Forbidden To Say No - The Billionaire's Plaything (An Erotic Romance Novel)

by Ashley Spector

  Finally, he sinks his face deep within my glisteningly wet and expectant pussy, wrapping his mouth over my quickly hardening clit, and lashing it repeatedly with his tongue. He nudges it from side to side with the tip, while I scrunch handfuls of silk bed sheets within my hands. I'm soon covered in juices - my own, added to his saliva - and the feeling is beautiful. Instantly I'm taken to a land of carefree bliss; no dreaded mistrust, no nerves, just the swelling, glowing warmth that begins in my stomach and spreads to every limb, like a flow of hot spring water around my body.

  He loosens his grip on my thighs, as I pick up my legs and place them upon his shoulders, giving him full access to my soaking slit. He dances a couple of fingers outside for a moment, before lunging inside with them, driving a moan from my lips, and an involuntary thrust from my hips, while his tongue works wonders caressing my buzzing clit. I cry out, moan, and groan, and I can tell he's going to give me no reprieve. He arches his fingers up to tickle what might just be my g-spot, and before I can count to ten I'm already squeezing and tensing my slit around him remorselessly, hungrily eating away at his fingers like I want every inch.

  I feel it building within me; that warm, glowing peace is quickly turning to a raging, electrifying maelstrom, and his angered movements inside my hole are only making things worse. All of a sudden, he begins to hum in that fabled monotone Hollywood seems to know so well; a low, deep baritone. It goes through me like the tremors of an earthquake, shaking my body deliriously, and delighting my clit like the affections of a vibrator.

  "Mmm, Daniel, you're - going to make me - come" I say, stammering not from nerves for once, but through the intense pleasure he selflessly brings. He doesn't reply, devoting himself truly to the cause; the cause of satisfying me. My hands finally leave the silk sheets behind my head, diving straight to the back of his head, and grabbing two handfuls of ruffled black hair, further burying his face within me. He hums again, purring like a cat, making me shiver in ecstasy. I count down; 5, 4, 3. I don't make it to zero.

  I explode in his face; tremors grip my body, shaking every muscle from my eyelids to my toes, rapturously quaking my foundations. He still doesn't stop, sucking my engorged clit into his mouth, and guzzling it delectably with his tongue and teeth, as I retain just enough presence of mind to feel it. My left leg shudders madly, my right leg straightens itself like a ballerina's, and all the while my nails dig into the back of his scalp, holding him there within me, for now and for ever.

  I feel beads of juice oozing from me, falling down his chin and to the sheets below, even as I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips together, humming and groaning my way to a slow, painstaking orgasm. But as suddenly as it came, it goes, and I soon fidget my way up the bed and away from the amorous advances of his mouth, dictated by the hypersensitivity of my clit.

  "Ohh fucking hell," I say to myself, rejoicing in the blistering heat that feels as though it rises from my forehead in waves. "You're going to kill me."

  "I do hope not" is the only thing he can say in return, rising from his position between my legs with a very apparent bulge in his pants. I know what's coming next, and as much as I'm still treading unknown waters with my ambiguous billionaire lover, I truly can't deny him. I watch his belt buckle fall to the floor, followed by his pants, and his member spring out impatiently, like it'd been waiting all along, and was going to make me pay for the time brooding alone. I can only spread my arms and legs to the four corners of the bed, stretching my limbs for one final onslaught of pleasure.

  He climbs back onto the bed, stepping out of his unimaginably expensive designer pants and boxer shorts, making the slow and deliberate journey from my toes to my face, kissing me tenderly as he does so. I'm so hot I want him right here, right now, but he's fascinated by making me wait. Even as he plants sweet little kisses upon my shins, my thighs, and the tufts of hair above my swelling, reddened, and spasmodic pussy, he diverts the occasional eye upwards, watching the impulsive looks upon my face, and the way I've come to bite my lip when restraining myself.

