“He won’t come back. He told me he would stay gone long enough for me to convince you.”
She swatted his shoulder. “You guys! You’re gonna be the death of me before you know it.”
He enfolded her in his arms. “I don’t want to be the death of you. I want to give you life, just as you give it to me.”
She sank down on his lap. Already his monstrous energy infected her with that squirrely excitement down her stomach. She had to wind her hips around on his swelling cock. She had to seize this man in all his magnificence. She had to take the life he gave her and give it back to him tenfold. Whatever he was, she had to accept it. She had to accept herself so he could accept her, too.
She ran her fingers through his buzzed hair. Her hand felt strange with the ring burning a hole in her skin. That ring made her into someone different, someone new. It made her into so much more than a shark on the hunt for man-flesh. It made her into a whole person, the kind of person who could accept love and kisses and holding, the kind of person who could go home with him and live with him in his house.
His mighty arm slipped around her waist. He grappled her down on his upthrusting spike. He murmured up into her mouth. “Are you mine now? Are you mine?”
She couldn’t contain her rising desire. “Oh, yes! Oh, yes!”
He kissed her, devouring her lips. Then hugged her in closer, until she was achingly close to where he wanted her. He tugged her down onto his hips onto his massive bulge. “Come on, baby. Come on.”
His lips inched toward her neck, and he devoured her. The sweet scent of his cologne made her thoughts and emotions run wild. She wanted him more than anything, and not just for sex. She wanted those hands to hold her every day, those lips to caress her neck… She wanted all of him. She wanted to be his and make him hers. She wanted to worship him on her knees just as he worshiped her.
He didn’t have to tell her what to do next. She whipped his belt loose, and her hand plunged inside. She closed her fingers around his cock and stroked it hard.
His breath stuck in his throat. The color spread over his cheeks. He wanted it, too. He wanted whatever she would do to him. She got up just long enough to shuck off her pants. She took hold of his cock, guided it between her legs, and eased her way down onto it.
Once she got into position, she settled down to gazing into his precious face. He gazed back up at her. He never took his eyes off her. He put his hands on her hips and guided her in gentle circles. His cock nestled inside her where it longed to stay.
She bent down to kiss his mouth, although his eyes were already kissing over every part of her. They kissed her inside, and where his cock teased her clit. His eyes kissed her ass against his thighs and his pubic bone against her clit. She mewed soft bedroom cries. She needed him in there.
She caught sight of something bright flashing on her hand. Of course, it was her ultimate Christmas present. He was her Christmas present—him and everything he brought to her life. Her old life withered into nothing. It no longer called to her.
She would go home to that house. She would stay in that room with him, he would become her life, and she would become his. They would have Colton over for Christmas dinner. They would joke and laugh together and enjoy the holiday in the city. She would create a new family, a new tradition, a new world with him.
THE END
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CAPTIVE
Chapter One – Maya
There aren’t many things that get cleaner with history. That’s what I’m telling myself when I walk into the offices of Storm and Associates. It’s one of the oldest consulting firms in town, upwards of 200 years, or so the legend goes. But it’s spotless. Every surface is either white or silver. Everything gleams. There are few hard edges because everything is space-aged and sleek. Even the chairs have unexpected curves. They look more like lozenges.
Nope. The march of time hasn’t put one spot of grime on this place. Now, the same cannot be said for its owner, Conrad Storm. He’s got a reputation as a billionaire playboy that makes Bruce Wayne look like a shy, fumbling teenager. Conrad Storm, or so the legend goes, is richer than God, the most gorgeous of God’s creations, does not believe in God, and has a bottomless appetite for women.
A dirty man in this clean place, in other words.
So why, oh why, did I get invited to apply for a job here? I’m hot and I know it, but there’s hot and there’s otherworldly. Like, say, the woman working the reception desk. Blond. Maybe eight feet tall, which I can tell even though she’s sitting down. Legginess is a state of mind as well as a measurement. She looks like she stepped out of a magazine, airbrushed, but here she is, in person. She’s sizing me up. It’s what we do. But she knows she’s got me beat on this one. It’s no surprise at all to see that her name is Zima. It was always going to be something like that.
“Can I help you?” she says in the bored, slightly wary tone of voice that makes me feel like I wandered in wearing a garbage bag and pushing a shopping cart.
“Yes, I have an appointment for—”
“Send her up please, Zima.”
Hmm. The voice that filters into the room isn’t like the usual robotic voices you hear on the phone menus when you call to pay an overdue bill. It seems to come from everywhere. It’s warm, unmistakably male, and commanding. Zima, a couple of women sitting on the lozenges in the waiting room, and I all sit up a little straighter and start fiddling with our hair. It occurs to me that these other women might be here to fight for what I’m already thinking of as my job. Even though I have no idea what the job is. I was at home a week ago when my phone buzzed. A text. “We are interested in interviewing you for a position at Storm and Thorston.” It listed an address and a time. That was it.
“Right away, Conrad,” says Zima to the ceiling. Or maybe she’s looking up at Heaven. Conrad’s rich enough that he may be a majority owner in Heaven at this point.
