“No condom,” Colt answered curtly, shoving his cock into her and immediately thrusting away. The girl squealed into a moan, tightening her legs around him. I watched as Colt’s hands moved all over her, teasing her breasts and touching her just above where his cock pushed up into her over and over again. I had to admit to myself that Colt was an attractive man; I watched the muscles in his legs flex and ripple just under the skin, his blond hair becoming disheveled. He leaned in and his lips found one of her nipples while he held her in place. By the little coos and sighs, Isabel was clearly enjoying herself. At one point she gasped—he must have hit her g-spot—and giggled, pulling Colt’s body closer.
It seemed to go on for hours while I stood in the wardrobe, my feet already beginning to hurt, torn between the horror of being stuck here and the intrigue of the scene in front of me. After a while, I heard Colt murmur to Isabel, “Are you going to come for me?” and Isabel’s throaty, breathy voice replying “Oh yes, oh yes Mr. Colt…” She dug her fingers into his back and shuddered, and Colt was right behind her, tensing—no noise from Mr. Shy Billionaire—thrusting a few more fast times into her, and then rolling off to the side. I watched the two of them catch their breath for a few moments, and Colt sat up, looking around for his clothes. That seemed to be a cue for Isabel, who looked around for her own and began getting dressed. Colt pulled his pants on and his shirt, though he didn’t bother buttoning it. I watched Isabel slither into her clothes with a look of satisfaction on her face.
“Will that be all, Mr. Colt?” She asked in that ridiculous voice. Colt sat down in one of the plush chairs on the other side of the office and glanced at her.
“Yes, Isabel. You know the way out. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Isabel walked away with quite the spring in her step, her shoes clacking on the floor. My feet were really killing me—when was he going to get up and leave? Colt sat in the chair, looking down at the floor, drumming his fingers on the chair arm idly. Clearly he was in a pensive mood. I just wished he would remember our interview appointment and decide to freshen up a bit—at least get fully clothed. If he left the room I could sneak out.
It didn’t seem as if he was leaving any time too soon. I wondered what time it was. Just go already! I screamed in my head at him. I couldn’t help it—I was too uncomfortable in the stuffy wardrobe. I shifted my feet, trying to find a more comfortable position. No luck. I decided to take the pressure off of one foot at least, and lifted my left foot up, trying to balance on my right. I wavered, off-balance, and tried to catch myself against the wardrobe’s wall. No luck. I felt my hand slide against something, a coat maybe, and tried more desperately to catch myself, to right myself, and then I was tumbling forward, knocking into the door of the wardrobe, and it gave before me. In a matter of moments I was sprawled out in front of the stupid thing, a twinge of pain in my wrist from landing on one hand. Shit!
I had to look up. Colt was staring at me as if he was seeing a ghost, or some new type of monkey, his blue eyes wide. I felt like my heart was going to leap out of my throat, it was beating so fast. Think, Alyssia, think! Finally a thought snapped into place. “Hello, Mr. Colt,” I said, getting up as quickly as I could and smoothing the skirt of my suit down. “I’m Alyssia Bright from The New York Minute. We had an appointment today.” I paused. All this luxury, I thought. He can afford a little hush money. “I saw everything you did with that girl—Isabel, I think her name is? And I’m more than happy to skip today’s interview and just go back to the office and write about everything I witnessed. I’m sure it will sell like mad.” I made myself laugh. “Of course, I could be persuaded not to write anything about it at all—for the right price. I’m thinking $100,000 ought to cover it.” Colt was still staring at me. He wasn’t wide-eyed anymore, but I could tell he was still shocked.
I picked up my gear and smoothed my clothes one more time. “I’ll be back tomorrow for the money, Mr. Colt,” I said, and hightailed it out of there.
