by Christa Wick
When I offered to leave and pay my way back to the States if only they would return my documents, Kane blushed before offering an apologetic "no." I was, he amended, free to turn in my resignation and leave immediately, with my accommodations paid for by Stark International. If I did not wish to resign, I had to follow his instructions to the letter.
"So," Kane stood, his arms folded across his chest. "Do you want your passport?"
I didn't answer -- no need for me to wear my shame on my sleeve. After a few seconds passed, he accepted my silence, pivoted on one heel and marched like the ex-soldier he was to the door.
Hearing the metallic click as the lock on the suite's entrance engaged, I looked at the clock and started to cry.
I cried a little less on my second day confined to the suite, less still with each day that passed. By the morning of our scheduled flight home, I had completely exhausted my supply of tears. The only faces I saw during that period belonged to the maids who came to clean the suites, the staff who delivered my meals, and the security team that allowed them into the room.
Dry, empty and exhausted, I waited with my luggage in the suite. Kane came half an hour before it was time to leave the hotel. Two hours later, he still remained with me in the room, his attention discreetly focused on his iPad as he awaited orders from Stark.
Another hour later, I finally found my voice. "What the hell is going on?"
He didn't answer, the only acknowledgement of my question contained in the single flick of his gaze in my direction, hostility oozing from the corner of his eye. I didn't ask my question again. Not because he intimidated me. Hell, I wasn't even angry from the look he gave me. He was second in operations command at the company and he was babysitting the overweight, future-former secretary of his boss.
I understood. Fuck, I even empathized with the guy. I kind of hated me at that moment, too. I certainly wished I could vanish into thin air and no longer be his problem -- or Stark's.
At nine-thirty in the evening, more than six hours after our plane should have departed, Kane took a phone call, gave a few affirmatory grunts then gathered up his things.
"Should I get my bags?" I asked, the question coming out as a squeak after the hours of absolute silence.
"No, you should unpack."
I nodded, not understanding, only knowing that if Stark was staying in Dubai, I didn't want to leave. Before Kane could reach the door, I risked one last question.
"Should I stay in my room?"
"Yes," Kane answered and quickly killed the embarrassing note of hopefulness my voice held.
**********
Something had to break, and it had to break soon. I was in my room, in the dark, the clock crowding in on one in the morning. I had taken a long, hot bath after Kane's departure to ease some of the tension from my body. Once dry, I had climbed into bed naked. I had run through the sedate night clothes I had packed and the idea of putting on one of the revealing items that had arrived a week ago in the black box hurt too much.
Stark had no intention of ever seeing me in them and I would be the only person who knew I had gone to bed bare-assed.
My prediction remained right on target until the second the clock's display winked to tell me I had passed yet another hour alone in Dubai. That's when I heard the outer door to the suite softly open and shut. Hearing the sound, I expected the steady, inexorable fall of Stark's shoes across the marble-tiled floor, muffled for seven steps as he crossed an area rug, then a few more audible steps until he reached the door to his room.
I focused so intently on hearing that exact progression of sounds, I failed to recognize when his steps led to my door, not his. The handle turned and I jerked, pulling the covers tight up under my chin.
Without a light to guide him, he stopped next to the bed and quietly stepped from his shoes and clothing. Tension coiling tighter by the second, I waited for Stark to pull back the covers.
He didn't. At least not immediately.
"You always make some little sound when you sleep, Mia." His fingertips brushed over the top of the covers to find their edge. "Usually, just deep, steady breathing I could set my watch by. Sometimes little moans that make me want to wake you..."
My heart stopped. Was Stark saying he had come into my room these last few nights and sat next to my sleeping body? Or was the room bugged?
I swallowed, not wanting to think about the latter possibility. If the room was bugged, he would have heard my crying, the big, fat sobs that had wracked my frame that first night and again the following morning. If he heard that and stayed out, he was a bastard. I didn't know what the alternative made him. Anyone else, and I would have been creeped out to think he had entered my room and watched me sleep.
I took another hard swallow and added a shake of my head. I would not allow hope or the stupid idea that Collin Stark wanted me to take root inside my thoughts and feelings again.
Another shake and I wanted to vomit. If I didn't want to nurture that hope, why had I stayed the week? For my job?
No, I'd rather lose my apartment and start over from scratch if it was just my job -- if my job was any part of my consideration. My job hadn't been the real factor that first time he fucked me, it wasn't the first night in the hotel, either. Both times had been ... possession? Like he was a demon or incubus, sucking my willpower away the second I knew he intended to touch me, to use me.
Stark peeled the cover back. "I told you to stop hiding if you wanted my trust."
"I don't want your trust," I answered as his weight pushed down his side of the mattress. Accepting his trust would mean offering my own. I didn't have any to give. The realization slammed into me. All I wanted was Stark's domination. Not his affection, not his love -- just his mastery of my body.
The light came on, just that first tap of illumination against the base but enough that he could look at my face and see I told the truth. His brow lifted and, for a second, his jaw relaxed.
I felt a small snort building in the back of my mouth. Had I just surprised the CEO of Stark International?
