Tied to Him

by Tia Siren

  She went to the British Airways help desk and waited in a long line of disgruntled passengers. When it was her turn, the lady in a blue and red uniform told her exactly what the man had said she would say.

  “I'm sorry, but it's beyond our control, and we certainly can't be held liable.”

  “But can you give me any idea at all when the plane is likely to leave?”

  “I'm sorry. I can't at the moment. Please keep your eye on the departures board.”

  Olivia, like all the others, turned away none the wiser and considerably more disgruntled.

  “Frustrating, isn't it?” a man said just as Olivia sat down where she could watch the flight board.

  “Yes, very,” she answered without looking at him.

  “I assume you're going to London?” he asked.

  Jesus, you're the hottest piece of man meat I've ever seen, she thought when she did eventually look at him. It had been a long time since she'd had sex, and she'd found that she was thinking increasingly lurid thoughts whenever she saw a hot man. This guy, however, was more than hot, and her thoughts began to run away from her. Any position you want, she thought. All I ask is that you do me really hard.

  “Going to London?” he asked again when he noticed how she was staring at him but not offering an answer.

  “Er...yes. Sorry. Yes, I'm going to London,” she eventually said.

  “I'm afraid it looks like we're in for a long wait,” he said.

  “Yes. They don't seem to be able to tell us anything. That's the worst part.”

  “It's par for the course,” he said.

  She looked more closely at him and decided she would not only let him take her in any position he wanted but also at any time he chose. He was sitting in the row behind her, and she'd turned around to talk to him. Little was she aware that the third button on her blouse had slipped open and he was being treated to a wholesome view.

  “Why are you trying to get to London?” she asked.

  “Business,” he said without revealing anything. She tried to guess what kind of business. He didn't fit the boring banker category, and neither did he look like an accountant, a lawyer, or a salesman. In fact, if she had to pick a profession for him, she would have picked something dangerous, like a mercenary, a policeman, a private detective, or even some kind of criminal.

  “Bank robber,” she said without meaning to—it just slipped out.

  “What? You think I'm a bank robber?”

  She turned crimson. Shit, get a grip, she told herself. “Sorry. I was trying to guess your profession. You look like the kind of man who would do something slightly illegal or dangerous for a job.”

  “No. Actually, what I do is very mundane. But very lucrative.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?” she said.

  “Are you going to come and have a coffee with me?” he replied.

  “Yes,” she said immediately. She cringed when she noticed her blouse. Not only do you say yes to him immediately, like some kind of overgrown schoolgirl, but you show him all your attractions for free, she thought.

  The Thirsty Flier was a plastic paradise in the middle of the departure lounge. It was packed with passengers as frustrated as Olivia. They found two chairs against a back wall and sat under a fake palm tree.

  “Why are you going to London? Modeling?”

  She looked at him to make sure he wasn't pulling her leg. No, he seemed serious. “Why do you say that?”

  “Tall, slender, lovely pert figure, long straight blond hair, emerald green eyes any man would die for, and a lovely smile—perfect attributes for a career in modeling.” Now she decided she would marry him as soon as he asked. “Why did you think I was a bank robber?”

  “Well, you're tall.”

  “Is that the only qualification?”

  “I can't describe it. You look tough, as though you don't take any BS from anybody. The scar on your cheek helps.” He ran his index finger over it. She wanted to know how he'd gotten it but was afraid it would prove to be a more mundane reason than she wanted to believe.

  “What are you going to do in London?” he asked.

  “I've recently graduated in journalism. I thought it would do me good to work abroad for a while.”

  “Do you have a job lined up?”

  “No. I was going to see what I could find when I got there.”

  He sipped his coffee and looked at her. He was sad she'd closed her blouse. “Very enterprising. I bet you're a good journalist.”

  “I don't really know. I did great at college, but that's not the real world. Maybe I’ll suck at it; I have no idea.”

  “I don't think you’ll suck at it. I can see you've got what it takes.”

  Just then an announcement interrupted their conversation. “Oh, what?” Olivia moaned in response to it. The airline had finally announced that the plane wouldn't be leaving that day because of a technical fault. “I can't go home; I live miles away. Do you know any good hotels in Boston?” she asked.

  *****

  “Is this your house?” Olivia asked

  “Yes. Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “Because it's huge.” She paused. “And you live here alone?”

  “Do you know, we haven't introduced ourselves. We've been talking all afternoon and I don't even know you name,” he said, ignoring her question.

  “Olivia Halfpenny.”

  “Really?”

  “Please don't laugh. I've had years of teasing about it. It's an English name, my great grandfather's fault. He could have changed it when he came to the States.”

  “Daniel Raleigh.”

  “Oh, that's a nice name. It sounds very noble,” Olivia said.

  She wondered what she was doing at his house. She had been going to get a hotel, but when he'd offered to put her up, she'd heard herself say yes before she'd really thought it through. Sitting in his car on the way from the airport, she'd wondered what on earth she was doing. For all she knew, he could be a killer. The real reason, she later admitted to herself, was that she wanted to sleep with him.

