Becoming His Slave

by Talon P. S.

  Too many lives where going to be destroyed with the closure of these plants. She wanted them to think it over—demanding the board search for alternatives to find a solution to the present problem. That anything less was unacceptable. Fear was an everyday account for people in the Middle East, but their company brought something good to the area, it brought jobs and with that people could find strength to get through the rest.

  She wanted them to really look hard for some alternative over the course of the night and come back in the morning with a plan and they had left it at that.

  Rashawn Matisse was the newest member on the board, as well as the youngest, but Amelia had liked him from the start. Unlike the board’s older members he was a free thinker, almost irrational when compared to the other men, but he got answers, found solutions and he worked hard to get them. He wasn’t afraid to dig in the mud with his own hands to get them either.

  His track record to take derelict companies, reorganize their management and operations and turn them around, pulling them out of the red in the short span of a two year plan had gotten him on the board of directors in his fifth year with the European Firm.

  Rashawn agreed with Amelia, he was dead set against closing the plants. Doing so could set off a chain reaction that would eventually come back around and bite them in the ass. It would tell the world that when the going gets tough Quinneth Global Managements runs for cover. Not the kind of message a company as large as theirs wants to tell its clients. So he’d been on the phone with key members of Istanbul and Carac nearly all week, often at times stepping out of the summit meeting to reconvene with people he hoped could bring around enough security that would protect Ümran Global’s employees and its production so they could stay in operations at their present locations.

  And it was no injury to his cause when a march was held in Istanbul two days ago that the city was not doing enough to protect job security and helped protect companies such as Nordstrom and Ümran Global. So that night he sat up talking with Mehmet Küçük, Board of Director for the Istanbul Chamber of Industry, who was offering to work with them to aid in security and step up local protection in order to keep Ümran Global from pulling out.

  That Saturday morning the board reconvened at 9:00am sharp.

  Rashawn strode in, he was exhausted having only stolen two hours of sleep since he got off the phone at 6:30 that morning, but he was jacked up knowing he was bringing Amelia exactly what she wanted for her company and he hoped it would get her attention enough that perhaps he could get a shot at her.

  He’d barely had time to dress, and came strolling in, slacks unbelted, his suit coat draped over his arm and his shirt was unbuttoned more than half way down his chest. His tie hung freely over his chest.

  Amelia was already at the head of the table and she crooked a brow in his direction when he came in. He could only smile as if he’d just finished making wild sex with her, only she didn’t know it yet and he planned on doing it again. He tossed his suit coat over the back of his chair, set the file folders down then casually took the time to finish off the buttons on his shirt, but when he caught Amelia staring his way, he’d almost had the notion to leave them open for her.

  Stanley Hostimshires, who sat across from him and was always there to point out how young and inexperienced Rashawn was, cleared his throat, “Did your mother forget to teach you how to dress?”

  “Not at all, but I ran into your wife in the elevator on the way up and she seemed eager to show me how to undress.” Rashawn’s gaze rolled slowly onto the man. It was no secret Stanley had left his first wife to run off with a young tart that was young even for Rashawn and who had such an appetite for sex Stanley was finding himself struggling to keep up.

  “That’ll be quiet enough gentleman.” Amelia was drawing the line before any more retorts could be shared. “Shall we get started?” She pulled the leather bound folder in front of her, her eyes darting towards Rashawn then back to her folder, “Mr. Matisse, if you would please? Finish getting dressed—its distracting.”

  Rashawn watched. She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes carefully down at the papers before her, but he caught a glimpse of that pink tongue slipping out to lick at her lips and that was all he needed to see.

  Amelia was at least ten years his older, but he didn’t give a shit about any of that. The woman was pure power and sex. It amazed him on every detail of her body, from her refined faced to the deep merlot color of her hair and the perfect hourglass shape of her body. Damn she made his mouth water.

  He loved how she saddled into her seat almost sideways and coiled her legs around each other tucking those delicate ankles under her. She rested back on a shoulder one arm propped up and she tapped at her teeth when you were boring her with your reports or caressed her lips when she was interested. He memorized every nuance of her body language and at forty something? She had the body of a Hollywood movie star. There were plenty of times when all he could think about was what color the patch of hair between her legs was and hoped it matched the wine color of her head. Because he loved the image he made up in his fantasies and how sexy it was going to look when he got the chance to sink his cock deep inside her wine.

  He could feel his cock getting hard just now thinking about it. It jerked with his growing arousal stirring him from his thoughts and he realized this was not the time or place to develop a raging hard-on that would show through his pants… that wasn’t good. Any other time, like taking her out to dinner—he would have just asked her to dance whether there was music playing or not and press up against her so there was no doubt in her mind how bad he wanted her. But not in the summit meeting. Now was definitely not the time. He closed the last few buttons on his shirt grabbed his suit coat and pulled it on; grateful he had picked out the long double breasted, grey jacket instead of the dark navy he had intended to wear, which would not have been long enough to hide his erection.

  “You look rather presumptuous this morning Mr. Matisse, perhaps we should start with you. What did you bring me?” Amelia voiced toward him, her tone coiling around him as if she had already spied his erection and was harboring some deep arousal of her own.

