Forbidden Fix (Executive Toy Book 6)

by Cleo Peitsche

  Hawthorne holds up a hand. “Let’s talk frankly here. Romeo, what’s your net worth?”

  Romeo hesitates a long time. “Just over fifty billion,” he says.

  “Slade?” Hawthorne asks.

  “Only about half that,” Slade says. He grins slyly. “But mine is mostly liquid.” His smile thins. “Also, I’ve got a hell of an inheritance that I hope not to collect anytime soon.”

  “His inheritance will make him one of the five richest men in the world, but his parents are healthy, knock on wood, so we won’t count that. As for me, I’ve got almost eighty-three billion,” Hawthorne says matter-of-factly. “A few million dollars is a rounding error for us. We lose and earn more than that in our investment portfolios every day. Even if we don’t get the money back from your grandfather, if it helps to secure your freedom, it’s worth it. More than worth it. Are you ok?”

  My eyes, I realize, are wide. I knew my bosses had money, but not that much, and hearing the details is… shocking. It’s obscene.

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “Your face is crimson,” Slade says. His fingers graze my cheek, and his hand feels freezing cold.

  I struggle to my feet. “I’m fine.”

  Even though the current discussion has nothing to do with our relationship, I can’t stop thinking that these men could buy countries.

  They could certainly corrupt governments. But they don’t.

  Instead, they invest in smaller businesses that will change the world, and they do it quietly.

  If they wanted, they could easily fuck a different beautiful woman every hour of every day and never run out of willing participants to satisfy their kinks.

  Their money, combined, is unfathomable.

  “You’re the richest man in the world,” I say to Hawthorne. “But your name isn’t on the lists.”

  He looks amused. “That’s what you took away from this discussion?”

  Romeo leans back in his seat. “He’s not the richest. There are ways to stay off those lists. I’m not on them, either.”

  The atmosphere feels strained, but I think it’s just me.

  Looking at my bosses, I realize that it’s obviously just me. They’ve been obscenely rich their entire lives; I’m the only one trying to come to terms with it.

  I need to get back on track, to what really matters. “So you dangled the business opportunity in front of him”—I nearly mention the racetrack—“then made sure he has the money for it, and… then what?” I rub my temples. “And he did something unexpected.”

  Slade crosses his arms. “He’s coming here. He put the mansion up for rent and filled out an application to lease office space downtown. Here, not in Milford Crossing.”

  Slade’s words echo in my mind.

  What my grandfather did is the opposite of preparing to leave once he gets the balance of the payoff he demanded. If their plan fails to trap him, he’ll be rich and local, perfectly poised to make my life hell.

  “In addition,” Romeo says, “he’s taken to sneaking around the last few days, which makes him harder to track.”

  My heart sinks. “He suspects you’re up to something.”

  “Of course he does,” Hawthorne says, “but he has no idea we’re behind the real estate venture. He thinks we’re combing through his old lawsuits, looking for proof of fraud. We’re close to trapping him, Lindsay.”

  The sun has set completely, and recessed lighting gives the wide balcony a cozy, romantic feeling that’s completely at odds with the tumultuous churning in my head and stomach.

  “If he comes here, at least Layla will be free of him,” I say. It’s a comforting thought. “Listen to what she sent me last night.” I pull out my phone, sign in to my email, and read what Layla sent.

  Lowering the phone, I say, “I was thinking… I could pay for her education.” I don’t look at Hawthorne, but I feel his eyes on me.

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Hawthorne says. “As soon as all this is over.”

  My mouth goes dry. The idea of leaving my sister unprepared as things go to hell…

  Meeting his gaze, I say, “I won’t abandon her again. She’s already looking for a job. If I wait, she’ll have dropped her classes.”

  “Anything out of the ordinary might make your grandfather skittish about the investment we’re roping him into,” Hawthorne explains. Romeo and Slade nod.

  I cross my arms. “Can we set up some kind of scholarship directly with the school?”

  “That would take time,” Romeo says. “If you met with your sister, do you think she’d tell your grandfather?”