  His kisses rise higher - to my stomach, my breasts, and my forearms - and already I feel I can't wait any longer. I squirm around below him, fighting my every impulse just to grab him by the back of his thick, muscular neck, and kiss him on the lips at last. But I wait, and he arrives in style, blanketing me in kisses, leaving wet, tingling patches all over my goose-pimpled skin. His shirt is still on - I'd be naive if I thought he'd take it off - but only now does my mind go back to the revelations of today. The thought is soon wiped from me by a vibrant and full kiss on the lips.

  "Ohhh!" I cry, feeling the tip of his cock nudging my clitoris, perfectly aimed and calculated. He rubs it up and down my vulva, collecting the juices and saliva that cover me, before teasing me yet again, putting himself to the very base of my slit and waiting. He's between my legs now - his hips meeting my hips, his shoulders laid atop my own - and I feel the full weight of his body upon me. I struggle to breathe, but as I extend my chest upwards to catch a breath, he sinks himself within me, and my effort is wasted.

  "This - takes me - back," I hear myself saying to no-one in particular, as I feel him breach my scant defenses and plunge deep into my soaking wet hole. I'm transported back to that first-time: a somber, wordless encounter on the bare carpet of his restaurant. No chains, no gags, and no whips. Just me and Daniel. Pure.

  I pick my legs up, bending my knees and wrapping my calves around his body, as he kicks into second gear, pulling out of me before thrusting once more with relish. My arms follow, embracing him tenderly, whilst still holding on for dear life as he begins a steady pace. I open my eyes to find him staring into me from mere inches away; those blue eyes lacking any sort of control or patience, instead just looking to be loved. I kiss him. He thrusts harder.

  "Ohhh!" I shout, continuing the chorus he's willing me to sing. He begins slamming his hips against me, mashing the soft skin above his cock into my clit with heroic ferocity, watching me lose myself to the feeling. My thighs tighten - he's hitting all the right buttons - and my shoulders lock in place. I can't help but contract myself around him once more; losing all control of my pussy, involuntarily eating him up. It feels sublime, every vein and contour on his cock rubbing and grinding me into a hot wet mess.

  Suddenly, with a great force and passion, he throws his weight to his right, taking us sideways so that we both lie with the sides of our heads to the sheets, staring into each other lovingly. His arms wrap around the back of my neck, drawing me into his body, whilst managing to pick up the pace even more, fucking me with a greater intensity than I can remember, slamming his hips into me with enough force to break me if I wasn't made of stronger stuff. I gasp, pant, and splutter mindless curses into his body, as his hips do all the talking in return, punctuated only by the occasional moan from his throat.

  Sweat falls from both of us in small, salty beads, and it becomes an effort to open my eyes, seduced as I am by the rhythm of his strokes. Soon he hardens - his body becoming a stony, rigid whole - and I know what's coming. I unbury my head to kiss him sweetly, lapping at his lips with my tongue, as he groans loudly into my mouth, and shoots his labor of love inside me. Then, we part, falling our separate ways, and struggle in tandem to recover our breaths.

  "It's dark" he says after minutes of silence. I open my eyes, and realize just what I've been so oblivious to. Where the room was bright - lit by the orange glow of a Hollywood sunset - is now only dark; the wall-length mirrors doing nothing to hide the choking fumes that obscure the silver moon. I don't know how long we've been here - my only attempt at counting failed miserably - but day evidently passed to night. I turn over, to watch the dancing array of lights outside, and slowly close my eyes. Daniel's not far behind, drawing his body right up to mine and kissing the back of my neck, spooning himself around me. I'm so tired.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I lie alone in the warm, delicate majesty of Daniel Grant's black silk sheets. The Sun is up, and I only now remember falling
to sleep. I close my eyes again, before one more curious thought has me turning to my side, and seeing that he’s has vanished; nothing but ruffled, empty silk in his wake. I must have been asleep forever.

  I've never stood naked before a huge, wall-length, curtainless window before. Maybe there's something oddly liberating about it; no-one could see me up here in the penthouse suite unless they either had a pair of binoculars or a helicopter. Maybe I'd be able to think clearly about it if only my mind wasn't occupied by other matters right now. I dress myself quickly, throwing on the crumpled mess of clothes I arrived in, before putting my hand back to the door handle, and putting myself to work trying to remember the layout of Daniel's bare, sparsely decorated penthouse.

