by Lulu Astor
He smirks: history repeats itself. Five years ago, he was riding high on the crest of the tall wave he himself created out of air. Every single company he took over was a resounding success; there was never any backlash or interference. He’d identify a firm ripe for the plucking, usually one that had decent asset to liability ratios but had tried to grow too quickly and was strapped for cash, and he’d make his move. Never once did he fail. In less than four years, he’d acquired a diverse portfolio of firms: media dot.coms, electronic component manufacturers, energy-efficient product design, and even a telecom. No problems until he made the foray into energy. Almost as soon as the ink was dry on the deal, they descended like thieves in the night.
He didn’t care all that much about it really: it was one company among many. He could have let it go or fought back: he’d come out smelling like roses either way. It was Natasha’s betrayal that forced him off the rails, caused him to reevaluate his life and his business, hold them up to the harsh light of day—and ultimately found both sorely lacking. He was no better than the barbarians who tried so hard to unravel his deal.
He was, in point of fact, one of them.
Mergers and acquisitions is a euphemism for corporate piracy and when he looked in the mirror, he didn’t like the thief who stared belligerently back at him: stealing other people’s sweat equity under the banner of acquisition, causing employees to lose their livelihoods and calling it elimination of redundancies, capitalizing, in general, on the misfortune of others—all of it. Covering up his crimes with crisp suits and euphemisms was akin to any common criminal laundering dirty money. He was glad to be done with it all. He dismantled Blackmon Enterprises completely in less than a month’s time, signed over the companies to their employees, and eventually divested himself of even the minimal shares of stock he’d held. Then he began virgin fresh.
Mmm, virgin fresh. Of course Ella pops into his mind now. He can’t wait to touch her again. Last night they’d both been exhausted but tonight? Tonight, he had plans. He shakes off his lascivious thoughts for the moment—running with a hard-on is not a good idea.
He selected the name Excalibur for he needed some magic in his life and work; he hoped it would pave the way to get some. If you build it, they will come, right? And it did: it all came so quickly, all over again. He had a Midas touch.
One thing he couldn’t fix so easily was his fractured soul: Natasha had wreaked pure havoc with it.
Since high school he’d known her. Ian could even remember the first time she graced his eyes—English class, right? She was sitting in the back, next to the only available seat when he came sauntering in fifteen minutes late. Once he saw her face, well, that was that—instant hard-on, instant adulation, permanent love. He couldn’t concentrate on anything academic afterward.
And what a beauty she was—and still is, in all likelihood. Born of Russian émigré parents, she bears classic Slavic features: high cheekbones, crystal-clear blue eyes, and such beautiful lips. Her hair so blond and naturally so. After she cut him down, he began to gravitate toward brunettes, as if blondes were evil. Yeah, Natasha did that.
For months after that initial meeting they were inseparable but then college divided them: he went east to Harvard; she went south to Stanford—both of them geniuses and the schools they each applied to recognized it. They planned to get together after graduation: work together, play together, live together.
And they did: their teenage plans actually came to fruition. Natasha returned to Portland, came to work for him, and they moved in together. He was content with her and believed—wholeheartedly—that she was, too, with him. They worked in sync and when he discovered Natasha could be cutthroat in the boardroom, he’d considered it an asset, not a liability. He thought ruthlessness was a positive trait in the corporate jungle.
He thought it until she royally fucked him over.
Paranoia followed on the heels of heartbreak. Ian chuckles as he recalls Ella’s facial expression when he produced the paperwork and pen with a flourish for her to sign on their first date. He was certain she thought he made her sign away any rights to disclosure to keep his sexual proclivities confidential since he showed her his dungeon almost immediately afterward, and to some extent it was true. Especially, perhaps, when he was young and just starting out in business, he worried about his reputation, back when he wasn’t sure of himself or his place in the world.
After a few years of consecutive successes, he learned who he was and what he deserved from the universe, what he’d earned with his genius and iron balls. It became less important to worry over someone learning about his unusual sexual appetite. Moreover, that appetite pretty much grew out of Natasha’s betrayal.
No, the restrictive legal agreement was necessary as one of many tools to prevent more of the same bullshit he’d contended with from the hostile takeover of Total Energy Solutions, orchestrated by one very beautiful and treacherous woman named Natasha Yenin.
But Ella didn’t have to know any of that, now did she?
The moment that Excalibur became interested in rescuing a green-energy outfit that was having growing pains, things began to go awry. A break-in, important papers misplaced or missing, high levels of their system hacked into… the same shit that happened the last time. Only this time, he was going to fight back with every gun he had at his disposal. If this were Natasha, et al., again, they’d shortly find out they can bleed too. Oh yes, and bleed copiously.
Jackson Delacroix had given him the name and number of someone who’d endured a similar situation, a man named Daniel Butler. Ian called him the moment their plane landed at JFK. It was the second reason he came to New York.
The first reason, of course, was preventing Lucien from getting Ella alone. He didn’t trust that SOB, at all. Butler agreed to meet him the next day for lunch. They decided to go to the Russian Tea Room since Ella was anxious to see the iconic restaurant and she was to touch base with him there after his meeting with Butler was concluded.
