projects--fixing up buildings, doing the plumping and electrical work myself--I took out a book from the library. I started teaching math and science classes at the Super Dome. I learned, eventually, how to talk to people--how to work with people, how to get them to do what I wanted them to do. What was best for them."

  I bit my lip. I was impressed. But I was afraid of letting him see that.

  "Is that why you like this bondage stuff? Because you think you're doing what's best for me?"

  That got a smile out of him.

  "You know, I guess I never thought of it that way? No, I've liked BDSM ever since I knew what porn is and that I wanted to watch it. Maybe I did think of it that way, though."

  "What do you like about it?"

  "I like being in control, and I like feeling you tremble when I exercise power over you," he answered without hesitation, looking me in the eye. To be totally honest, I liked those things too.

  "What did you do after New Orleans?" I asked, getting back to the story--it was surprisingly gripping, and I found myself invested in it in ways outside of my current interest in figuring out who the hell I had been letting ream my pussy for the last few days.

  "I got my GED when in New Orleans and applied to college. I had perfect SAT and ACT scores, but you know, pretty lack luster grades--the grades I even had, since I had skipped out on the last two years of coursework. But the University of Chicago took me. It was about that time that you were off to New York, I understand."

  "Right. I went to--"

  "NYU. I know."

  "Of course, you do. How did you know about my..." I hesitated. "My porno?"

  "Well, this is where things get creepy, I guess. Once I was in college and had regular internet again, I started... I guess, cyber stalking would be the term? Cyber stalking you. I set up various alerts for all variations of your name, so any time you did anything that was mentioned anywhere--I would know about it."

  "You're right. That is creepy."

  I took another sip of my drink but then paused--maybeI shouldn't be drinking whatever he had given me? Oh, what the hell. He had already done nasty things to me and besides, if he wanted to murder me or something, he had already had plenty of opportunities to. And there wasn't much I could do, even if I were stone-cold sober. I downed the rest of the drink.

  "I'll take another one of these before you tell me the rest of the story, Tommy, darling," I said.

  "It's sir," he growled curtly. I smiled sweetly back at him.

  "Game's on hold until I know what the hell is going on and until you make me another drink. Go easier on the vermouth this time, and would it kill you to put a lemon peel in it instead of an olive? What is this, 1958?"

  He laughed, in spite of the obvious frustration on his face. He drifted back inside and in a few minutes, returned with my drink. I took a sip.

  "Perfect. Now, feel free to continue creeping me out."

  "You did sign a contract, using your real name, for that video. The contract somehow popped up under one of my alerts--it wasn't anything anyone would have put together, but I had a vested interest in knowing exactly what you were doing, when, and with whom--and so I tracked down the business, realized it was a front, and dissected their financial records so I could figure out the real name of the enterprise."

  "New Girl Videos?" I asked, a chill going down my spine as I said the name, the hateful name, that I hadn't spoken in a long, long time. I felt like I might throw up.

  "That's right. That's exactly right. And then, it was just a simple matter of subscribing to the website, and sifting through until I saw you--my pretty Tara, all grown up."

  "I hated that video. I swore to myself I would never something like that ever again. I can't believe you watched it. I can't believe you supported them."

  "It was the answer to all my prayers, Tara--finally seeing you naked--even though I hated that someone else was fucking you and not me. I had followed your career, lusted over your pictures, and I decided, some way, somehow... I had to make you mine. Not only for me, but to save you."

  I scowled.

  "Save me? I don't fucking need saving."

  "Dr. Fernandes told me you were liable to have a stroke within a year if you continued with your lifestyle," Tom said coldly. "A year. Tara, we're the same age. You're not even thirty."

  "It's my life," I replied, equally as coldly.

  "You were broken, Tara, and I fixed you."

  I scowled again, feeling tears in my eyes because I had been thinking the same thing--before all this. Before the revelations...

&nbs
p; "I wasn't broken. I didn't need to be fixed," I spat at him, biting back tears, blinking them away as best I could.

  "Anyway," Tom said stiffly, continuing. "I thought I would save you once I had established myself. I already mentioned that I made some money dealing in rare books--it's a fascinating business, and one I would have been happy to stay in the rest of my life, but I had mostly gotten lucky and I was looking at plateauing profits when I started a different company."

  "Doing what?"