Chapter Two
When I got home that night, I felt anxious and excited at the same time. There wasn’t anything Colt could do; after all, the story itself would be a massive scandal, and it would take time for him to sue the Minute for libel—and then he’d have to prove it. I thought about what kind of things I could afford with the 100 grand. I could get a car that was new, instead of one that was almost as old as me. I could afford to rent a better apartment—if I spread the money out, I could get a decent apartment without exhausting it between now and whenever I could qualify for a pay raise. Maybe buy some decent clothes, go out every once in a while. $100,000 might not mean much at all to someone like Colt—to him it would be the equivalent of $100 for my silence—but to me, it would be a life changing event.
I had the same Christmas Eve feeling when I went to bed, anticipating how things would play out the next day, planning on how I’d get past security; obviously, the best way to keep me out was to not set an appointment with the receptionist. I’d have to get into the parking garage, get past the elevator guard. Shouldn’t be that difficult, should it? I fell asleep considering how best to go about it, the possibilities still spinning in my brain as I wound down. I don’t remember how they worked themselves out—maybe in my dreams—but when I woke up, I had it figured out. I knew exactly what I would do.
I faced the dilemma of what to wear again. Obviously, I couldn’t wear my expensive dress suit. That would wave red flags all over the place. I found a skirt that wasn’t too shabby-looking and a reasonable short-sleeved blouse. I debated back and forth over whether to wear the pumps again or not. I wouldn’t be in them long, I reasoned, and they’d give a dressier look to the outfit. I took them with me in my car and made my way—this time, exactly punctual.
“Miss Bright,” the security guy at the garage said, remembering me from the day before. I gave him my best smile and turned toward the window to give just a little bit of cleavage. “I didn’t have a note to expect you today.” I made a little sad face.
“Would you believe it? I left my recorder behind.” He looked briefly like he was uncertain. “I promised my editor I wouldn’t let it leave my sight, and if he finds out I forgot it, I’ll be on bread-and-butter columns until the end of time.” I tried to channel some of Isabel’s helpless female routine, but I wasn’t sure how good I was at it. The guard eyed me for another long moment and then waved me in, opening the gate.
I bypassed the receptionist altogether. The guy standing at the elevators was the same one as the day before—I’d been counting on that, which maybe was a little unwise. Fortunately, it worked out, and I told him the same story as the guard at the garage. He waved his key fob and let me into the elevator, and I rode up to the same floor as the day before. My heart was pounding again. I took a deep breath as I stood outside of Colt’s door. “This will be easy,” I told myself. He clearly hadn’t alerted anyone to keep me out—another barrier I had considered the night before. If he called my bluff, I would absolutely write the story. I could still remember every vivid second of watching him spank the girl’s bare ass, seeing him take his cock out and insisting on using no protection before screwing her brains out. It would make for a juicy story, and I almost regretted that if everything worked out well, I wouldn’t be in a position to write it. I could hardly expect to have my cake and eat it too. Settle for having the money, girl, I thought. The thought of what I could do with that money spurred me forward and I raised my hand, knocking on the door quickly.
“Come in,” I heard from somewhere in the apartment. I turned the knob on the door and found it was unlocked, and let myself in. There was an eerie vacant feeling in the apartment as I stepped into the entryway. I looked around for a moment, wondering where Colt was. I thought it had been his voice when I knocked, but he was nowhere to be seen. I stepped further into the apartment. “In the office.” I turned in the direction of the voice and spotted the open doorway into the office I’d invaded the day before. I took another deep breath to steady my nerves and moved in that d
irection. The fact that Colt was able to make himself heard from that distance was really something.
Colt was sitting at the enormous desk, a briefcase settled on its surface. The minute I crossed the threshold, his gaze was on me. I made myself stand up straight and stride into the room as confidently as possible. “You have the money?” I asked, trying to swallow against my suddenly dry throat without being obvious. Colt didn’t move. He watched me come into the room, fingers steepled in just below his face, his body relaxed. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just watched me from where he sat.