  I shake my head. “No. No way. I don’t know how much of his lies about me she believes, but I do know that she finds him intrusive. I think…” I swallow. “I think meeting her is a good idea.”

  Hawthorne and Slade don’t seem enthused, but they don’t object, either.

  A slender woman leans out from a door I hadn’t noticed. “Dinner’s ready,” she says, then goes back inside.

  Romeo stands. “We’ll send a private plane to get Layla.”

  I shake my head. “I’ll go there.”

  “No. We’ll bring her here,” he says. “It’s safer, and I don’t want you back in Milford Crossing.”

  I decide not to argue. I don’t care about the details. I’ll get to help Layla, and that’s what matters. “How will you get her on the plane?” I ask as the four of us reenter the building.

  “Is there someplace you can tell her to meet you?” Slade asks.

  I think. “Yeah. There’s an ice cream shop we both loved as kids. It’s still there. I drove by it when I was in town. It’s got a large parking lot and is pretty public.”

  “Good,” Slade says. “You’ll tell her to meet you there.”

  “Then I should go,” I insist. We’re walking through a room filled with priceless, museum-quality antiques, but I couldn’t care less about the treasures.

  Romeo stops walking, and I nearly bump into him. “You’re not going back there,” he says.

  I shake my head. “Do you really think she’ll get into a car with a stranger?”

  “She will if the stranger hands her a phone and you’re on the other end,” he says. “Am I wrong?”

  I think about how hopeful she was when I called, and how desperate she was to keep me on the line, and I shake my head; he’s right, as usual.

  Chapter 10

  Hawthorne’s private chef is a goddess in the kitchen. The food smells delicious and looks like artwork. She brought two servers with her who wait on us with such grace that I feel underdressed.

  Unfortunately, because my stomach is twisted in knots, I barely touch my dinner.

  I’ll get to see Layla.

  It’s all I can think about.

  After dinner, we sip wine and talk, but the conversation turns to work, and I decide to go to bed.

  “I’ll show you to your room,” Hawthorne says. The others continue their conversation.

  Shyly, I follow him and hope he won’t mention the I love you he professed earlier. It’s unlikely; that’s hardly Hawthorne’s style.

  Still, I have an urge to crack jokes and keep chattering to fill the silence.

  It turns out that my “room” is a miniature palace filled with gaudy, glittering fabrics and tapestries that clash. The bed is the size of a boat and looks like it was stolen from a museum. I bet the museum was glad to be rid of it.

  “Everything you need should be here. Clothes are in that closet,” Hawthorne says, pointing in the direction of what I thought was another room. And it is, I realize when he leads me to it. A room converted into a drive-through closet.

  There’s even a gigantic trifold mirror, just like at a tailor’s shop.

  “When did you do this?” I ask. I feel a little overwhelmed as I take in the clothing; there must be three dozen outfits, complete with designer bags and stylish shoes.

  “I started preparing the night you were kidnapped. I realized we needed someplace to disa
ppear in case of an emergency,” he says. “This has always been the last resort.”

  I skim my palms over the beautiful dresses, skirts, and blouses. Everything I touch is soft.

  “In the bathroom, you’ll find duplicates of the personal items you’ve been keeping at Slade’s place.”

  “Thank you, Hawthorne,” I say, humbled. “You thought of everything.”

  “Well, there are three of us. It makes it easy to be thorough,” he says lightly. “Bathroom is this way.” He leads me out of the cavernous closet and on an expedition to another enormous room.

  Just as he promised, all my favorite shampoos and perfumes and makeup are stocked in the bathroom. My bosses even provided a curling iron, which sits on the counter, the cord still tightly wrapped from sitting in the box.

  “I’ll check in on you before I go to bed.” He drops a kiss on my forehead. “Everything’s going to be fine, Lindsay. I promise.”

  I take a quick shower, dry my hair, and trek toward the walk-in closet. Honestly, the bedroom really is too big.