  Olivia was speechless. The house was like something she'd seen in the movies, a huge palatial residence built, she guessed, somewhere around the nineteen thirties. It had an enormous yard in the front and rear, with a pool and a few tennis courts. The house itself was white with timber inlay. It had a terrace running across the front elevation and a lovely antique conservatory to the side.

  “You have to tell me what you do for a living. You can't buy this kind of place by robbing banks,” she joked.

  “There's time for that. Come in and have a drink.”

  The interior took her breath away. It was straight from a design magazine. It was just how she would have decorated it, lots of white colonial furniture with palms and marble floor tiles.

  “It's a lovely house,” she said. He handed her a glass of red wine, and she took a sip.

  “I'm glad you like it,” he said.

  “Why did you ask me here?” she said.

  “Because I took pity on you. It's not nice trying to find a hotel on your own.”

  She looked at his expression and instantly knew he was lying. Her father had run a building business, and many of the guys who had worked for him had looked at her like Daniel was.

  “Actually, I'm fibbing,” he said as he took her wine glass from her. “As soon as I saw you I wanted to have you. All that small talk was just a smoke screen. I usually get what I want.”

  “So you persuaded me to come here so you could...”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her.

  “I didn't persuade you. You couldn't wait to say yes,” he said once their lips parted.

  “Admit it. You want me just as much as I want you. I can sense it.” Had she been that obvious? She really hadn't shown him her bra on purpose. That had been a genuine mistake. “You looked at me like a bitch on heat,” he added.

  He pulled her tighter to him and kissed her again. When his lips finally lef
t hers, he spun her around and pushed her face-first against the wall. “Tell me you want me.” When she was silent, he put his weight on her. “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she moaned as his erection pushed against her buttocks.

  “You came here because you want me to fuck you. You will do exactly as I say. Understood?”

  This was what she loved, craved even: a man who told her what he wanted. A man who demanded things of her and made her feel things.

  “Take off your blouse,” he said sternly.

  She pulled the material from the waistband of her pants and tried to step back from the wall. “No. Stay where you are and take it off.”

  “But I—”

  “Do as I ask,” he commanded. “Don't argue.” She put her fingers between the wall and her blouse and undid the buttons. When it was almost open, he ripped it from her back and threw it onto the floor. “Now I want you to unfasten your pants. I'm going to pull them down.” Again she tried to move from the wall, but he held her there. When the button was open, he pulled her pants down over her thighs and tossed them away. Instead of feeling humiliated, standing against the wall in a bra and panties, she felt aroused as never before. When she felt his hands unhook her bra, she gasped. The cold wall made her nipples stiff.

  “Now I'm going to push your panties to once side, and I'm going to take you, here, against the wall.” She felt his fingers playing with the soft material, and then she heard the sound of his zipper. He bent his knees slightly to get the right angle and pushed. Olivia screamed as he entered her. His thrusts began immediately, crushing her to the wall. She put her hands on the wall and pushed her behind toward him.

  He put his arm around her neck and pulled her head back to him. He kissed her neck and cheeks as he continued to hammer her.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped as his onslaught continued. She loved the way he was dominating her. The only role she had to play was one of complete surrender.

  He looked down and watched as his penis disappeared into her. She reached back underneath them and tried to cup his manhood, but he shoved her hand back to the wall. “I'll tell you what to do. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she moaned.

  In one unexpected movement, he turned her around and pushed her over the arm of the nearby sofa. He put his hand on her back and forced her down until he was able to penetrate her more deeply. Again he thrust hard against her. She felt herself coming and began to paw at the material underneath her. He was everything she wanted in a man, handsome, rich, and dominant. She was so close now. She pushed back against him, willing him to take her over the top, and when he did, it was wonderful. She couldn't stop shaking. Her legs turned to jelly, but he held her upright and continued to thrust just as hard as he had before. He made her come time and again. There was no end to his stamina, and she was insatiable for it.

  Eventually, he laid her on her back and took her missionary. “I want to see your pretty face when I come,” he said. She was eager to feel his desire flooding into her. She put her legs around him and pulled him to her. Moments later, he came. She felt a warm wetness fill her, and it was the most wonderful sexual experience she'd ever had.

  *****

  Olivia didn't go to London the next day. When she woke up next to Daniel, she was already so in love. She felt unable to leave. She asked herself if she was being stupid, falling for a man so soon after meeting him. She knew nothing about him at all, yet she felt so close to him. She wasn't able to explain it. It was just a feeling, a hunch.

  She was brought severely back down to earth when he woke up, showered, and told her it had been nice, but she had to go home because he was going to London. She'd wanted to hang around with him, have breakfast, talk some more. Surely his trip could have waited. Or maybe all he'd wanted in the first place was a one-night stand. That was a thought she certainly didn't want to contemplate.

  When she said good-bye to him, her dreams were shattered completely. He didn't kiss her, not even a peck on the cheek. He patted her on the back when her taxi arrived and thanked her for a nice time. A nice time, not a wonderful time, a fantastic time, or even a pleasant time. Just a nice time. That was all she had been, a nice fuck.