I think I had.
Putting his game face back on, Stark pushed the covers down my body. He took his time studying my naked form in the faint light offered by the bedside lamp. The tip of his middle finger touched lightly in the center of my mound and he pushed a soft line down the hidden split of my labia, following the seam to where the hair ended and trailing back up to his starting point before speaking.
"Your face suggested otherwise on the plane."
"That was a week ago," I offered. "I've had time to think about what I want from you."
He met my gaze, another surprised look dashing across his features. His hand took possession of my mound, firmly cupping my flesh. "What then do you want?"
The answer came quickly. I had understood why I wanted his rough, detached domination almost as soon as I realized I wanted it. He may have unlocked some submissive part of me, but, in the end, I would leave with one thing from him -- one thing I desperately needed.
"A cure."
**********
My training started the next morning. Within seconds of my answer, Collin left my room, naked and carrying his shoes, his clothes folded over one arm.
"Eight," he had rasped before leaving. "My room. The black corset and heels."
I set an alarm for seven and had my first, gloriously full block of sleep in over a week. Lightly nourished, squeaky clean, my make-up flawless, I clacked across the marble floor to his room at seven fifty-five.
I had left the corset and heels for last in preparing, lingering over my make-up, my flesh hidden beneath an oversized robe until I no longer needed to look at myself. Then I stuffed every fold into the corset and put on the barely there triangle of black that served as underwear with all the careful skill of a neurosurgeon, certain that the outfit would explode any second.
I stood outside the door, refusing to knock. Stark had to have heard the sharp click of my heels and would know I was waiting. Any se
cond past eight that I stood outside his door would be because he willed it. It wasn't my place to knock but to wait, the heels already torturing my spine, until he acknowledged me.
Two minutes past the hour, the door swung open and I almost passed out. Stark had arranged for more than just my outfits. He had on the tightest, most mouth watering set of black leather pants I could ever imagine. My tongue swelling to twice its size, I swallowed and began to choke.
"Don't fall to pieces so soon, Mia." His hand gripped my elbow and pulled me into the room. "I told you on the plane I had plans for you -- clamps, plugs, feathers, floggers ... chemicals to cool or heat your flesh when my touch or words won't penetrate."
I felt certain for a second that his touch and words would always penetrate, but then I remembered my purpose for staying. I didn't want Stark or any other man to hold this kind of power over me ever again. He would be my cure -- not my lover, not my friend, not the man who would break me before he reformed or abandoned me.
Just my cure.
I straightened my spine and briefly met his eyes before lowering mine to the floor.
"Better," he said then pointed to the corner. "You need a time out while I prepare."
Hiding the shake in my legs, I took up the same position I had that time in his office. My face directed at where the wall met, I smiled to myself. That first visit to the corner, I had tried to analyze everything. Analysis had been my means of escape me entire life. It had directed my choice of degrees, soothed me when I was most lost.
Today, I would analyze nothing. I would feel, and like a drunk who has to consume alcohol to the point of death before reaching a turning point, I would saturate my senses with Stark and the things he did to me. I would embrace the pain and pleasure, not examine it. I would feel his voice and hands smooth over me, not try to predict their meaning, intent or direction.
I would merely be, and in being, I would free myself from Stark and every lover I had ever settled for.
So deep was I in the affirmation of my plan, I didn't sense his approach. I only knew he was done preparing when I felt the brush of his fingers down my back, straightening my posture as a blaze of heat followed the trail of his flesh over mine.
"Legs open."
I widened my stance, accepting what would come next, not worrying which hole or if it was his hand or cock or a dildo of any size.
His fingers found me first, the tips coated with lubricant. Crowding the gusset of the panties to the side, he gently pushed into my pussy, his touch twisting to ensure I was thoroughly saturated with the liquid.
"Not that you need a coating, baby. You're always wet when I touch you."
I didn't remark on his observation. Speech required analysis. I accepted his words and moved on to the next sensation. Cold latex pushed into me, the width not quite as impressive as Collin's cock. A moan bubbled up my throat and I further parted my legs within the tight confines of the corner.
"Legs together," he corrected once he had the dildo worked all the way up into my cunt. "Good girl."
He pressed his torso and thighs against me, wrapping both arms around my body. His lips trailed over my throat as he peeled open the left bra cup on the corset. His other hand sank behind the front panel of my panties. "You're still lying, Mia. To both of us."
Stark went silent for a few seconds, stroking my clit and pinching my nipple until my knees turned to rubber. "You don't reach this place in an about face. You don't run from it then turn around and embrace it."
His mouth found the other side of my neck and he licked a line up to my ear. "There's no cure, just more wanting."
No. I wouldn't listen to him. I would let only his commands filter through my senses, not the taunts. His verbal jousting would be wasted. Touch was all I needed or wanted.
Abandoning my nipple, he continued playing with my clit as his free hand found the base of the dildo. A flick of his finger set the entire latex shaft vibrating and wiggling inside me.
My legs started to collapse.
His strength held me up.
"Have you touched yourself since we landed?"