  Before I’m halfway there, someone knocks on the door while pushing it open.

  Even though I know that whoever’s entering has seen me naked plenty of times, my hands go up to cover my breasts.

  Hawthorne smiles. “Modesty? I’m surprised at you, Lindsay.”

  “You might want to try it sometime,” I say, and he looks down at his clothes. “Not that definition of modesty,” I explain.

  “Is there another definition?” His smile grows wider, and there’s a wicked glint in his eye.

  As he approaches, I realize he’s holding his right hand behind his back.

  “What are you hiding?” I ask.

  “Earlier today, you misbehaved. We take your training very seriously.”

  “Assuming you’re talking about when you called me down to your office, you’ve already punished me for it. My ass still hurts.”

  Interest sharpens his features. “Inside or out?”

  “Both,” I say. “My point is that I’ve been punished.”

  “The best punishments don’t give you orgasms. The best punishments deprive you of something.”

  I swallow and manage to choke on nothing. My eyes tear up, and I fan my face while I try to regain my composure. All the while, Hawthorne waits, watches.

  “So what’s the punishment?” I ask.

  “Turn around and bend over,” he says in his bedroom voice.

  Oh, he might look seductive and horny—there’s a definite tent in the front of his pants—but considering that he just told me, less than sixty seconds ago, that orgasms aren’t part of my punishment, I’m more than a little apprehensive as I turn my back to him and bend forward.

  “More,” he says, pushing hard on my back until I’m nearly bent double.

  It’s the perfect angle to check out what he’s holding… but I still can’t see it.

  On the plus side, it can’t be a whip or a flogger.

  Nipple clamps? It’s been weeks since those were used on me. They were painful.

  He comes to stand at my shoulder. His fingers plunge into my hair, yanking my head up.

  “Open,” he rasps.

  I’m confused because his cock isn’t out.

  He jerks my head and thrusts two calloused fingers into my mouth. I open more for him. When I dare to sneak a glance up, I see how hungry he looks.

  He’s enjoying every moment of this.

  Then he puts the tip of the thing he was holding into my mouth.

  It tastes like rubber, and it’s got a conical shape—

  “You’re crazy,” I gasp, or try to, but it’s impossible because he’s sawing the butt plug in and out of my mouth.

  But it’s not just a butt plug.

  There are two parts. One for my ass, one for my pussy. My pussy that’s growing slick with anticipation.

  Why he thinks this will stop me from getting off, I don’t know. Maybe it’s an oversight on his part.

  But Hawthorne doesn’t overlook things. He’s too experienced for that. Also, too calculating.

  He pulls the plug from my lips and gently smacks my mouth with it, and I get a better look at the toy. It’s an embarrassing shade of neon pink. The dildo portion is too small, the plug too large.

  Then, pulling me by my hair, he practically drags me to the bed. My legs can barely keep up.

  If only he would just spank me, then fuck me. I hate it when my bosses get creative. It’s never fun for me.

  “Naughty employees need to be punished,” he says as he shoves me onto the mattress. I end up on my hands and knees, my hair everywhere, covering my shoulders, my arms, and blocking my view.

  The bed frame creaks ever so slightly as Hawthorne leans against it. He shoves two fingers into my pussy. My sheath grips him.

  “Please,” I say. “I’m sorry, and you already punished me for that.”

  His laugh is raucous. “Keep begging if you want, but I’m not going to change my mind. You need stability. You need to learn that there are consequences for your actions, whether good or bad.”

  “I’ve learned!” I insist. “I’ll never talk back to you at the office again. If there had been other employees around, I wouldn’t have done it. I swear.”

  “There’s one thing we can agree on,” he says as he presses the dildo portion of the contraption against my slit. “You’re going to be better behaved at the office. If you’re not, I’ll have to assume you want less sex and more of this.”

  He slides it into me, and I almost orgasm. The butt plug drags across my ass, but he’s not trying to shove it in. Yet.

  Hawthorne fucks me for a minute with the dildo.

