She didn't know what to say. She didn't want to say anything. She wanted to lean in and kiss him until the world fell away. Until it was just the two of them, and all other complications had crumbled to dust and been taken by the wind. She wanted to lock the door, freeze out the world and stay with him in that room forever, but she knew the world would eventually come knocking.
“I...” Now she was the one who refused to meet his gaze. She wrung her hands and stared at the floor. “I was surprised.” Slowly, as if afraid of spooking him, she reached out and took Ryan's hand. Now he looked up at her, and she pulled her eyes from the ground to meet his. “But I liked it.” She turned over his hand and gently stroked his palm. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I feel the same way.”
Ryan lips curled up in an incredulous smile. His red, bloodshot eyes suddenly seemed alive, as if a fire had been stoked behind them, and he squeezed Sophia's hand, pulling her towards him. She hesitated uncertainly, frighteningly aware that a line was being crossed here. Once it had been passed there would be no going back. Her mind screamed out at her to pull away, but her heart yelled louder. Nothing else mattered now. She leaned towards him. Her eyes closed, and she felt his warm breath against her cheek. His lips met hers, and in an instant her embarrassment was forgotten.
It was if the walls of the world had crashed down. As Ryan kissed Sophia it became clear to her that it could only be this way. She had to be with him. Whatever else happened. However the world would judge them. However their parents would judge them, it didn't matter.
She loved him, and he loved her.
She felt her hunger build, deep within her body. Images from the previous night flashed across her mind as they kissed. Ryan pressing himself against her, kept from her only by the thin silk of her panties. His erection, enormous, standing proud of his body, just inches from her. She felt the tension once again build, and felt her eagerness to finish what last night she'd started.
“Wait,” she whispered, pulling away from his lips. He smiled dreamily, and opened his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes.
“We need to figure out what this is. Before anything happens, we need to know what we're doing. What do we tell our parents? What do we tell our friends?”
Ryan smiled, tears of happiness in his eyes. “We tell them nothing,” he whispered. “We keep it quiet.” He eased her backwards, pushing her unresisting to the bed. He lay by her side, leaned down and kissed her deeply, then pulled away.
“We'll just have to be secretly in love with each other. Deal? Just me and you. This is our secret.”
Ryan slid his large, strong hand down Sophia's body, tracing a route across her soft, smooth olive skin until her reached the pink silk of her panties. In one smooth motion he pulled them down her legs, and with his other hand pulled away the duvet wrapped around his waist to reveal his eager, swollen manhood. He smiled.
Yes, thought Sophia, spreading her legs wide as Ryan climbed on top of her, guiding himself smoothly inside. Yes, just our little secret.
She gasped as Ryan filled her to her very depths, and reached out to grab hold of a pillow, pushing it against her face to keep her moans from escaping the room.
This is the start of something incredible...
*
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Enjoyed this story? Then you'll love At His Command, the steamy opening book to the internationally bestselling Dominated by the Billionaire series. Available now at Amazon, and for free on the Kindle Unlimited program.
Chapter One
By ivesting heavily i the refiemet of the curret product lie we feel we ca solidify our market share and wi ew custom more effectively tha by focusig o the developmet of a ew lie. All available resources should be redirected to the Oramis program, ad the roll out of Oramis II should be postpoed util Q3 of the comig fiancial year...
Pam was lost in her own little world, concentrating on her headphones too much to notice that the N button on her keyboard was busted. The last three pages of her transcription would have to be redone, and it was already 15 minutes after the end of her shift.
'Comig fiacial year, Pam? You know you should glance at your screen every once in a while.'
Pam took a moment to register the voice. 'Huh? Oh, for God's sake! This damned keyboard is a piece of junk!'
Arnie grinned. 'I wouldn't say that too loud, Pam. We make that piece of junk.'
'So why can't I get a computer that does what it's told? I must waste half my day fighting with this shit.' She slapped the keyboard in frustration, freeing the stuck key.
khb!jgjnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
'Now I'm gonna miss my bus, and on the worst possible day. My deadbeat brother'll have hocked my TV by the time I get home.' She turned to Arnie, suddenly smiling coquettishly. 'Hey Arn, honey, any chance you could count this as overtime?'
Arnie chuckled. 'Sorry Pam, you know the rules. You can only get overtime if it comes down from the top. I may be the supervisor around here but as far as overtime goes I may as well work in the mail room.'
'Worth a shot,' Pam sighed. 'OK, go on home to your wife's cauliflower supreme, Arn. I'll close up when I'm done.'
'It's OK, I can wait. You know Grace can't cook for shit, bless her heart.'
Pam laughed, glad for the distraction. Arnie always managed to cheer her up. 'Get outta here, old man. You get home late one more time and she'll take that recipe to her sister's place, along with your kids.'