Zima glares at me. She jerks her head at the elevator door that is suddenly opening in the wall. She jerks her head with such venom and force that her hair whips around and covers her face. Feeling a satisfaction that I haven’t done anything to earn, I walk to the elevator, enjoying the fact that everyone is watching me get on so I can…well, what exactly, I don’t know.
The elevator doors close behind me. Well, this is weird as hell. There aren’t any buttons in here. Maybe this was a huge joke and will be my version of being buried alive. I’ll never get out of this elevator and those women in the lobby will get my job and Zima will laugh and laugh. I’ve got to keep it together. He’s probably watching. With that thought, I use the reflective surfaces of the silver walls to do one last mirror check. I chose a gray dress with sharp lapels and a small red sweater on top. My black hair is cut into a modern bob that always delights my hairdresser. He says I’m his favorite and it might even be true. I’ve got a subtle but commanding shade of red lipstick on and the whole package is nicely offset by my pale skin. This is probably the best I’ve ever looked. I know everyone says that when they’re 25, and it’s usually true, but it’s really true today.
Anyway, if I don’t get the job, at least I know it’s not because I dressed wrong.
The elevator is moving. That means someone is controlling it. That someone is probably Conrad. This means that he gets to choose where I get off. And that unfortunate phrase, “get off,” reminds me of the latest bit of Conrad press that hit the Internet. He had gotten pulled over for speeding. The details as to what happened next are unclear, but what was happening two minutes later is as clear as it gets. The cop was a woman named Cindy. Conrad tempted her into his car and they started making out where he was parked on the shoulder. They were there for so long that another cop car pulled over to see if a fellow officer was in da
nger. That poor—albeit satisfied—woman is now under investigation by her own department. “Why didn’t you show some self-control?” they keep asking her in interviews. And every time, she smiles and says, “You’d have to be there.”
She doesn’t seem sorry in the slightest, even after she lost her job for her refusal to admit she acted unprofessionally. Whatever he said to her, whatever he did to her…it was all worth it to her. She also seems totally crazy, which has kept everyone glued to the TV when she’s going to be on.
Conrad’s response was simple. “It was part of an experiment.”
That’s when the elevator doors open silently. I’m looking out onto an expanse of white carpet so vast that I feel like I might go snowblind. The office is so big it feels like a joke. Way down there at the end of the enormous office is a desk. Sitting behind the desk is a man in a dark gray suit.
I don’t have the best eyesight in the world, but even from this distance, I can tell two things.
One: he’s as gorgeous in person as he is on camera.
And two: he’s grinning like I just stepped into a trap.
“Come in,” he says, and it doesn’t feel like I have a choice. I ponder, for exactly two seconds, how I might stay in the elevator and get out of here, but there still aren’t any buttons. Anyway, I can’t let him see how nervous I am.
As if I own this building, this firm, the world, and everything in between, I walk towards him with my shoulders back. You don’t scare me. I try to make it obvious in every step. But as he grins wider and wider, it’s obvious that he knows exactly what effect he’s having on me.
Chapter Two - Conrad
She’s trying to play it cool. They always do. I love that she thinks this is a once in a lifetime opportunity but has no idea what the opportunity is. With every step she takes, she’s getting more excited, more nervous, and more curious. Nothing shows you what people are like quite like a pressure test. Here she is. In front of my desk. She’s folding her arms across her chest and trying to look like she doesn’t have time to mess around with me.
“Have a seat,” I say.
She looks around. The only other chair in here is over by the wall. Is she going to go get it? It took the custodians a while to empty this room out for the interviews. It’s already worth it.
“I’ll stand,” she says with a smirk. Maybe she thinks she knows what I’m up to. Maybe she’s right, but I wouldn’t bet on it.
“You probably know why you’re here,” I say.
“I’m here about the job.” She can’t figure out where to look. Her eyes dart from eye left eye to my right eye, down to my mouth, and then starts over.
“Which job is that?” I say, leaning back in my chair, stretching out my legs, and crossing my ankles.
“The, uh—”
“Hey, isn’t that the dress you were wearing when you won nationals?” I say. This is how you learn who people are. You shove them out of their comfort zone and pay attention to how they react before they can put on whatever mask feels appropriate. She’s better than most, I’ll give her that. Cooler. Her eyebrows shoot up for a second, but then she finds the mask. She’s calm. Tranquil. She’s seen it all.
As if.
“Yes,” she says. And there’s the tell. Her voice has changed. There is still uncertainty in it, no matter how serene and unruffled her face looks. “How did you know?”
“I see a lot,” I say. “I like games.”
“You don’t say,” she says, looking at the chair against the wall. “I never would have guessed.”
“I do. You want to know the secret to success?” I watch her look around the office. She wants to know how I got all of this. She just won’t admit it. “It’s that you treat it all like a game. Or like an experiment.”
“All of what?”
“Life. Everything. All of it. You play to win. You play to have fun. You learn the rules so you can break them when it suits you. You smile. That’s it.”