“Yes, I have your money right here, Miss Bright,” he said quietly. He gestured to the briefcase. I felt my insides relax. Part of me had been worried that he would say that he refused to pay up, that he would be calling the cops. Something that would make sense for any rich person to do. I reminded myself that where nothing was ventured, nothing could be gained. I’d won this round, apparently.
“You haven’t called the cops?” I asked. I could have kicked myself. If he hadn’t thought of it, why should I suggest it to him? Colt smiled slowly, and then even chuckled.
“No, Miss Bright, I haven’t called the police. One hundred thousand dollars, while it’s not exactly change, is also not a sum of money that I would feel the need to bother myself with official presences about.” I felt myself blushing and tried to fight it down. Had I asked for too little? Was this his way of saying I was petty? “Of course, it’s not cheap. I did have to get it myself—I could hardly tell one of my employees why I needed it.” He opened the briefcase and turned it around to face me. The money looked absolutely obscene. Stacks of it, neatly bound in the paper rings banks prefer to use, organized by the denomination of the bills. More money than I had ever seen in my life. Colt closed the case and pushed it across the desk in my direction. I hesitated for just a moment. Sitting at the desk, if you could ignore the opulent surroundings, Colt looked a lot like a guy I’d had a crush on in college—same hair color, same eyes. I could understand how easy it was for a guy like Colt to get anything he wanted—any woman he wanted, too. Hell, for all I knew he was bi, and got all the men he wanted on top of all the women he wanted—maybe even at the same time. I told myself to stop being an idiot.
I walked the few steps to the desk and picked up the briefcase. It was surprisingly light to be holding so much money; but then, it was all in bills, not in heavy coins or anything crazy like precious metals. I couldn’t believe my luck. Colt was just going to let me walk out with a case full of money for my silence. His reputation did mean a lot to him; I’d gotten that impression when I’d worked on the research for my interview. That was part of the reason he spoke with the press so rarely—he wanted to maintain the sense of importance when he did say something in public. I could kind of respect that. I resisted the urge to say anything more and turned around to leave.
“Miss Bright,” Colt said behind me. I paused. Here it was. He was going to stall for the police to arrive, or something like that. “Since you’ve insisted on this ‘fee’ for your silence, I wonder if you will give me a moment of your time as a courtesy.” I was torn. On one hand, it didn’t seem much to ask. On the other, he could be stalling. If I didn’t leave before the police got here, I’d be an idiot. But there was something about the way he spoke, something in his voice that made me feel ashamed of the impulse to steal the money away. I turned around.
“Yes, Mr. Colt?” I asked. He hadn’t moved. He had remained utterly still the entire time, not even fidgeting. He steepled his hands in front of his face again for a moment before resting them on the desk. I tried not to take note of it, but I couldn’t help taking in the expensive watch he wore, the perfect manicure, and the gloss of his fingernails. In spite of the grooming, his hands looked strong, somehow masculine.
“Miss Bright,” he said quietly, sounding for all the world as if he hadn’t been fleeced for 100 grand, “You are not the first person to blackmail me.” I nodded; it made sense that other people would have dug up whatever dirt they could. “You might be wondering then, why it is that I gave in so easily.” That exact thought was only just forming in my mind, from the mingled impressions I’d had up until that point. “You see, from the first time I was ever blackmailed—by an employee, in fact—I started to put together what I consider to be the best possible defense against future attempts, and it has not failed me yet.” I wanted to ask what was different about this situation, but I forced myself to keep my mouth shut. “I’d appreciate it if you would come a little closer to the desk; there’s no need to keep yourself out of reach at this point.”