  "We collect information about people. Through the internet, mostly, and your phone, your social media accounts--I was one of the first to realize how easy it would be, precisely because I had set up this sophisticated network to keep an eye on you, Tara. You're the reason I have all of this--" and he gestured with his almost empty glass to the apartment.

  "All of what?" I demanded, my voice quaking. "The wealth? Money? Power? You really think it's all because of me?"

  "Well," he said with a grin. "I did all the work. But it was because I had been so in love with you, Tara."

  I was silent. What had he just said? The big L-word, and not the one on the TV show? How long had it been since a man had said that to me and… And meant it?

  "I've loved you ever since I was a kid," he continued, his voice growing steadier, even without a second drink in his hand. At this rate, I might need a third. "I've adored you. I've thought about you every day."

  "I... Jesus. Jesus Christ, Tom, what do I say to that? I've barely thought about you in the last fifteen years."

  He smiled again, though this time, it was a hard, pained smile.

  "I know that, Tara. I know. I'm fully aware of that."

  "But maybe if you had said something--Tom, if you liked me so much, even when we were in junior high, why didn't you say anything? Maybe I would have gone out with you?"

  "Do you remember what I was like back then? Fat, awkward, didn't know how to dress, didn't know how to talk to other human beings. I assumed you were disgusted with me. I saw the kinds of people you went around with and how could I assume anything else?"

  "But you never tried!" I cried out, even though I knew he was probably right. What would I have done, if fat old Tom Story, in his sweaty Star Wars shirt, asked me out when we were, say, fourteen? I'd smile sweetly, lie about having something to do that night, say my boyfriend wouldn't like it, tell him that I thought we were better as just friends...

  "But I don't blame you, Tara. I was gross. And wanting to be with you inspired me to get better."

  I bit my lip.

  "So, I was really the inspiration for your company?"

  "Annual revenues of fourteen billion dollars say yes," he tossed out with a grin.

  "Christ."

  "I don't get all of that, though. Or any of that--it's tied up with the company. Do you want to know my salary, Tara? It's not polite to discuss, but I think it's kind of funny--I only take fifty-million or so dollars a year--fifty-one point five, if you really want to know, for whatever reason, our CFO decided that was better--but I'm the principal shareholder, and my investments, my other investments, have really done quite well."

  I found my lip twitching. God, but that was a lot of money.

  "You want me to ask about how much money you have altogether, don't you?" I said finally.

  "Go ahead." He was obviously pleased.

  "All right, Tom--how much money do you have?"

  I felt like we were trading Pokemon cards all over again, like we were kids once more and Tom had some awesome card he wanted to show me, that he was trying to keep a secret but which he just couldn't contain any longer.

  "The last time I checked with my accountant--maybe a week ago?--it was seven billion dollars. But it can fluctuate a bit, based on the economy." I knew he was trying to be casual, trying to make it seem like he didn’t think it was a big deal. But he knew it was a big deal. He knew damned well that having a personal fortune larger than the GDP of entire countries was a damned big deal.

  "God, Tom."

  "Life's been pretty good to me already. I'm not even thirty, I've got a fortune, I've built an extraordinarily successful company and I've spun off a few more--we had a sort of private equity incubator for a while, until I decided to spin that off into its own entity, of which I'm also the director--all I need now is..."

  "A wife," I concluded for him. He grinned at me. I felt a blush creeping onto my face. What… What was this? Why was I blushing? I suddenly felt embarrassed, like a little girl chatting with her older brother’s best friend. He could have anyone in the world… Any woman he wanted…

  "Bingo, Tara."

  "Are you proposing to me?"

  "I don't know. Is that a good idea?"

  I set down my drink and pulled my knees up to my chest. That stressed the tortured, abused flesh on my butt and I winced.

  This was all almost too much to handle. Boss was really Tom Story? Chubby, grubby little Tom Story, with snot hanging out of his nose, from back in Wisconsin? How had I never noticed his rise to glory? Did the other people we grew up with know? Were they aware that the sloppy kid they had once made fun of and teased--I remembered socking a boy in the jaw when he called Tom a "retard"... I was always standing up for him, since I was already taller and, because of soccer and volleyball practice, stronger than most of the boys--was now a drop-dead gorgeous billionaire with an enormous cock and a penthouse in the Manhattan sky?

