by Hannah Ford
“Because it will unleash something, the consequences of which I have no way of knowing.”
He opened the door and waited for me to get into the passenger seat, but I wasn’t done with him.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that if I unlock the phone, then there will be other people, bad people, who might get their hands on the ability to do that.”
I laughed bitterly, a strange sound that I didn’t recognize as my own. I wasn’t sure why I was pushing him so hard. It was like I wanted to prove to myself that I didn’t need him, that I didn’t want to be here, that I hated him. I wanted to hurt him, wanted to prove to myself that if I could be cruel, then it would mean I didn’t want to be here.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “That sounds like something only a psychopath would say.”
He whirled and looked at me. “Is that what you think?” he said. “That I’m a psychopath?”
“Maybe,” I said, thrusting my chin in the air. My brain felt like it was on autopilot, tumbling around, not getting caught up on my words or what I was about to say. “You threw me into the back of a car and kidnapped me. Sounds like something a psychopath would do. Or just a really, really fucked up person.”
For a second, I thought I saw pain flash on his face. But that was ridiculous. How could I have wounded him? He was made of stone, was impervious to other people’s opinions. And even if he wasn’t, mine would be the last opinion he would care about.
“Get in the car,” he said, and I could hear the rage simmering beneath his carefully controlled tone. “What if I don’t?” I said brattily, even though the hum of electricity zinging through my veins warned me to stop.
“If you don’t, I will make you. And I will not be gentle.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Because you get off on making people hurt. Which is why you’re a psychopath.”
“Get in the car,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. His face was blank and fear crept up my spine as I realized that perhaps this time I’d pushed him too far.
I got into the car and he shut the door and began to walk around to the other side. His phone rang before he could get there, and this time, he answered it.
He stood behind the car and I watched in the side view mirror as he began to talk to whoever was on the other end of the call. Whoever it was must have been saying something he didn’t like, because the sound of Liam’s raised voice travelled through the car.
“That’s unacceptable,” he said, and he began to pace back and forth as his voice got even louder. “Then fucking fire him, I don’t give a shit.”
My heart thrummed against my rib cage, and the adrenaline rush I’d felt at telling him off was completely gone now, replaced with the icy fingers of fear and dread as I realized he was going to take me home and take out his aggression on my body.
And underneath the fear, underneath the nervousness, ran a ribbon of excitement as I imagined him kissing me hard and deep, pushing his fingers deep into my core, one, two, three, stretching me, taking me, claiming me.
Humiliation burned my cheeks.
What the hell was I still doing here? He’d said I could leave whenever I wanted.
I began to panic, thinking about it, and then suddenly, before I knew what I was doing, I was opening the door to the car, softly, slowly. The tunnel back to the conference room was closer to my side of the car. Liam was distracted. If I ran as hard as I could, if I took off, I could get to the conference room, I could tell someone what was happening to me.
I opened the door and stepped outside, shutting it just enough so that it didn’t make a sound.
Liam’s back was to me.
“…I’ll walk away from the deal, I don’t need it, and these terms were agreed to a month ago, so get your head out of your ass or I’ll fly there and set them straight…”
I took a deep breath.
Run.
I did it.
I took off running, heading for the tunnel.
I had a head start.
That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that I’d made two miscalculations.
One was that I was wearing heels. They made slapping sounds against the concrete, and made it hard to run. I should have ditched them, but I hadn’t thought of it.
The second mistake was that I’d underestimated how fast he was. And how strong.
He caught up to me while I was only a quarter of a way down the tunnel, grabbing me from behind, his arms wrapping around my waist like a vice, pulling me toward him, crushing me to his rock hard body.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled in my ear, his breath hot against my cheek.
I struggled as much as I could, and I tried to scream, but after a few seconds, I knew it was ineffectual. There was no one in the lobby, and there was no way anyone inside the conference room was going to hear me through two sets of double doors.
My body sagged against his.
“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly. “Good girl.”
He led me back to the car. He put me inside. A look of contemplation crossed his face before he shut the door, and his hand went to his pocket, and for a moment, I thought he was going to handcuff me or gag me again.
But after a moment, he must have decided he would be able to handle anything I tried.
We drove to the apartment in silence, a silence that continued as he led me into the elevator and back to the guest room.
When we were safely inside, he shut the door and locked it.
I stood there in the middle of the room, my heart pounding.
He removed his suit coat and laid it down across the armchair in the corner.
His movements were slow, methodical, and it scared me. Something about his deliberateness was almost worse than if he were being reckless. Slow and methodical gave him time to think, to come up with all kinds of wicked things to do to my body.
Liam unbuttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt and rolled them up. “Remove your dress, Emery.”
I knew better than to talk back. And the shocking truth was that I wanted this. It was fucked up and wrong, but I wanted it. When I was running from him in the parking garage, I was doing it to try to prove a point. But I wanted him to do bad things to me, horrible, depraved things.