Already seated at a table, Ian eyes the man approaching his table. Over six feet tall, mid to late twenties, expensively dressed, good comportment, a little too pretty but he couldn’t really throw stones in that respect—overall, Butler looks like a man to be reckoned with. He stands up to introduce himself as the man reaches the table.
“Daniel Butler? Hello, I’m Ian Blackmon. It’s very nice to meet you.”
After a quick appraisal, Butler takes his extended hand and offers a slight smile in return. “Likewise. You mentioned a mutual acquaintance—Jackson Delacroix?”
“Yes. Delacroix recommended I speak with you over my current situation fighting off a hostile takeover of one of my companies. He said you encountered a similar situation.”
“Delacroix is an associate of my father’s. Dependable, I think.”
“That’s been my experience certainly.”
“Mmmhmm. Let’s sit, shall we?”
Ian seats himself and waits for Butler to get settled and order a drink. “So,” he says, looking pointedly at Ian, “tell me what’s going on.”
A half hour later, Ian finishes recounting to Daniel the sordid details of what was currently going on and his experience five years ago. The man impressively listened without interruption, carefully considering everything Ian told him.
“I can state unequivocally, Ian, that Big Oil is behind every last one of these takedowns. The major players in the industry know their fat revenue stream is entirely dependent on a dying industry and they’re panicking from all sides. Stupid, how they go after every endeavor with great potential, no matter the size. Ridiculous, really, but it’s been an effective strategy for them thus far: attack them when they’re small and weak—they never get big.”
“Why don’t they themselves simply get into alternative energies? It makes the most sense, doesn’t it?”
Butler shakes his head. “They will never cannibalize current revenues for future profits—goes against their outmoded business model. Quite frankly,
they don’t think they have to. It’s not very farsighted, I agree, but there it is. They’d much rather sabotage every viable effort to bring renewable energy sources to a large volume of people, keeping everyone small and of no threat to their gargantuan market share. For God’s sake, they’ve been squashing the electric car since the 1970s. The technology has been here that long and so has the desire to make it happen. It’s absurd.”
“So exactly what did you do to fend them off?”
Daniel shrugs. “Well, my situation was a bit different in that we were poised to make a deal when they struck. We pushed it through quickly and rendered their efforts fruitless. I had to rush back to the States from Britain and buy up every share I could get my hands on to keep my majority percentage. I suggest you do that to the extent possible, even if it means buying—on paper—all your employees’ shares, friends’ shares, whatever, and holding them until the threat passes. Erect an immediate and united front. If there are any deals in the works with any outside contractor, expedite them. The more auxiliary business you could attach to your firm, the more difficult it will be for them to destroy.”
He stops speaking for a moment, tapping his finger on his lips. “May I ask why you walked away the last time?”
“Personal reasons: a friend’s betrayal and a long, hard look in the mirror. I redirected my efforts into supporting privately held enterprises and earning the stake in the companies rather than taking them over and wringing out all the capital. Everyone gets to keep his or her job and I still see a healthy profit margin. Win-win and I go to bed with a clear conscience.”
Grinning broadly, Butler says, “Good for you. Have to say, I hate those M&A types. They are fucking leeches, aren’t they?” He leans back, watching Ian’s reaction to his comment. “So… I understand you make regular trips to New York?”
“Lately I have been. My girlfriend took a job with an art film producer and director. She’s been traveling back and forth between NYC and the left coast.”
“Ah. Who’s the filmmaker?”
“A man named Lucien Phillips. Know him?”
Daniel tilts his head back, considering the name. “No, I can’t say I do. My soon to be father-in-law probably does, though. He knows just about everyone who is anyone in the art world.”
“Oh? Who is your future father-in-law?”
“The sculptor, Derek Girardi?”
Ian nods, looking intrigued. “Yes. I know his work very well—very talented artist. He’s an interesting man, too, from what I’ve seen and read about him. Married to an African model, isn’t he? Very thin, very beautiful woman?”
“Yes. Mia is Ethiopian.”
“She’s not your fiancée’s mother, is she?”
“No. Olivia’s mother is Derek’s first wife.”
“Yes, the model looks too young to have grown children.”
Daniel chuckles. “Actually, Olivia’s mother is but a couple of years older than Mia. Her father, too. Her parents married and had their two daughters very young. Neither of them has breached forty yet. Both terribly good looking, too.”
“So you’re practically a contemporary of your future wife’s parents?”
“Sort of. There’s not much more than a ten-year gap. Derek often feels more like a rival for her affection than her parent. They’re too close in age, among other things, and due to their past history, he’s far too territorial about her. Strange, even uncomfortable dynamic at work.”
“Sounds like it. How old is your fiancée?”
“Young. Very. Not yet twenty. But she’s an old soul, and I’m a possessive sort: there are too many people—both men and women—trying to get at her.” He laughs. “It’s easier to pluck her off the market than beat them all back.”