  Room after room of red walls, impressive views, and bare floors. I eventually find him standing over a cooker in the kitchen, dirtying those shiny chrome surfaces for what looks like the first time. He's dressed to impress again - a blue suit jacket, blue pants, and pink shirt beneath, complete with cufflinks - and I start to wonder whether Daniel Grant owns anything other than designer suits.

  "Morning," he says, looking up from his work and channeling the spirit of kind domesticity. "Breakfast?"

  "No, thank you" I reply, feeling not a single cry of hunger from my stomach. "I'm not a breakfast person."

  "Me neither. I'm a coffee person."

  Looking at him, and the rigors of his suited and booted lifestyle, that's no surprise. I walk to him, seeing that the pots and pans are out, but no there's no heat. I guess breakfast's canceled.

  "Coffee makes me nervous" I tell him, as I see him looking over to the espresso-maker in anticipation. Then he looks back to me, with one of those incredulous, sardonic expressions I couldn't describe even if I wanted to, and I’m hit by the sudden realization that we’ve been here before – back in the café - and I’ve said the very same things; Nervous? Me? "You know, fuck it, I'll have a coffee. Why not."

  Five wordless minutes pass and we're both stood by the window, looking down upon the city below. The clouds project a white glow onto the whole town, and I can only just see the tiny specks of cars and people moving around below, like grains of sand blown by some provident wind. My mug is hot - blisteringly so, I have to pass it between my hands for reprieve - but he drinks from his nonetheless, to my surprise.

  "How often do you do this?" I ask, never taking my eyes off the city in all its illuminated white glory.

  "Do what?"

  "Stand here, watching all of us?"

  He takes a sip from his drink, before pressing himself against the glass, almost seeming to absorb every sight, sound, and movement that passes beneath us.

  "All the time. It beats TV."

  I guess so. I mindlessly try to take a sip of coffee, only for the pitch-like black liquid to scold my lips. I keep quiet.

  "It's strange to think, but there are so many lives down there. So many people, with so many jobs, homes, families, workplaces, habits, bank balances, cars, and loves. So many lives. And yet I had to receive this one."

  I'm silent. I don't know what to say about that. Anyone else would be delighted to be where Daniel is, I'm sure. At least, that's my initial thought. But then maybe I'm wrong; maybe this great all-seeing tower is no more than a reminder of the way in which Daniel got here. I was born into a predetermined life, with a loving family and a sister with all the characteristics I wish I had. Who knows what was predestined for him?

  We spend another few minutes standing by the window, until I finally kick up the courage to take another sip of coffee. Then comes the time to confront the inevitable, as much as I hate the prospect of doing so.

  "So, Daniel, what now?"

  He's silent; just standing there, feet rooted to the floor, face pressed against the glass, watching, seemingly in a world of his own. It's only when I begin to turn around does he finally give me an answer, deep and monotonal.

  "I don't know."

  My heart sinks within me. I can't lie to myself, I want him. I've never seen so fragile and sensitive a person hide behind such professional bluster; I've never found someone quite as profoundly fearful of the world as I am. Every subtle, controlled facial expression, and every deep, droll word seems to hide a vulnerability and a mystery that I can only wish to get to know.

  "When I first saw you," he begins, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I thought I found someone different. Someone dedicated to speaking the right lines, and following the right directions. Someone who wouldn't flinch at any order. And someone who was obviously too nervous to imagine any other possibility. I wanted a nameless, faceless, silent servant."

  My mind goes back to the gags, the chains, and the root of ginger tucked painfully between my cheeks. I can't extinguish the bolt of excitement I feel between my legs, as much as it shames me. He sighs again, before turning to me, with deep, sapphire blue eyes that swim on a bed of teary water. It almost seems as though I've pierced his armor.

  "But I didn't expect to fall in love with that servant."

  My heart jumps out of my fragile, bony chest, beating frantically in front of me. My fingertips tingle. My mouth suddenly becomes dry. I don't know what to say. In the end, I follow my heart.

  "Oh, Daniel. I think I love you too."

