Sheer Submission (Sheer Submission, Part One)

by Hannah Ford

  SHEER SUBMISSION

  (Sheer Submission, Part One)

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

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  SHEER SUBMISSION

  SHEER SUBMISSION

  Copyright © 2017 by Hannah Ford

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  SHEER SUBMISSION

  (SHEER SUBMISSION, PART ONE)

  SHEER SUBMISSION

  (Sheer Submission, Part One)

  LANDON

  Stay away from her.

  The words burned against my brain, searing hot.

  Then another thought, more dangerous than the first.

  Tie her wrists, brand her, teach her.

  She was wearing a dress that was a size too small, and I knew immediately she didn’t have a boyfriend waiting for her at home, because no man would have let her out of the house in that.

  The dress was red.

  Short.

  A sweetheart neckline that was supposed to make her look innocent, but did nothing except push her full breasts up and over the material. Her hair was dirty blond and long, tousled around her shoulders.

  She was sipping a glass of champagne and looking around nervously, her wide eyes flicking from person to person at the party, as if she were afraid she was going to get caught.

  What have you done, naughty girl? Something you should be punished for?

  My palm burned as I imagined taking her over my knee, that short little dress pushed up, her cunt pulsing.

  The feeling of desire I had looking at her was like an electric shock to my soul.

  My instincts said to leave her alone, that this would end in nothing but disaster.

  My instincts had always served me well in the past.

  But this time, I decided to ignore them.

  An innocent girl.

  A bad man.

  An inevitable devastation.

  AVEN

  Stay away from him.

  This was the thought that ran through my mind the first time I saw Landon Sheer. It made no sense, since I didn’t even know the man. I knew of him, of course. Everyone knew of him – he was a gorgeous, twenty-seven-year-old billionaire. People like that didn’t tend to fly under the radar.

  “Is that him?” my best friend, Emma asked. She grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a waiter who was wandering by. “Jesus, you never told me he was so hot.”

  “He’s not that hot,” I mumbled, and tugged on my dress nervously.

  It was a lie, of course. Landon Sheer was that hot. I watched across the room as he entered the party from a door in the back of the ballroom, dressed in his trademark black suit. Landon always wore black – black suit, black shirt, black tie, black shoes. At least, that’s what I gleaned from the pictures of him I’d seen online.

  In person, he was just as good-looking. His hair was perfectly cut, his face clean-shaven. Dark brows slashed across his face, his lips and mouth full, the cut of his jaw giving him the look of a man who couldn’t be fucked with.

  As he walked toward the bar, the crowd parted. It wasn’t just because this was a party hosted by Sheer Multinational -- the company Landon had co-founded with his brother, Conner -- and most of the people here were his subordinates. No, it was because Landon Sheer commanded the room, his masculinity and power radiating off of him in a dreamy haze.

  “How do I look?” I asked nervously, tugging on my dress again. It was one of Emma’s, the kind of dress that I would never have picked for myself, the kind of dress I could never afford even if I’d wanted to. But I couldn’t crash a fancy party at the Belmont Hotel wearing anything I had in my closet. The only dress I owned came from Old Navy and had a ketchup stain on the sleeve.

  “Amazing,” Emma said, reaching up and kissing my cheek. Her green eyes were half-glazed already, the result of too many glasses of the pink champagne that seemed to be everywhere. I loved the girl, but she couldn’t hold her liquor. Actually, scratch that. I couldn’t help my liquor. Emma just liked to drink.

  “Do I look like the kind of girl you’d want to help?” I asked.

  “Definitely.” Emma nodded.

  I looked back over to where Landon Sheer was standing at the bar. He was talking to a woman with cornflower blond hair, the kind of hair that hung perfectly straight like a long shiny curtain.

  I felt my courage start to fade.

  I wasn’t the kind of girl who did something like this.

  I wasn’t the kind of girl who snuck into a company party hosted by one of New York City’s – no, one of the country’s -- hottest billionaires.

  I still couldn’t believe Emma and I had pulled it off. But Emma had a friend who worked at the event planning company who was throwing the party, and she’d convinced him to give us the names of a couple of the people who were on the list. After that, it had been easy. We’d given the names to the PR girl working the door at the Belmont, the rope had been pulled aside, literally, and just like that, we’d been let into one of the most exclusive hotels and parties in the city.

  “Aven,” Emma said warningly now, noticing the look on my face. She’d been my best friend for four years, ever since a computer algorithm had made us roommates freshman year of college, taking the fact that we were both night owls and didn’t care if our room was messy and betting that those details would make us fast friends. Luckily, it had been right.

  Emma knew me. She knew I liked to order Thai takeout late night, she knew I had a penchant for cheap drugstore face masks, she knew I bit my nails when I was nervous, and she knew my tendency to say I was going to do something and then chicken out at the last minute.

  “Maybe I should just call his office again,” I tried.