She smirks. She knows what she’s working with, but she doesn’t have any idea just how good she looks. I can tell she’s never been with a real man. Not like me. “You should write a self-help book,” she says. “A thousand ways to be annoying.”
I laugh. I’ve never been talked to like that in here. It’s intoxicating even though she’s horrified. She literally claps her hands over her mouth as if she can’t believe the words that just popped out of her. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” she says. “I’ll go. Give the job to someone who’s not insane.” She turns to walk away.
“I like insane,” I say, getting to my feet. I fetch the chair for her and carry it over to my desk. “Have a seat.”
She sits. Still blushing.
“So, you probably want to know how I found you,” I say.
“That would be nice. But I assumed that you had someone hack into the phone system and send a massive storm of texts to everyone who fit your profile. I can’t imagine you had time to sit around watching all my videos, just to see if I’d ever mention my address.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t do the hack myself?” Not that I could. I’m good at what I do, but I doubt I could even learn basic HTML. She’s closer than she knows on the videos, though. “And what profile do you think you would fit?”
“Well,” she says, looking at the ceiling for a moment. I can see the wheels turning. She’s going into debate mode. This is why she’s here. “Given the appearance of the women in your lobby, not to mention Zippy or Lima or whatever her name is behind the desk, you like them young, physically attractive, and, if I’m any indication, ambitious. You also put stock in risk takers. Not everyone would respond to an advertisement as cryptic as your text message, but I’m guessing that you knew that, and I’m guessing that the majority of the people you sent it to did respond because you knew they would. You don’t ask questions you don’t know the answer to, at least not often, and you don’t invite people to visit you who will say no. Even with that lunatic cop on TV. And because you said you like games, you need other people to play with, and those need to be people who will accept your version of the rules since you will undoubtedly be in the position of power. On the surface, at least.”
She’s good. She knows it. And that’s good for both of us. This is going to be fun.
“You’re hired,” I say. I reach into my desk and pull out an ancient bottle of whiskey with two glasses. One inch for her, two for me.
“Really?” She laces her fingers together and her eyebrows shoot through the roof.
“Really. To us,” I say. We clink our glasses together.
I tell her that she’s going to start on Monday. I tell her when and where. She writes it all down. It never occurs to her to ask what the job actually is, which suits me fine.
The job was never the point.
The game. Always the game.
“This will be a good experiment,” I say. She frowns, wondering why that sounds familiar to her.
Chapter Three - Maya
When I step out of the elevator I’m thrilled to see the women packing their things and heading for the door. Zima is glaring at me like she wants to scalp me. Word travels fast here, and the thought thrills me. They all know it’s me. I got it. How did he tell them? Was it the robot voice saying “It’s over, all of you get out!”
I walk over to Zima and tell her to put me on the books for Monday. Looking like she’s chewing on lemons, she types something into her computer and tries to act as if the world bores you when you are Zima, goddess of the reception desk. As I turn to leave she says, “Hope you last longer than the last one. Or not.”
What the hell did that mean? As if I’m going to ask her.
“I’m sure I’ll do fine. Hey, are you going to be my receptionist as well?”
Zima ignores me with a storm of keystrokes. I show myself out and text my best friend, Angela, who, just as I knew she would, insists that we meet immediately for drinks and gossip. Ten minutes later I sit down at a café down the street and wait for
her. After telling the waiter that I’ll be ordering soon, I Google Conrad to see if there are any updates about him and the cop.
Nope. Just more of the same.
“Oh my God I was going to ask you about that!” says Angela, who has just appeared and has apparently been looking over my shoulder. She pulls back her chair and sits. “What did he say about it?”
“Angela. It was a job interview, not a chat. Why would he bring that up?”
“I assumed you would bring it up. I assumed you would want to know.”
“Again, how many job interviews have you had where you walked in and started asking questions about the gorgeous man who was interviewing you?”
“Now you’re talking,” she says. “So he’s gorgeous? I knew it.” Of course, she knew it. We all know it. We’ve all seen his picture. I wonder how many of his pictures are serving as screen savers this very minute.
“Yes. But the pictures don’t do it justice. He’s got a…” I picture him in that office, his gray suit contrasting with the white carpet. His dark tie contrasting with his light blue eyes. The dark stubble on his jaw contrasting with his blond hair. “…a presence. Yeah. That’s it.”
“So what did he ask you? Did he flirt? Did he ask you to join a harem?”
“You know, there wasn’t really any of that. I wound up…I guess I wound up describing what I thought was his ideal type of woman.”
“Whoa! How did that happen?”
That’s when it hits me. I’m not sure how it happened. Worse, I still have no idea what I agreed to. “Oh shit,” I say. “Angela. He hired me and I didn’t even ask what the job was.”
The waiter appears. “She wants two mimosas,” said Angela. “She works for Conrad Storm now and it’s taking a terrible toll on her.”
The waiter is impressed. “Wow. What are you going to be doing for him?” He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously as if I just got back from the casting couch. Oh hell, for all I know, that’s what I did. Who the hell takes a job without the faintest idea of what it is? Yours truly. Not only that, I don’t know what the salary is.
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