I shook my head, not trusting my voice. I had come the night he took me roughly. I had replayed the taking once or twice since then. Heat had burned through me but the second I thought of sneaking a hand beneath the sheets, the warmth fled. The heat turned to cold and pain.
He gave my clit a hard pinch that made me buck. "Because you know this is my pussy."
"Yes." Pussy, ass, mouth -- his to use, his to possess, nothing in them unless he put it there. Only he would wring my climax from me, over and over until I became desensitized to the pleasure.
Stark backed away. "Turn around."
I did. He pointed for me to get onto the floor.
"Spread your legs all the way -- I want the base of that cock inside you touching the floor."
I complied.
"Sink it deeper, Mia."
I let my weight push me all the way onto the dildo, my body jerking wildly as I fought to control my onrushing orgasm. Stark helped me, one hand curling in my hair and yanking my head back. Still holding my head, he freed his cock then hooked my jaw and forced my mouth open.
The different heights of our bodies and the upward arch of my neck gave the thick shaft a straight channel to fill. He pushed into my mouth and buried half his length inside my throat. Bracing one forearm against the wall, he curled his upper body over me and took shallow pumps.
"Move that ass, baby."
He wanted me to dance, to grind my hips and force the dildo to mirror the thrusts of his cock in my mouth. I wiggled, bounced, moaning as I swallowed around the fat head of his dick. My fingers found his lean hips as my entire body began to vibrate.
"Deeper," he grunted.
I didn't know if he meant cock or dildo so I absorbed more of each into my willing, burning flesh. Tears streaked down my cheeks as my climax slammed through me. I seized, swallowed, came again, sucking and coming and swallowing in unison until Stark broke free, unspent, and grabbed my shoulders.
He lifted, then dragged me toward the bed. Pushing me onto my knees, he grabbed the base of the dildo and forced me to raise cunt and ass high in the air as he pushed my chest onto the mattress.
"Time to fill this sweet ass."
I whimpered but didn't protest. I didn't think about how the only object that had ever breached my anus had been Stark's fingers. I didn't worry whether it would hurt. Pain would cure me faster than pleasure.
Or so I hoped.
**********
Hands bound, nipples clamped, I looked up at the man who, over the course of our second week in Dubai, had become my master. Not the head of my company, not my boss -- but the man who was Collin Stark in his most primal form, giving and taking pleasure mercilessly.
I closed my eyes, re-centering my thoughts to correct them. He was not my master. His body and touch were my tools, his passion my means to an end no matter how many times he had made me come over the last seven days, dominating me each night, again in the early mornings before he left for the work that had postponed our departure, and those sweet, stolen moments during the day when he returned to the suite.
I flattened my lips, trying hard not to think of those afternoons. They slayed me. Rather, his behavior during them threatened to end my search for a cure as he invariably pulled me onto his lap. Kissing my mouth, he would lift my skirt, checking my comfort if he left a toy in me that morning. Some afternoons, he would suckle at my breasts, fingers gently exploring me, teasing me but never seeking his pleasure or letting me find mine. Sweet and relaxed, almost loving.
"Look at me, Mia."
Abandoning the memories, I opened my eyes. Stark dropped to his haunches, his all-seeing gaze studying me.
"You still think there's a cure, don't you?"
"Yes." I would not change my answer to please him, taking my continued obstinacy as a sign of hope.
"Sometimes, I think you're right." His gaze drifted from my face to my
body. With a measured slowness he extended one fingertip and whisper stroked my clamped nipple.
A shudder rolled over me, my head dipping back as my lips parted to release a moan.
"Then you go and do that, sweet Mia. Reacting like God himself caressed you instead of mortal me."
Fuck, when he had me like this -- at the precipice, bound, teased, stretched, stroked -- he was God as blasphemous as the thought felt.
"I won't always feel this way," I countered.
His hand dropped back to his side and his face went through a series of micro-expressions. I marveled for a moment at how I had learned them without trying. Having abandoned my careful analysis, I had reached a state in which I intuitively held an understanding of the man before me that never would have yielded to reason.
He had decided to change tactics -- the wry downturn of his mouth after a single blink told me so. "You said before, you didn't want my trust."
I nodded.
He breezed a finger down my bare side. "Why?"
Sensing a change in his voice, I forced myself not to look for its meaning or source. All week long, I had stayed true to the promise I made myself. No analysis -- just sensation. Every question he asked -- and he had asked so many -- I gave the first answer that presented itself in my thoughts. In the process, I learned more about myself than I had ever known.
"I can't give you mine," I responded, my eyes drifting shut as he brushed the backs of his fingers against the fur of my mound.
"Trust?" His voice changed pitch again, startling my eyes open.
Don't think, damn it. Feel!
I forced another nod as a cold blanket of logic tried to wrap itself around the base of my skull.
Stark snorted. "Baby, you are on your knees, your hands bound, your throat collared, in a foreign country that..."
He stopped and swallowed down the heresy he had been about to voice.
"You have allowed so many things these last few days..." The hand at my cunt drifted toward the flogger, jealousy sparking along the surface of my skin as he stroked the toy's leather handle instead of my body.