  “No way.” Emma downed the last of her champagne and shoved her empty glass at a random man passing by. The man took it and set it down on the bar, giving Emma a dirty look. “That got you nowhere, remember?”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. She was right. Calling Landon Sheer’s office had done nothing except put me in touch with his receptionist, a very cranky woman with a British accent who sounded like she was one second away from calling the police on me every time I asked to speak to Landon Sheer.

  She always took my name down, but the last time I’d called -- yesterday, in a last ditch effort to not have to be here today, sneaking into a party -- she’d strongly hinted that Mr. Sheer didn’t take kindly to stalkers. What was it she said? Something about the authorities monitoring his calls?

  I felt my knees go a little weak.

  “Aven!” Emma said, grabbing me by the shoulders and staring into my eyes. “Aven, you need to focus! This is for Violet, remember?”

  The sound of my sister’s name was all I needed to hear. I threw my shoulders back. “Right. This is for Violet.”

  “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

  I frowned. That wasn’t exactly true. I’d snuck into this party, a party that was specifically for the employees of Sheer Multinational.


  “I don’t …”

  “Go!” Emma said, and then her hands were on my back and she was pushing me toward the bar, where Landon Sheer was still sitting with the shiny-haired blonde.

  I squared my shoulders, and began to make my way through the crowd.

  I rehearsed the speech I’d prepared, going over it in my mind. Of course, when I’d memorized it, I’d been planning to deliver it over the phone.

  “Mr. Sheer, my name is Aven Courtland, and my sister Violet is missing. I have a reason to believe that maybe she ran away with your brother, Conner Sheer. Have you heard from your brother? I’m just really worried about Violet and would like to talk to her. Any assistance you can provide would be great.”

  Easy-peasy, right?

  But as I got closer to Landon Sheer, moving through the crowd of his employees – he must have been paying them well, since they were all ridiculously well-dressed -- I noticed that there was a parting in the sea of people. Besides the blonde, it was like no one wanted to get too close to him.

  Once I got a few feet away from him, I was standing alone in an empty space.

  Landon’s back was to me, and I took a deep breath.

  For Violet, I told myself.

  I grabbed a pink champagne off a passing tray and downed half of it, then moved closer.

  When I got close, I tapped Landon Sheer on his shoulder. As soon as I touched him, electricity zinged through me.

  Yours.

  The word echoed through my mind, shocking in its intensity, as Landon Sheer turned around.

  His eyes were dark blue pools, flicked with gold, and testosterone radiated off of him in waves so intense it felt like I was drowning. His gaze leveled me, warming my cheeks.

  “Mr. Sheer,” I started my prepared speech, but I was so thrown by the way he was looking at me, that my voice came out way lower than I’d expected, not much more than a squeak. “Mr. Sheer,” I tried again, but now I sounded breathless.

  His brow furrowed, annoyed at the intrusion, and it threw me off even more. His strong jaw clenched as his eyes ran up my body, taking in my too-small dress, my scuffed Jimmy Choos that were just a shade too dark to match my outfit.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his expression turning hard and cold. It was one word, delivered in such a dismissive, admonishing tone, that for a moment, I almost chickened out and walked away.

  But then I thought of Violet.

  “Mr. Sheer,” I said. “My name is –” My voice was still too low, so I took a step closer to him, figuring that if I couldn’t make myself talk louder, I could at least get closer to him.

  But as I moved, I tripped over my heels, and the glass of champagne I was holding went flying. I ended up right in the lap of Landon Sheer, my drink all over his perfectly pressed, expensive black dress shirt.

  “I’m so sorry!” I tried to disentangle myself from him, but he’d grabbed me when I fell, his hands on my hips, steadying me. “I didn’t… I mean, I’ll pay for your shirt, I can’t believe I did that. I’m really sorry.” Shut up, Aven. I closed my mouth, and looked up at him as his eyes desecrating me.

  “Are you always so clumsy?” he asked. His voice was smooth, buttery, and he still held onto my hips tightly, as if he were afraid that if he let me go, I was going to dong something stupid.

  “I’m not…” I shook my head and pulled back, and he released me. As soon as I was a few steps away from him, I was able to clear my head. Well, a little.

  “Do you work for me?” he asked. He was turned completely around now on his barstool, blonde behind him watching us closely.

  “No.” I shook my head. “No, that’s what I was trying to tell you. My name is Aven Courtland, and my sister Violet is – “

  “You ruined my shirt.”

  Wow. This guy was a real pompous ass. “Yeah, I see that. I told you I’d buy you another one.”

  “This is a custom-made dress shirt from Giovanni Mane.”

  “So?”

  “So it cost three thousand dollars.”

  “So what?” I countered.

  “Do you have three thousand dollars, Ms...”

  “Courtland,” I repeated. “Aven Courtland.”

  “You work for me.”