I took the few steps to the desk. Colt gestured for me to come around to the side. Apparently we were going to chat like pals. “I want you to understand a very simple thing. I have spent the last ten or more years cultivating a close friendship with the editor in chief of The New York Minute. In fact, I am very good friends with the owners, publishers, and editors of every major magazine and newspaper in the country.” He paused for a moment to let me take that fact in. “I have also paid off multiple individuals to be alibis, witnesses, everything it takes to create an airtight case—whether it’s against whatever you or your enterprising comrades might come up with against me or some dirt of my own I’d like to shovel. If you were to try and take your story to print, your boss would be fired, you would certainly be fired, and suddenly there would be a delicious scandal about a fairly small-time reporter and her very married boss. Maybe even a few of her colleagues. The Minute’s own editor-in-chief would be the first person to tell the world that he dismissed both of you for unseemly conduct, making up stories, any number of awful things that would make it absolutely impossible for you to get hired at any publication.”
I barely managed to keep my mouth from falling open at Colt’s calm, perfectly rational and in-control tone as he outlined the way he’d ruin my entire life. Suddenly the briefcase felt much heavier.
“Why did you go to all the trouble of getting the money if you knew I’d never be able to publish anyway?” The words were out of my mouth before I could even fully think them. Colt smiled ever so slightly. He stood up and closed the distance between us in an instant. I heard a rustling of fabric, the chink of metal, and his hand had closed on mine in a tight grip before I could react. I tried to pull my hand away, but his sure, strong hold was impossible to break. Without saying a word, I felt him move. Something cool and metallic closed around my wrist. I looked down and saw a pair of handcuffs, one of the rings closed around my own wrist. Colt ratcheted the cuff until it was as tight as possible; his hand went to my shoulder and he turned me around to face away from the desk and leaned down. I was still so shocked I couldn’t react as I watched him attach the other half of the set to the leg of his desk. Colt stepped back around the desk and I watched him as he rummaged in a drawer for a moment. I looked down at my wrist, affixed to the desk, and tugged on the handcuffs, hoping against hope as it dawned on me what had happened. The enormous piece of furniture wouldn’t budge, of course. The metal of the cuff bit into my wrist as I pulled—no evidence that it was anything less than police-grade workmanship; certainly it wasn’t a novelty pair that would break apart.
I was beginning to get unnerved; Colt hadn’t said anything, and the way he was rummaging in his desk was not exactly comforting. After another moment, he walked the long way around and stood in front of me with something in his right hand. “Look at me, Miss Bright,” he said. I met his gaze. “You are not very good at blackmail. I do rather appreciate your ambition—it’s amusing.” I bit my lip, trying to keep from contradicting him. I had to admit he was right, at least to a degree; I hadn’t thought through my plan very well at all. It was stupid of me to have thought I’d waltz in and out of his skyscraper with a case of money. But what was he going to do to me? “About now I’d say you’re wondering what will become of you.” I opened my mouth to speak—plead for him to just let me go, promise not to say anything, maybe—and Colt’s finger pressed against my lips befor
e I could make a sound. “I am going to educate you.”
Colt raised his right hand. He was holding a pair of sharp, fine scissors—the kind my grandmother kept for cutting fabric, all metal. I tried to step back from him, but the handcuff made it impossible to go very far. My feet in the ridiculous shoes I had admired so much sent up a twinge of pain, and the adrenaline in my body flowed more freely. I started to tremble. Colt reached forward and took hold of my blouse, pulling me back into place by the fabric. I heard my voice leave my throat in a tiny squeak and my cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Colt’s lips curled slightly in a little smile. He grabbed the hem of my blouse. “I hope for your sake this outfit didn’t cost you much,” he said, almost to himself. He brought the scissors up and ran them along the front of my shirt. They were so intensely sharp that he only had to close them on the cloth once right at the neck of the blouse. At one point I just barely felt the metal brush against my stomach and arched back instinctively at the cold, tickling sensation. The shirt fell open, exposing my bra and stomach. I realized I was breathing heavily already—I felt like a wild animal in a trapper’s cage.
Off The Record: To Blackmail A Billionaire (Part One) (A BDSM And Breeding Erotic Romance Novelette) Page 2