  When she got home, she went to bed and tried to figure out why she felt this way. She was an adult and perfectly sensible most of the time. But now she'd opened herself up to a world of hurt, and she hated herself for it. The next few days she checked her phone constantly, just in case he texted her. But he didn't. She stared at her cell, willing it to happen. Just once, please, she thought. But nothing.

  Days later she felt awful. He hadn't been in touch, and she realized all she'd been was another notch on his belt of conquests. Her energy spent after days of heartache, she neither had the will nor the inclination to go to London.

  “Hi, Olivia,” George said. “I thought you'd gone to England.”

  Olivia sat down at the bar and ordered a cappuccino. “No. Changed my mind.” She was so vulnerable, she was sure if George asked her on a date she would say yes. She may even go to bed with him. To her relief, he didn't ask. Beaten into submission after years of refusal, he'd managed to move on. He was now dating Anna, a pretty German who gave him more than she took.

  “You don't look well. Are you okay?” he asked. She didn't want to cry, but the urge to do so was so overwhelming. She couldn't stop the sudden torrent of tears that rolled over her face. “Don't cry. Talk to me,” George said.

  “I've fallen hopelessly in love with a man I hardly know, a man who doesn't care about me,” she sobbed. George, all too aware that women didn’t need to be given solutions, just an understanding ear, waited until she spoke again. “I've been so dumb. I hate feeling like this; I wish I could press a button and turn my feelings off.”

  “Is he a nice guy?”

  “No, he isn't. He's handsome, assertive, and very rich, but I wouldn't say he's nice.”

  George got up and began to make her some coffee. “If he isn't nice, why do you love him?”

  “That's the point: I don't know. It's irrational, one of those things I can't explain.”

  He poured the hot milk into a mug, added the coffee, and stirred. “Here. You'll feel better after one of my world-famous cappuccinos.”

  “Thanks. You're a good man, George. I'm sorry I have been such a bitch to you over the years.”

  He chuckled. “You haven't. You're like a sister to me. I've realized that now. If you really want this guy, as far as I can see, you have two options. Either you do cold turkey and forget him, or you make him fall in love with you,” he said, unable to resist the urge to solve her situation.

  “I guess. I don't think I'm strong enough to forget him. He's so...” She couldn't find the right word.

  “Fucking hot?” George said in an attempt to assist her.

  “Yes, but more than that. Shit, I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about him that drives me wild.”

  “Then make him fall for you. Go for it.”

  “And how do you expect me to do that?”

  That part of the solution was more difficult, and he didn't have an answer. “I'm sure you'll think of something.”

  *****

  “So, Olivia, thank you for coming to see us today. I must say we are very impressed with your college grades and the trial piece you wrote for us. What makes you think you are the best person for the job?” Gretta Starr asked.

  Olivia had wondered if the name Gretta Starr was a real name or a name she used professionally as an editor for New York Street Scene. When she'd seen the job ad for a junior journalist, Olivia had sent an application immediately. It was just the kind of job she wanted. What could be better than writing about up-and-coming New York musicians?

  Gretta was somewhere toward the end of her thirties, and she looked the part. Olivia would have guessed she was in publishing just by looking at her. It was her short dark hair and the designer glasses that gave it away. She was thin, and Olivia would have wagered
all she had on her being a feminist.

  “That's a difficult question to answer,” Olivia started. “I am confident that my application is the best because my grades at college were the best the Boston School of Journalism has ever had. I am a curious person by nature. All I ever want to do is get to the bottom of a story. I like in-depth reporting, which seems to be the kind of journalism your magazine covets.”

  “Thank you, Olivia. Mark, do you have any questions?” Gretta asked. Mark Goldsmith looked up from his notepad and nodded.

  “Olivia, I would like to ask you what you would do if one of the musicians we reported on asked you on a date.”

  Why he'd asked that question, she had no idea. What should she answer? “I'd say no, because I have a high standard of professionalism,” she replied.

  “Great. That's just what I wanted to hear. If we give you the job, you'll get hit on all the time. I can see you're a very attractive woman. Bear in mind that most of our interviewees are young and horny. You'll get hit on by both sexes, just so you're aware of that.”

  “Wow. I had no idea. Thanks for telling me,” Olivia said. Her mind conjured up an image of the lead singer in a lesbian punk band trying to seduce her.

  “Olivia, I will be he honest with you. We want you on board. You are by far the best candidate. What do you say?” Gretta asked.

  “I'd love to work with you. Thank you. When do I start?”

  “How about Monday?”

  On the flight back to Boston, Olivia wondered how she was going to find a place in New York and move her stuff into it in six days. When she got off the plane, she rang an agent and put her house up for rent. She asked the same agent to find her a place in New York.

  Olivia spent a few days sorting through her things. When the postman knocked on her door, he handed her a package from Amazon. It was what she'd been waiting for. She opened it and eagerly sat down to read How to Make a Man Love You by Ralph Penworthy. She finished the book in an afternoon and threw it in the garbage, regretting the five dollars it had cost her.

  *****

  “Welcome to your first day, Olivia,” Gretta said when they were sitting in her office. “I've asked Mark to take you under his wing for the first few days. He'll show you the ropes and make sure you get off to a good start. I've prepared you a little welcome pack. There's some information about our company in there. Do you have any questions?”