  “No.” I shook my head, feeling like I was on a spinning merry-go-round. Did this man know how to listen? “No, I don’t work for you. That’s what I was trying to --”

  His eyes narrowed. “Aven.” The sound of my name on his lips made an unfamiliar buzzing sensation start in my stomach, a vibration that began to move and finally settled deep between my legs.

  My heart was pounding, and I suddenly felt hot.

  “You’re the one who’s been calling my office every day?”

  “No,” I said defiantly. “Not every day.” I hadn’t been calling his office every day, had I?

  He reached out and took my wrist. “Come with me.”

  “What?”

  “Come. With. Me.” And then he was leading me out of the ballroom, his grip on mine so strong that it made it impossible for me to stop him.

  I caught Emma’s eye as I walked by, and she watched in surprise, as I was led through the party to an elevator in the corner.

  She mimed at me to text her, her thumbs moving over an invisible phone.

  I nodded, and then I was being whisked into the elevator. It was made of glass and gold bars, and it looked out over the expansive courtyard of the hotel where the party was being held.

  Landon Sheer slid a key card into the slot, and the elevator began to zoom up, so fast that it startled me, and I tipped forward, right into his arms.

  “You need new shoes, Ms. Courtland.” He was so close I could see the crispness of his collar, the way the starched material hit right against the smooth, tan skin of his neck. He was wearing an aftershave that was heady and masculine, and it was enough to set my pulse racing.

  “Yes, well, unfortunately I’ve had an unexpected expense this month – some rich jerk is forcing me to buy him a new shirt -- so I won’t be able to afford new shoes,” I said snottily.

  The side of his mouth twitched with amusement. And something else. Warning?

  The elevator doors opened before I could figure it out, and we stepped out into the penthouse suite.

  Just like the elevator, it was enclosed in glass, and everything inside was black. Black couches arranged around a sleek black coffee table, black hardwood floors, a black bookcase shelved with books that were covered in sleek black wrapping. Contemporary paintings in shades of black and silver were hung on the walls, the kind of paintings that were just angry slashes of color and yet probably cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  Sheer black curtains hung over the sliding pocket doors across the room, pulled back on each side and held with gold curtain holders embossed with an elegant-looking S.

  “This is your suite?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  The city spread out below us like a blanket, the darkness punctuated by the twinkling lights of skyscrapers. An infinity pool glistened on the patio, the water sparkling as it trickled from a fountain built into the side.

  I stared at the water.

  “Do you swim?” Landon’s voice was velvet, the sound caressing my shoulders from behind me. I could sense his presence even though I couldn’t see him.

  “I used to. A lot. But not anymore.” Not since… I closed my eyes tight and then opened them again, willing my mind not to go there. I turned around, away from the water, because looking at it was making me dizzy.

  Landon’s eyes scanned my body.

  “What?” I asked defensively. “Are you thinking I don’t look like a swimmer?”

  “No.” He didn’t elaborate, and something about the way he said it, without looking away, without any sense of embarrassment or self-consciousness at the way he was eyeing my body, made the buzzing feeling between my legs intensify.

  I blushed, that same vibration starting in my stomach and making the place between my legs pul
se.

  “Anyway,” I said, smoothing my skirt. “The reason I’m here, Mr. Sheer, is because I can’t find my sister.”

  “No, the reason you’re here, Ms. Courtland, is because you snuck into my party illegally.” He was removing his suit coat now, revealing a pair of broad shoulders. As he moved, I was pretty sure I caught sight of the outline of his ripped abs under the material of his shirt. Jesus. How did he have time to work out when he was running a billion dollar company?

  Because that kind of body didn’t come from sitting behind a desk. I knew that much.

  “I didn’t sneak into your party illegally,” I said. “It’s not against the law to be at your party.”

  “Do you usually use semantics and legal arguments to get yourself out of trouble?”

  “I’m not in trouble.”

  “Aren’t you?” He began undoing his tie now, loosening the perfect Windsor knot. For a moment, my skin prickled, and anticipation and terror rose up inside of me as I thought that maybe he was about to try to seduce me.

  “Relax, Ms. Courtland,” he said, surveying me with amusement. “I’m just going to change my shirt.”

  “I know,” I said, even though I didn’t. I swallowed around the knot of disappointment that had risen in my throat. “I mean, um, do you usually keep extra shirts in that hotel suites that you’re staying in?”

  “This is my hotel. I own it.”

  “Oh.” He owned the Belmont? Holy crap.

  “How did you get into my party?” He pulled his tie through his collar in one smooth motion, and the sound it made sent a not totally unpleasant chill up my spine. “Don’t lie to me, either. If you lie to me, I will find out.”

  From inside my bag, the sound of my phone vibrating echoed through the room. I fumbled for it, pulled it out.

  Emma.

  Well???? What the hell is going on?

  I’m in his suite with him, I typed back.