Ian raises his hand up and grins. “Kindred spirit, here. Can you ask Girardi about Phillips? I did have a security check done on him but it came up clean. Still, there’s something about the man that doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Yes, I will. We’re actually seeing them tonight for dinner. I’ll give you a call tomorrow if I learn anything of value.”
When Ella returns to the hotel from her meeting, Ian is lying in wait for her. As soon as she walks through the door, he’s on her. Putting one hand on the back of the door, he slams it closed the moment she’s inside the room.
Ella looks up at him, startled. “What—”
“Take off your clothing. All of it. Now,” he orders.
Her eyes open a bit wider as she leans over, slowly easing her satchel onto the floor, without taking her eyes off his; she’s prey, avoiding motion so a predator won’t strike. “May I go into the bedroom first?”
“No.” His voice was cold, brooking no argument whatsoever. “Do it here; do it now. No discussion, no hesitation.”
He could see the wheels turning in her head. With Ella, it’s hard to shut off that overactive brain of hers but he manages as long as he gives her something to worry about, focus on. Right now, he shows her his iron will to claim her full attention.
“What’s this all about, Ian?” Almost inaudible.
“I want more time with you. Starting right now.”
She forces out a feeble laugh. “We’ve been together, just about 24/7 for over a week now. How much more do you want?”
“More time but more… everything. I need to dominate you. I need to see your eyes dilate and your muscles give out as you surrender to me. I need to hear you scream from the fury of your orgasm.” His voice drops to a soft whisper. “What do you need, Ella?”
After the briefest hesitation, she answers, “The same will do.”
“Begging the question, Will you? Will you accept your nature, finally, and submit to me, Ella? Or will you continue to struggle against it for all you are worth?” His hands are on her now, helping her to disrobe. Hers are fumbling, inefficient; his are not. He strips her in less than a minute. “Come.”
Once in the bedroom, he points to the foot of the bed. “Sit on the end of the bed, in the middle.”
She complies as he reaches into his bag to get a pair of ankle cuffs. “You didn’t answer my question, Ella,” he says softly, as he buckles the cuffs onto each ankle. “Will you embrace your sexuality or will you continue to deny it?”
Her voice husky with arousal, she gives him a long, hard stare. “Why are you so sure it is my nature, Ian? How can you be so certain of me when I myself am not?”
“Experience,” he replies confidently as he attaches wrist cuffs. “I’ve been dominating women for enough years to be able to spot a submissive. I can usually identify submissive males as well, without too much trouble. They all respond in similar fashion to a sharp command by a Dominant, even without sexual tension. Any other questions?”
She shakes her head, chewing over what he just told her probably. “Good. You may not speak at this point unless you need to say your safe word. Do you understand?”
No answer.
“Ella, I asked you a question. Do you understand?”
She grumbles out an affirmative. He hides his smile.
After attaching her wrist cuffs to the ones on her ankles, he flips her over, gently pushing her head down onto the bed. When he spreads her legs wider, she is precariously balanced on her knees, having little or no control over her body in this position. “We talked about anal sex. I’ve used a fairly large plug on you, in you, I should say. We’ll use another tonight so that next time, you will be ready to take me in. Yes?”
“Am I allowed to answer?”
“If you’re asked a question, Ella. Of course. I expect an answer.”
“It scares me.”
“A little fear is welcome. But it needs to be tempered with arousal, of course.” He hand moves between her legs and he laughs quietly. “And yes, you’re aroused by the idea, Ella. Does the thought of being taken that way excite you?”
A pause. “No, I told you: it frightens me.”
“Your mouth can lie, Ella, but your body betrays you every time. You’re ve
ry wet.” He thrusts a finger inside. “Are you sure you’re not excited by the idea of being taken from behind? Picture it, Ella. Your ass high in the air, your wrists cuffed at the small of your back and me firmly behind you, not allowing you to retreat, thrusting, filling, wakening all those dark sensations.” He laughs when she clenches tightly around his finger. “Told you so,” he whispers, kissing the base of her spine as his hands continue to make her body rev up.
When she moans, he replaces his finger with himself, after sheathing his erection in a condom. She has to passively take whatever he gives her because in her current position, she has no leverage, no purchase with which to move. He pushes out her legs even wider, balancing her so tenuously she must just accept his pace, his whims. Ian proceeds to tease her, keeping his rhythm erratic so she can’t move too close to a climax—it’s always inches out of reach… and her frustration mounts as palpably as the layer of sweat forming on her body. How long will she tolerate the burn before she loses her temper? Not very long, he’d wager.
As he feels her muscles coil, moving into orgasm, he pulls out and stops, waiting for her body to calm. Her tension is building, like guitar strings tightened too much and threatening to pop. He begins again, and repeats the same cycle. And again. On the third time around, her willpower gives up the game and she whines her frustration.
Ian gets up and removes the plug and lube from his bag, returning to her when it’s ready to insert. “Take a deep breath, baby,” he says, “now exhale,” and giving her no time to think about it, presses it in against her natural resistance. “If you push against the invasion, it makes it easier and less uncomfortable, Ella. Try to remember that for next time.” Once it’s in place, he waits a few moments before moving. “How does that feel, baby? Is it okay?”