  Aside from a raging rock hard cock for you my lovely? Rashawn’s thoughts started off, “I spent the better half of the night on the phone with Mehmet and won over some extended protection with the city—”

  Amelia’s demur almost faltered when she bolted up in her seat, her eyes filled with victorious surprise, but only just. But he could see it as he continued to tell her about his conversation with Istanbul and with Carac and the additional security measures the two cities were willing to take to protect them. Including some breaks on operation fees, for one year. Her gaze was like fire, she had wanted to keep the plants going, but hope had been draining throughout the week, now he had found the firm ground she needed. It came from him and her eyes rewarded him with a lusty gaze. Damn he wanted to fuck her.

  The summit went on for another three hours poring over the details of what needed to be done right away and what was to follow to keep it secure. By late afternoon the entire board voted unanimously to keep both plants open and in operation.

  Rashawn was the one who got to accompany Amelia outside when they were swarmed by the press to announce their final decision and she made sure the reporters got his name as being the one to spear head the solution.

  “Let me take you out for dinner, let’s celebrate Amelia.” He asked once they managed to get past the cameras and microphones. He was fighting to contain himself. When he gave her the solution she needed to keep the plants open, she snared them and took over. Working the meeting like a symphony director and all he could do was get harder for her, watching her—how she controlled every detail around her. She was quantum physics expressed in water colors.

  And when they came out to talk to the reporters, when her arm slipped around his waist, he thought for sure he was going to cum in his pants just from the heat of her palm against his back. He could fee
l it through his shirt and oh how he wanted to take her hand and put it someplace else.

  “Come on, what do you say?” He dared to take her shoulders in his hands in a tender clasp, “You deserve to go out.” He took a deep inhale of her scent and let it swirl in him—she was pure woman and he could make out the faint lingering of her perfume she would have put on this morning—Imperial’s Majesty. Most expensive perfume in the world and still not enough for an Heiress like Amelia. How’d he know? Because he was the one who bought it for her. As a Christmas gift at last year’s company party here in Paris. He paid Bartholomew a thousand bucks to trade name tags with him, just to be the one with Amelia’s name for the gift exchange.

  Not long after that, while in London for a week of business meetings, he took to the shops along the Dover Street market, with little catching his eyes as anything other than having already been tried, worn or tasted by someone else. He wandered off, stopped for some late tea on Haymarket and that’s when he discovered the odd boutique of furniture and perfume. Such an odd combination then again he was in London and the English? Well the English were just that—English. But the fairly sizable shop caught his eye and he decided it was worth a shot to see if it had any hidden treasure worthy of being gift wrapped for Amelia Quinneth.

  One whiff of the Clive Christian creation and he knew it was the one. He didn’t even bat a lash when the cashier asked for ℒ130,000, that’s $215,000.00 US.

  There was nothing like messaging a sexy scent of floras and musk into a woman’s skin and how that scent would come to life when her body heated up underneath you as you made love to her.

  His body nearly tensed with excitement when her hand slid up his chest, delicate fingers tended to his tie adjusting it then smoothed her palm over it accepting it was to her perfection, “And as do you Rashawn.” She hummed.

  Rashawn not Mr. Matisse—he liked that, but then he liked how she said M’sieur Matisse too, it almost sounded like yes Master. There wasn’t anything in the world Rashawn would cherish more than the opportunity to master Amelia Quinneth.

  “It sounds wonderful, but I must take a rain check on it. There’s still a lot that needs to be done to make sure all your hard work doesn’t get buried before it can be put into motion. Work that I can better manage from my firm in New York. On top of that my bodyguard is in the hospital.”

  “How is Trenton Leos?”

  Amelia’s eyes flickered a bit and she gave him a questioning expression, “Did you know Trenton well?”

  “Before this week? Not really—I’ve heard his name mentioned a few times before.” He gave a watered down version of just how well he did know Trenton. Yes, he knew Trenton, but he had to wonder if Amelia truly knew him, knew him as anything other than the man who owned and ran TL Securities. Knew the man as Dominus and of the world of B&D he called his domain and catered to others.

  Just the fantasy that such a thing could happen had Rashawn licking his lips, right there in front of Amelia. And he was certain he felt her body heating up just from watching him do it.

  “But keep your bags packed—I may be calling you to join me in New York. I want to make sure everything falls into place, but this is still your baby as far as I’m concerned and I expect you to see it through.”

  And she stepped back, a graceful hand floating to her chest as if she was about to fan herself, but only succeeded in drawing his eyes down to soak up the sight of her cleavage peaking up past her blouse. “How long will you stay in Paris?”

  He smiled warmly at her, “No more than a day perhaps. Then back to Morocco. Carac’s security is temporary. There's no way it will stay. But if we start looking at moving the plant to say—Morocco?” He paused to see how she liked the idea.

  “Go on.” Her hand floated up to her chin and she brushed across her lips softly with a single finger tip. She was interested.