I reached down and pulled my dress off.
“You will have to be cuffed at night now,” he said, running his hand over the lacy cups of my bra, right over the curve of my breast. When he got to the nipple, he brushed his thumb over the raised peak and I shivered.
A quiet groan escaped my lips as he leaned down and licked a trail over the hollow of my throat with his tongue before biting my bottom lip softly.
“What do you mean I’ll have to be cuffed at night?” I breathed.
“I mean that you will have to be cuffed to the bed. You lost the right to be free when you tried to run.”
“But you said I could leave whenever I wanted.”
“That was before you tried to leave.”
He pressed his body against mine, slid his hand down over my stomach and into my panties, pushed a finger up inside of me. I felt my pussy clench around him, sucking him into me, taking him.
“Shit, you’re so tight still, baby.” He pushed my hair back from my face with this free hand. “Have you ever sucked a cock before, Emery?”
“No.”
“Have you ever had a man come all over your breasts?”
“No.”
“Your pussy is wet. You’re getting turned on thinking about that, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to teach you how to suck my dick, baby. I’m going to teach you how to use your mouth to get me off.” I whined and pushed into his fingers, wanting more, wanting all of him, wanting everything.
But he grabbed my hip and held me steady, not letting me push into him. It was exquisite torture.
“Last night I fucked you too fast. I couldn’t help it, baby, y
our body is just too perfect, too innocent. But from now on it’s going to be different. Now I’m going to teach you exactly how to use that sexy body to make me explode, show you exactly what you were made for.”
He pulled his fingers from inside of me and pushed them into my mouth, forcing me to taste myself. The action was shocking, and I whimpered again, but he smiled at me.
“Good girl,” he said as I sucked on his fingers hungrily. “That’s it, baby, taste how wet my fingers made you. Taste how bad you want this.”
He took a step back from me, and as soon as the warmth of his body was gone, I wanted him back.
“When I get back,” he said, “I’m going to make you undress me. And then I’m going to fuck that pretty little mouth until you make me come.”
My heart was a jackhammer in my chest, thundering so loudly I couldn’t take it. I already missed his touch, craved his body, his fingers, his kiss.
When I get back, he’d said.
“Where are you going?” I asked, and the sassy tone that had been in my voice earlier, when I’d been outside the car was completely gone. Now I could hear the panic in my voice.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, heading toward the door. He stopped and turned around. “I’ll be right back.”
“But where are you going?” I asked again.
He smiled that cocky, sexy smile, and danger simmered below the surface. “To get the whip.”
End of Book Two
Look For Book Three, Coming Soon!
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In the meantime, turn the page to read the first three books in New York Times bestselling author Kelly Favor’s THE BILLIONAIRE’S RULES series.
Twenty-one-year-old Ivy Spellman has always played by the rules – get good grades, stay out of trouble, and avoid bad boys at all costs.
But when she takes a temp assignment at a multi-billion dollar drug company, she can’t help but become intrigued with the sexy and ultra-demanding CEO, Cullen Sharpe.
Cullen Sharpe is used to getting what he wants, and his dark and damaged desires are locked on Ivy. Her good girl innocent routine is enough to drive him over the edge, and after Ivy makes a mistake at work, he senses an opening to teach the shy temp the pleasures and seductions of being bad...
…as well as the punishment that goes along with it.
Soon the two of them are locked in a game of mystery, seduction, and raging desire that knows no bounds. But as Ivy is pushed beyond her sexual limits, she begins to crave more from the dark billionaire.
However, Cullen guards his secrets and his heart for reasons that run deep. And if those reasons were to ever be revealed, it just might destroy them both…
Discipline (The Billionaire’s Rules, Book 1)
This was a gigantic mistake.
That was Ivy Spellman’s very first thought as she sat down in the freezing cold conference room and waited for orientation to start.
There were approximately thirty temps all watching the front of the room, where Cullen Sharpe, CEO, stood in his perfect dark suit, his eyes scanning the group as if he was evaluating them and finding them lacking already.
This was a man who wouldn’t be denied anything and everything he wanted. He was, to put it plainly, stunningly handsome, but not in the superficial sense.
He was complex, Ivy decided almost immediately.
His eyes were intense and he had an animal magnetism and presence that was like nothing she’d ever come across.
Tall and broad-shouldered, his straight dark hair was styled perfectly, sweeping over his brow in a controlled way, as if it had been set in place by an engineer. His chin was long and square, cheekbones prominent.
The man’s black suit was immaculate, with nary a wrinkle or a speck of lint, even under the unforgiving bright overhead lights that made everyone else look slovenly and blotchy by comparison.