'OK, I'm goin', I'm goin'.' He pulled his jacket over the wrong arm and struggled for a moment before bumping into Pam's desk, splashing cold coffee on a pile of papers. 'Could have married a woman who loved a good steak, but nooooo. I got the one who counts my calories.'
'Count your blessings, Arn. At least you're not going home to a junky brother and an overweight cat.'
Arnie grinned and gave her a wink before walking out the door, leaving her alone in the small office. She sat back for a minute, enjoying the image of Arnie sitting his 250-pound ass down to a plate of steamed vegetables. He always bitched about the strict diet his wife forced on him, but she knew he was happy. Hungry, but happy.
Pam, though, was miserable. The ten hour shifts she worked in this cold, cramped office were far from the life she'd imagined when she first moved to the city. She'd dreamed of working her way up through the company, kicking ass and taking names until she finally got herself an eye watering salary and a corner office on the 45th floor. Instead her career ladder had turned out to be missing a few rungs. After eight years at the company she was still stuck on 12, transcribing minutes from meetings held by people who didn't even know she existed.
It was, in every sense, a pointless job. Nobody ever read her work. In fact it wasn't even uploaded to the network. Most of her transcriptions were held right here on her computer, and weeks could go by without a request for a copy. Not only was her salary barely enough to pay the rent on a studio apartment in a bad part of town but it didn't even provide job security. She expected any day that someone in accounting would finally realize she wasn't needed. It was terrifying.
Twenty minutes later she was finally finished correcting her mistakes, as if it mattered. She saved the file on her hard drive and sent a project confirmation to Records. If anyone wanted a copy she'd get a release request from them, but she never held her breath. The only reason to stay so late to get the job done was that if she
didn't she'd get calls and emails from at least five superiors in the morning to scold her for falling behind.
The hallways were empty now. It was almost seven, and nobody worked late in this part of the building. Their jobs just weren't important enough to require it. Pam flipped off the light switch and locked the office behind her before heading to the elevator bank at the far end of the corridor. All three were down at the ground floor but she noticed the executive elevator was heading down. It was at 15 now, and on an impulse she pressed the call button.
Staff on the floors below 25 weren't supposed to use the executive elevator. It was an express reserved for the higher ups, but Pam knew her floor wasn't locked out. Every once in a while an executive would need to make the trip down to 12. She could always recognize them in their expensive suits, walking quickly through the halls as if terrified their silk ties would transform into polyester if they spent too much time down in the ghetto.
The elevator drew to a halt and a tone beeped. Just as the doors began to open Pam panicked, realizing that the car would probably be occupied. She considered for a moment jumping out of the way, hiding behind a pot plant until the doors closed, but it was too late. Whoever was inside could already see her, standing there awkwardly in her cheap thrift store skirt and blouse looking like a kid playing dress up with her mom's clothes.
'Going down?' The man leaning casually against the back wall of the elevator raised an eyebrow and looked at her imploringly. For a moment Pam was struck dumb. The occupant of the elevator was a man she'd seen only twice before, but he'd made a starring appearance in her dreams countless times since. Tall, well built and blessed with a granite jaw the stranger had seemed, the first time she saw him stalking the halls, as if he'd just stepped out of a casting session for the latest Superman movie.
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Chapter One
There are clubs just like it in every city in America. Hidden clubs, their locations passed quietly by word of mouth, their entrances closely guarded. If you weren't on the inside you'd never hear about them, never see them even as you walked by. If you weren't vouched for you'd never gain entrance; you'd never notice the doorways, the closed circuit cameras and the discreet, well dressed clients who slipped in and out through the night, often carrying a package under their arm, a costume or a favorite toy. That was the one word most often used to advertise them to potential clientele: discreet.
This club didn't have a name. It didn't need one. All who entered knew what it was, and it maintained its secrecy thanks to the prominent politicians, wealthy businessmen and various movers and shakers who counted themselves among its members; men (and more than a few women) who made sure the eyes of the city never strayed too close to the hidden doorway. If the wrong people discovered what went on inside, the consequences could be dire.
Kathryn gazed up at the hidden camera above the door, waiting for a moment before a buzzer sounded and the latch was released. She stepped through into a dim hallway, pulling the heavy steel door behind her until she heard the lock engage once more, then stood in the half light until her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. Every room was like this, from the central bar to the private suites. Darkness ruled in this place where dark deeds were done.