  “It's still close enough it wouldn't change shipping times or costs, and many of those who live and work in Carac would have the ability to move with the plant. That would save us from having to train an entirely new staff. We’d only need fifty percent to move with it to keep operations in motion with very little down time in the plant’s output.

  She breathed in deeply, savoring the moment like she could smell success, “I do like how you think.” She straightened suddenly adjusting her grip on her attaché case, shifting back to all business, “Keep a record of your expenses there.”

  “No need. I’ll be living in Morocco.”

  “You will? I thought you were in Monte Carlo?”

  “I am, but Morocco is only a half days sail away, I’ll have my girl moved by the end of the week.”

  “You’re referring to your yacht?” She raised a brow; it wasn’t all an expression of distrust or amusement, but more like he had just pulled out a box of decadent chocolates. And in a sense he had. He knew on first account she had a thing for the water and fancy ships.

  He grinned, “Yes, all 260 feet of her. You should come visit. Or maybe I’ll bring her when you call me to join you in New York. I’ll load your desk up and sail you away to some island in the keys.”

  “You do that and I might not ever return home.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that happening at all.” His voice darkened and he stepped in closer to her. And he watched her face turn flushed immediately and he definitely liked that.

  But this beautiful moment he was about to have with her. When he had seen her body heat and she looked up at him, her eyes glassing over and those lips—red and swelling with a growing need to be kissed—kissed by him, came to a screeching halt. He thought for sure he’d turn around and belt the body guard a heavy blow when Payton stepped from the limo to remind her she had a plane to catch.

  Rashawn bit off the need to curse and took a step back, watching her as she slipped that business composure suit back on, said her farewells and promises to be in touch with him soon, then let her men usher her into the car and steel her away from him.

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  ~ ~

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ~ ~

  Trenton made it through his surgery and the doctor had assured Diesel he was going to be just fine. The bullet had not done any damage to his vital organs. But he slept so Katianna was convinced everyone was keeping the truth from her. That’s what they always say in the stories—he’s fine he just needs some rest, but then they’re in a coma forever. Stupid writers.

  Katianna sat in the vinyl seat next to his bed refusing to leave—refusing to return to the hotel. She was so tired, she was nodding again. She tucked her feet up in the chair hugging her legs watching over him and waiting till he woke up. She wasn’t leaving, wasn’t going to sleep until he woke up and told her he was alive.

  Her head snapped up when she nodded for the billionth time. Each time setting off some strange boom in her head. Like some mythical hammer that comes swinging and slams into your side to knock you back out of the dream world each time you stumble into it. She wondered if there was some bizarre metaphysical explanation for the sound or was she just hallucinating due to lack of sleep?

  “Hey, when was the last time you had some sleep?” A voice horse and cracked from too much sleep and the pain meds being fed to him intravenously.

  Katianna’s head popped up with a start only this time instead of the weird dream like phenomenon it was Trenton that called her awake, “Trenton!” Relief filled her lungs as she began breathing heavily almost as if she had also refused to breathe and had been holding her breath all this time.

  “Come up here and lay next to me. You need to get some rest.” His hands fumbled to pull the covers aside for her. He just wanted to feel her body next to him. Aside from the effects of losing blood which he had no doubt that he lost a good amount taking a shot in the stomach, but he still felt groggy from the anesthesia and the nightmares he got under its effects. His head was leaden with dark images of someone taking Katianna away from him and it had made him fitful almost sickly feeling.
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  Katianna was instantly at the side of the bed, her fingers fisting into the sheets wrapped around him, but she didn’t dare crawl in next to him. Though he could see it in her eyes that’s where she wanted to be, as close as possible.

  Even with just waking himself he could see the dark circles under her eyes and the blood shot from endless crying. He could tell she’d been crying recently and from the looks of it she hadn’t had any sleep either. And still she was beautiful to him.

  “Come up here like I said.” He tried to command her but felt weak even as he said it. He rolled his lips trying to moisten them.

  “I can’t—you’re wounded.” Katianna whimpered.

  “And I’ll heal—that’s life for me. Now come up here.” His voice tightened trying to insist upon her.

  “But you were shot.”

  He could see she wasn’t gonna let go of this easily. “It’s my job.”

  “To get shot?” Fresh tears began to stream down her face.

  Trenton reached up to wipe them away, “If it comes to that, yes. It beats the alternative.”

  “Which is?” She was pouting, getting shot was never acceptable.

  “You getting shot. Now climb up here before I call the nurse and tell them you’re being mean to me.”

  Katianna climbed up, but only carefully and settled down on the edge leaving as much space as possible between them, fearful she would hurt him if they touched or worse he would start bleeding again. But Trenton grabbed hold instantly dragging her against his body. She thought to protest, but his body was so warm, so welcoming that simultaneously she felt the jitters that had kept her in turmoil over the last forty-eight hours start to ease.

  She tried to look up at him to watch his face. To look for any sign that the contact of her body was causing him any pain or discomfort, but he didn’t give her that either, his hand stroked at the back of her head smoothing down the tangle of hair and pulled her to rest on him. Pressing her cheek against his chest and she felt him relax against her just as she was relaxing against him.