  He extends a hand out to me, watching me closely, looking as though a wrong move could crush him immediately. I blink expectantly, gulp loudly, and join hands with him, feeling the smooth warmth of his palm radiate through me. And there we stand, hand in hand, looking out into the city around us, basking in the divine, purifying white light, and for the first time, feeling at ease.

  "I'm sure there's a lot I need to tell you" he adds, hesitantly. I nod to myself, fully aware that he can only see my faint outline in the reflection on the window. A plane passes in the distance, drawing both of our attentions for a moment.

  "It's okay" I say, rubbing his palm between my fingers. "Slow."

  He says something - how am I, how do I feel - that sort of thing. I only get the gist of it, consumed in my own little world as I am. I'm timid, anxious, maybe a little bit scared. In truth, I've never had a real romance before, let alone one as strange as this. Part of me wonders if I'm making a mistake. Part of me just wants to give myself back to him, wholly and absolutely, and never rely on myself to make a conscious decision ever again. Another part of me wishes I could leap into that head of his, and experience all of the fraught worries, tensions, and bitter thoughts he seems to harbor, given the scarring of a war he doesn't even remember. But mostly, I'm just dazed; shocked in myself that I could ever get into this sort of love.

  "You've changed" he says again, looking back out of the window, speaking softly. "You're different from when we first met."

  I guess that's right. I feel we've come through a lot together; the sex, the pain, the submission, the domination, the shameful, overeager actions of my impetuous hands, and the revelations that he had to bring.

  "You've changed too." I put my head on his shoulder, and close my eyes, seeing the bright imprint of the clouds inside my eyelids.

  "Maybe."

  There are so many questions I want answered; I want to know whether those sex games are an expression of his love, a simple desire to control, or a sinister urge to redeem his own scars somehow. I want to know how he truly sees me. I want to know just what he sees in me. But most of all, I think I just want to know that I'm loved. I'm not interested in his money, or his power, or his penthouses, restaurants, cars, or private limousines. He fascinates me.

  "I have to go to work soon."

  I'm sorry to hear it; I take my hand away from his, and wrap it around myself, feeling the warm, loving glow we shared evaporate.

  "And so do you."

  Work? What's he talking about? I open my mouth to speak, and question just what variety of work he's talking about; the kinky kind? Would I refuse? Would I dare? Before I can utter one word, however, he turns himself around, and answers my question for me.

  "An audition. A minor
role in a film I'm promoting, but a meaty role nonetheless. We have unfinished business together, wouldn't you say?"

  My first gift from my billionaire benefactor? I'm speechless yet again, I don't know whether I should accept it without any questions asked, or make some moralistic plea not to be considered differently from any of the other, gorgeous young woman who'd undoubtedly apply. But again, Daniel's a step ahead of me; he puts a finger to my lips, silencing whatever protest I was planning to make.

  "An audition, Chloe, not a contract."

  Chloe. He called me Chloe. I'm stunned. I never thought I'd actually hear it said to anyone but my sister by mistake. I'm still standing, my cheeks burning a blushing red, as he breezes past me and picks up his keys from the side, preparing to leave. In a haze, I follow, implicitly following his command, again becoming the silent servant I was always destined to be.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Life has a funny old way of turning when you least expect it. My father used to say that people's lives worked as a wheel; revolving, carrying on, slowing occasionally, only to speed up to compensate for it. It was easy enough for him to say, he was a defense attorney, adept at keeping these silly little adages in his pocket, only to pull them out to excite a watching jury. What's more, I don't know what Daddy would say right now, watching me sat in the exact same place I started, my knees huddled up to my chest, looking out of the window wistfully.

  The clouds have subsided, replaced in kind by the hot, dazzling, remorseless Sun. Another baking Hollywood summer. I strain my eyes peering through the glass, watching the heat rise in dancing, effeminate streaks from the tarmac car lot outside. My heart is pounding away, the same rambunctious percussive rhythm I've grown used to. But, I don't feel the same. The audition isn't even on my mind right now; all I can think about is the future. My visions of a loving, warm life with Daniel Grant are propelled by my raging blood flow around my body. I'm not nervous, or anxious, or hesitant, or feeling that this is the last place I want to be. I'm excited.