It had been three months since Kathryn had been recruited. Three months of long, late nights. Three months of watching acts that repulsed and intrigued her in equal measure. Three months of serving drinks for the rich and powerful. Three months of watching them play with the tight, taut, latex wrapped bodies of the pretty, doe eyed sub girls who allowed themselves to be used, posed like puppets, humiliated, scolded and fucked like whores. Most of all, though, it had been three months of a steady, more than generous pay check and the promise of an escape from her crushing college debt. The work was often unpleasant, but a bachelor's degree in philosophy in the midst of a recession hadn't left her with a wealth of options.
Kathryn was a serving wench. That was actually her official title, the job description she'd print on her tax return, if she was allowed to file by herself. She'd been recruited by the owner of the club, Stephen, an old poker buddy of her late father. She remembered him vividly from her childhood, an ugly, rat faced man with sallow skin and the look of someone who enjoyed too much rich food, too few vegetables and too little sun. He seemed to arrive in a new sports car each time he visited. He also seemed to have a new girl on his arm each time, and Kathryn had always wondered how he managed to attract such beauties with that unappealing face and slimy personality. It was only recently she'd learned that they were all bought and paid for.
Stephen had caught her at a low point in her life. Eight months out from graduation Kathryn was barely surviving on what little she managed to earn waiting tables at a local strip club. It was depressing work. She paid for her groceries with the greasy, torn and wrinkled dollar bills the local perverts stuffed into the waistband of her skirt as she delivered their Budweiser, all of them no doubt hoping she'd be so grateful for their charity that she'd fall to her knees, wrap her wet, ruby red lips around their cocks and suck them until they sprayed their hot juice across her eager tongue. She could hardly blame them. The tired, used up women on stage - they were far too old to be called girls - were no match for Kathryn's fresh, unsullied beauty. Through every shift she felt their eyes on her young, lithe body.
Stephen had found her on a bleak Saturday night between Christmas and New Year. He'd bumped into her as he was leaving the club, shaking his head with disappointment at the poor quality of the strippers. He didn't recognize her at first, and muttered some insult about how the club was full of nothing but dried out old cunts who belonged in nursing homes.
"Sorry about that," Kathryn had replied, instantly scolding herself for apologizing for anything to do with the shitty, depressing club, as if it were her fault that the women on stage were dredged from the bottom of the barrel. "The pay here sucks. All of the pretty girls work down the street at the Elysium."
That was when Stephen had finally recognized her. Kathryn cringed as she saw realization dawn on that narrow little rat face, as a leering smile broke out and a dry, rasping laugh descended into a coughing fit. She forced a polite smile as he looked her slowly up and down without embarrassment, pausing on her full, firm tits and tight, perky ass.
"Well well, it looks like little Kat has grown up nicely," he said, grazing her side with a nicotine stained finger. "I'd love to see you up on that stage, girl. I bet you have the perverts throwing money at you."
Kathryn shivered beneath his touch, drawing away from those grasping claws. "No, I don't perform. I just serve drinks. I'd love the cash, but I wouldn't dare go up on stage."
The rest of the night had been the most unusual of her young life. Stephen had asked her straight out how much she banked for a night's work, laughed as she gave him a ballpark figure, then offered to quadruple her wage if she'd come to work at his club. She was wary of him, but when her shift ended and she finally escaped the dark, depressing club she found him waiting in the parking lot, smoking a cigar as he leaned against a black Maserati. Kathryn tried to politely extract herself from his company, but he insisted on taking her to his club. "A real gentleman's establishment," he'd said. "A much better class of people than you'll find in this shithole." Kathryn was reluctant, but she couldn't deny she was intrigued by his offer. The money he offered was extraordinary.
Kathryn remained silent on the ride to the club, tensing herself each time the car slowed at an intersection, ready to bolt at any moment. The only thing that kept her from pushing open the door and rolling from the car was the promise of cash. She needed it, and Stephen had it. She was tired of shopping for stale, discounted bread and dented tins of soup. She was tired of avoiding her landlord, sneaking quietly pa
st his door each night to avoid another confrontation, another apology, another empty promise of imminent payment. She was, more than anything, simply tired, and she'd long ago learned that pride wasn't accepted as hard currency.
"I should warn you," said Stephen as he pulled the car into a small, dark parking lot, "there's a good reason I pay such high wages for my servers. This club is unlike any you've ever seen. You might be a little shocked, but just remember that everyone gives their complete consent for what happens here. My girls are very well paid, and they enjoy themselves."
Kathryn nodded, but didn't understand. What kind of strip club is this? She thought she knew every venue in the city, but she'd never even visited this neighborhood. It was in a dark, dangerous part of town, an area that had once been a bustling hub of industry until the recession arrived and scooped the heart from the city. Abandoned store fronts and boarded doors were all that remained, and Kathryn couldn't understand how any club could have remained open without the custom of the local workers.
Stepbrother, Where Art Thou? Page 5