  "I don't know if it is," I replied, finally.

  "Tara, look at everything you could have here, with me."

  "I know, I can see it, I've been living it."

  "And?" he asked, suddenly a note of uncertainty in his voice.

  "Would I still be your... slave?"

  "We can negotiate that. Maybe not as such but occasionally..."

  I could certainly do that. But I still found myself hesitating. I had found myself loving Boss. But now I didn't know who he really was, even though I knew that he, apparently, loved me.

  I stood up, adjusted my dress, and walked over to the railing on the terrace. I leaned over, watching Manhattan's glittering lights below. Part of me wondered what he would do if I jumped. Maybe if I just made it look like I would… Would he stop me? Would he jump after me? It was crazy, but this was a crazy life I led.

  After a few moments, as I had hoped, Tom stood, and joined me over by the railing, running an arm down my back and holding me close.

  "Tom, I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know if I can process this. This is all too much for me right now."

  "I understand," he said curtly, though clearly he didn't like it.

  After a few moments of staring out into the New Amsterdam abyss, I blurted out: "Make love to me. Then, maybe, maybe I'll know. Not like you're trying to hurt me, but like you're trying to love me."

  He was still for a second. Then, he reached behind my dress and began to unzip it. The sound of the zipper was painfully erotic for me as my dress fell away. I leaned back into him, feeling his strong hands on my breasts. I gasped. There was the tight, tempting edge of embarrassment. Suddenly, I felt like this was our first time, all over again. I found myself giggling, in a way I hadn’t done with a man since I was practically a kid…

  "You have no idea what I would have done when we were in high school to have you like this," he whispered in my ear, biting it gently. I murmured in delight, rubbing my sore ass, clad only in a tight little thong, against the bulge in his pants.

  "You're better than any guy I fucked in high school," I commented. "You must have gotten some good practice since then."

  "I don't want to brag, of course," he said with a soft laugh as he undid my bra and let that fall away. Then, he slid down my panties and I was naked before him. I found myself wrapping an arm around my breasts and placing a hand over my crotch. Why was I so shy all of a sudden?

  "I want to go to your bed," I told him. "Please, let's make love in your room. I haven't seen it yet."

  "Fine."

  He led me into the dark apartment
and down the hallway of mostly locked rooms which I had never been able to get into. Right next to the one with the masks, we stopped at a door which, like the others, had been forbidden to me. He pressed his hand into the palm-pad and the door clicked open.

  The room was more or less decorated the same as the rest of the apartment. There was a huge bookshelf as well, straining under the weight of what looked like thousands upon thousands of volumes.

  But I couldn't see what they were in the darkness. As I stepped into the room, I heard Boss--no, Tom--undressing behind me. I saw his broad shoulders in the moonlight and his well-developed chest and abs come into view and I could barely suppress a smile.

  "Here, let me help you with that," I said suddenly as he undid his belt. I stood on my toes to kiss him hard, our tongues dueling for a second, as my hands swatted his away from his crotch. I kissed down his chest, tasting the sweetness of his skin, the roughness in comparison to my smoothness. I found one of his nipples, sucked it, bit it, elicited a surprised gasp from his lips which pleased me to know end, and then continued my descent, down, down, down until I was on my knees, unzipping his pants and running my lips down his well-formed abs, down the valley and ending at his crotch, ending at his thick cock as I retrieved it from his pants.

  He had been inside of me only hours before and I tasted myself on his cock as I licked him, starting at the base and working up, jacking him off slowly. He grunted and ran a hand through my hair, holding me tightly there--I supposed he was the type who would never get away totally from needing to be in control--and thrusting his hips ever so slightly into my hungry mouth.

  I suckled now at the tip of his cock, hungrily tasting him, lapping at him, enjoying the flavor of his seed, still sticking to the tip and still present from the last time he had erupted inside of me--again, only a few hours before.

  "Fuck, Tara," he groaned as I engulfed him as deep as I could, taking him deep, deep, deep--burying my nose in his pubic hair as I worked him over, bobbing my head up and down, back and forth, letting my tongue and lips trace the path of his thick, throbbing vein, savoring the way his massive flesh twitched in my mouth, the way he wanted to cum, wanted to fill me, his slave and maybe his fiance, up with his seed once more.