  The sensation is pleasant enough, but it’s not doing it for me—the dildo’s not as thick as I’d like. After enjoying my bosses’ cocks so frequently, I’m spoiled when it comes to size. I’m used to being stretched fully and pounded hard.

  This thing is a disappointment.

  He pulls it almost all the way out, then he’s pressing the butt plug into my tight hole.

  My ass tightens against him, but one squeeze of my sore buttocks, and he convinces me to allow him in. It’s not like he can’t just shove in there, anyway.

  At first the plug doesn’t feel like much of anything, but as he pushes, it gets bigger and bigger, stretching me more.

  Even though it’s soft, it doesn’t feel like a cock does. It doesn’t react like a cock. It’s somehow more painful, though I have no idea why…

  I mean, I’ve had Romeo’s monster cock inside my ass. This thing should be a breeze.

  But it isn’t.

  And then the pain subsides, and there’s a fullness inside me.

  Hawthorne tugs down on the plug, moves it around a bit.

  I groan.

  Then the dildo is inside me, and he pushes both in deep.

  Despite all the times my bosses have double penetrated me, it never felt uncomfortable like this. It’s not painful, just… awkward.

  And I feel stupid.

  My groans turn into helpless whimpers as I rest my head on my forearm. My eyes are closed, but I can smell the expensive shampoo I’ve been using at Slade’s place.

  If only Slade were here, stroking my hair, my back.

  But he isn’t.

  Hawthorne runs his hands up and down my thighs. I keep waiting for him to turn me around, to make me suck him, but he doesn’t.

  “You look hot like this,” he says. “I almost find myself hoping you act up again. We’ve got much bigger butt plugs. The kinds that make you weep with gratitude when they’re removed.”

  “This one is plenty big,” I gasp.

  “It’s small compared to some of the things we’ve stuck inside you,” he says, sounding amused.

  “Doesn’t feel like it.” I push my hair out of my face, but Hawthorne presses onto my shoulders, keeping me bent over.

  When I settle down again, he caresses my entire body with long, possessive strokes. “Do you know why you’re not en
joying this? Do you know what’s missing?”

  Oh, all sorts of retorts dance on the tip of my tongue, but now isn’t the time to set them free.

  “We are what’s missing,” he says. “When you’ve got us pumping into you, when we’re horny and there’s nothing on earth that can sate our desire except you, it turns you on.”

  His hand slides up my back, and he brushes my hair out of my face as I turn my head toward him.

  When our eyes meet, it’s as if an electric jolt passes through the room. I think he feels it, too, because for a moment he looks startled.

  He leans in close. “There’s nothing so unpleasant that won’t turn you on if it turns us on. Your sexual desire is linked to ours. When we pegged you as a submissive, that’s the reason. It’s not just that you enjoy being dominated. Sexual pleasure without a degree of submission doesn’t do it for you.”

  “I was fine before you came along,” I say. My voice is soft.

  He leans in even more and nuzzles my ear, then sucks the lobe into his mouth, and I shiver.

  “Maybe you were,” he whispers, “but I’d guess that if you tried vanilla sex now, it would bore you to tears.”

  Abruptly, he moves away. His hand smacks against my ass, and the inserted sex toy drives even deeper. The spanked skin of my butt screams.

  “Tonight, you’ll sleep in here. Don’t come to our bedrooms. Don’t take it out, and don’t masturbate.” He points up at a corner of the room. “We’ll be watching.”

  “There’s no camera there,” I scoff quietly.

  “Really?” His blue eyes turn, curious, my way. “Are you positive about that?”

  I am…

  And then I’m not.

  It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to chance it. Once my body adjusts to this thing inside me, it won’t be so bad.

  Sleeping alone will be a lot worse.

  Hawthorne steps back and watches me.

  I’m not sure what he’s looking for, what he’s expecting, so I decide to ignore him.

  Pulling my knees in, I carefully roll myself onto my back.

  It’s too bad the dildo isn’t bigger, that it doesn’t have an extra bit to rub against my clit.