Ivy had mistakenly taken a seat in the front row and was now directly in his line of fire. His cold blue eyes were as gorgeous and frozen as the Alaskan tundra.
“As most of you are aware,” he finally began, “I’m the founder and CEO of Biomatrix Pharma.” He smiled coolly, without feeling. “You might be wondering why I’m here when surely there are others who could be talking in my place. And there’s a very simple reason for my being with you right now instead of attending to more pressing matters.”
Cullen Sharpe stopped, having noticed that his silver cufflink was slightly crooked. He adjusted it with one efficient tug of his perfectly manicured fingers, before looking at the group once more. “I’m here because I’m involved in every single detail of this company. There is nothing—and I mean nothing—too insignificant to escape my attention.”
Upon saying this, the CEO’s eyes fixed on Ivy, locked on her with such intensity that she nearly flinched.
Why is he staring at me?
Ivy wanted to swallow, but was afraid of the loud gulping noise that was sure to result. Her throat was dry and you could hear a pin drop in the room.
Finally, Cullen Sharpe’s piercing gaze moved away from her, as he turned and walked gracefully to the table in the front of the room where some refreshments were located and poured himself a cup of water. He took a small sip while everyone watched his every move and waited to see what the magnetic individual would say next.
Unlike most people who spoke in front of groups, Cullen Sharpe didn’t seem to care if he entertained or engaged them. He wasn’t trying to make them laugh, and he didn’t seem to mind making them wait either.
Around her, she could smell the sweat and desperation of her coworkers beneath their perfume and cologne and brand new office wear. She was sweating in the cold room just like everyone else, making her even colder.
Why didn’t I sit in the back?
Sitting in the front row was an old habit left over from her school days. From kindergarten through her final year of college, Ivy had always been the quiet, mousy student that sat in the first row, put her head down, took good notes and got good grades.
But this was different.
This was a real corporation—one of the largest and most prestigious drug companies in Boston—and sitting in the front row and hoping the “teacher” liked her wasn’t going to cut it anymore.
Cullen finished drinking and placed the cup of water on the refreshment table, striding back to center stage, facing them once more. His gaze landed on her briefly yet again.
He has the eyes of a wolf, Ivy thought. And is it my imagination or is he staring more at me than anyone else?
Definitely your imagination, she told herself. Cullen Sharpe doesn’t know you from a hole in the wall and he’s probably more interested in a random hole in a wall than he is some temp that came to do meaningless office work at his billion dollar company.
“We’ll be moving you to your cubicles at precisely eight thirty-five,” Cullen said, snapping her from her brief reverie. “Then you’ll begin the data entry project that you’ve been brought in to help us complete. The software program will automatically tally your work and log your speed and accuracy as you go. By noon, we’ll know how fast you work and what your error rate is. Those who fall into the bottom ten percent of the group in either category will be let go.” Cullen’s voice was unforgiving. “The business world is a cruel and unforgiving place, and we don’t waste time with employees who can’t keep up. Those at the bottom of the ladder will be cut loose in short order.”
A young man that couldn’t have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three years old was sitting next to Ivy on the right. He gave her a sidelong glance and raised his eyebrows, smirking, as if he found the CEO’s theatrics and threats ridiculous.
Ivy started to grin in return, relieved to find that at least one person amongst them who wasn’t intimidated by the head of the company.
But then she looked up and saw that Cullen Sharpe was watching her yet again. His gaz
e flicked back and forth between her and the young man beside her.
Cullen’s disapproval of their shared grin was evident, despite the fact that his expression had hardly changed at all.
He walked closer to where they sat, and Ivy’s heart started to pound in her chest. He stopped in front of the young man and looked at him. “What’s your name?” Cullen demanded.
“Me?” the younger man asked, his voice cracking, suddenly looking less confident—more like a deer caught in the headlights.
“That’s usually how it works,” Cullen said. “When someone asks your name, they usually mean you.” He arched an eyebrow as the group of temps tittered nervously at his joke.
“I’m Lucas,” the younger man managed. He shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter.
“Lucas, I noticed you grinning at something I said a moment ago,” Cullen told him. “Please share with all of us what was so humorous. It’s always nice to have a person with a good sense of humor around the office.”
Lucas stumbled nervously over his words. “I didn’t—I mean…uh, nothing was funny.”
“Some people have a bad habit of smiling when they’re nervous,” Cullen said, waiting for him to respond to the assertion.
“I think that’s what happened,” Lucas said, seemingly relieved to have the excuse to fall back on. “Just a little nervous is all.”
Cullen glared at him. “Nervousness is fine, but disrespect is not something I tolerate. Ever.” He continued to stare the younger man down, and Lucas looked at the floor, clearly defeated before the first shot had been fired.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas mumbled.
Ivy realized she’d been wrong about Lucas’s grin. It turned out the younger man was just as intimidated by the situation as she was.