Blackmailed by the beast
Page 2
Not pity.
Not empathy.
It’s an odd thing. I’ve never felt it before. I try to pinpoint the feeling, but I can’t. Then it hits me. I have felt this before. Never for a human being and not since I became an adult. I feel protective. It’s the way I felt about my puppy when the silly thing injured itself and whimpered with pain.
This is not good. I turn away from her, not wanting her to see the expression on my face. “All right, I will wait for you at reception. Do not be long.”
“I won’t,” she promises.
Chelsea
The door closes behind him. Minutes, I have only minutes.
Not enough time. Think, Chelsea. Think.
Right, there is no longer anything for me here. I won’t be able to come back to this job, or this life again. This is the moment I’ve always dreaded, and it’s just as fearful as it is in my dreams. When you’re a thief, you live on that gleaming knife edge. When you’re a thief, you’ve planned your escape.
I pull the bug-out bag from my bottom drawer. The idea came from an article I read written by an ex-Navy Seal. He always had a bug-out bag filled with the essentials he would need on a moment’s notice. Grab your bug-out bag and go. Mine doesn’t include ammo and an automatic with silencer. Mine is simpler, more civilian. It has a fake passport, a burner phone, and credit cards with my fake name on it.
I’ve disappeared before. I can do it again.
From the canvas bag, I pull out a pair of faded blue jeans, the type of nondescript hoodie worn by your average convenience store robber, and a pair of running shoes. Transformations come in many sizes and hues. I slip out of my clothes and heels quickly and get into my escape gear. I try to do up the laces, but my hands are shaking so much, I end up tucking them into the sides of my shoes. I remove the crab clip that’s been holding up my long brown hair, and the silky strands cascade down my face and shoulders. Pinning up my hair, I grab the dirty-blonde wig and fit it on my head.
I stuff my suit, blouse, and purse into the bug-out bag, and sling it over my shoulder. Slide on a pair of sunglasses, and look around my office. All the photos of my ‘significant other’ are fake. I take one last look at the little plant I have so lovingly watered. Like everything in my life it is expendable. Let it go, I tell myself. I will get another plant. Exactly like this. Somebody else will take care of this one.
I can go now. There is not one person I need to say goodbye to. There is nothing left here for me. There never was.
I open the door to quickly check the hallway. There’s no one around so I step outside and close the door behind me. Hanging my head down, I walk as fast as I can towards the elevator. I call it and keep my head down. Karen from Audit passes behind me, but in my wig and hoodie disguise, she doesn’t give me a second glance. The elevator arrives and I walk inside. The doors swish shut and I am alone.
As the elevator makes its quick descent to the ground floor, I pull a stick of gum from my bag and stuff it into my mouth to complete my image. I’m a full 180 degrees away from the uptight accountant I was just minutes ago.
Now, I’m the girl with a tax problem because I never reported the tips I got while working at the diner. Like the government needs my paltry dimes. I try to remember the twang I should use if someone asks me a question.
The doors open with a ping.
As I step off the elevator, I spot the two large suited men by the entrance. I’ll be damned if I get this far only to be caught by a pair of goons. Even after two years I recognize them. They are his men. They’ve been sent here to keep an eye on me in case I do exactly what I’m attempting to do now. Fortunately for me, they’re looking for a dark-haired accountant in a conservative dark suit so, I have the advantage. I spotted them first so I drop my head and take a left.
Rule two of a bug out—always have an alternative escape route.
I move with a nonchalant gait towards the back entrance. I make it seem as if it is the most normal thing for a hoodie to belong in that polished space. By a fluke of luck, I just narrowly manage not to run head-on into Sienna, one of the secretaries. A wig and a hoodie would not have fooled her. I drop down and pretend to fiddle with my shoes until she passes.
Pumped up with adrenaline, I get across the lobby and start walking towards the janitor’s room. If anyone recognizes me here it is not too dire. I’m good friends with all the cleaners. But I meet no one. Ahead is the door into the alleyway. I’m so close I can almost taste freedom. My heart is beating like an African drum as I open the door.
I can’t believe it.
I’m out!
Then …
Two massive men in dark suits appear at the end of the alleyway. They plant their feet shoulder-width apart and keep their arms relaxed by their sides of their bodies. Without any expression they stare at me. Why do these types always wear sunglasses?
I know I can run faster than them so I spin around and get ready to run like the criminal I am, but a black stretch limo rounds the corner slowly like an ocean liner. Long, blacked out, it’s the equivalent of a hearse, and for me, it means a fate worse than death. My heart sinks. I cannot spend three months with the man. It broke my heart to steal from him. It will torture me to be with him.
I stare at the car stupidly as it comes to a smooth stop a few yards in front of me. It’s so brand new it almost doesn’t look real. His driver gets out and without looking at me goes to open the rear door. Then he stands next to it expectantly, saying nothing, just waiting.
What choice do I have but to brazen this thing out?
There will be other escape opportunities, I tell myself. I take a tentative step towards the car. My mind is a big fat blank. There is not one coherent thought in it. I walk slowly to try to stall for as long as I can. The closer I get to the car the more desperate I become. Like a trapped rat clawing and biting at the steel cage.
I reach the open door and pause. Only the lower half of him is visible. I note his trousers and his shoes. The best wool, the best tailor, the best leather. Other than the perfectly sharp middle creases on his trousers there is not a single mark or wrinkle on them. His shoes shine like a mirror. It is just like looking at an airbrushed picture in a glossy magazine. Unreal.
None of this is real.
It can’t be.
With my heart crashing in my chest, I lean down. This is my moment of truth.
“Get in,” he says curtly.
Chelsea
I climb into his car and the driver closes the door. The sound is just a soft click, but it makes me jump. Now I know for certain. I can no longer fool myself. There will be no escape. There is nowhere to run or hide. I have to repay my debt. It is either submit to him for three months, or find myself in prison for years. Looking at his coldly furious expression, I know without any doubt that he will make sure that it will be the latter if I ever try to run from him again.
I slump against the seat. My breath comes out in a long sigh. It feels as if I have been holding this breath in for two years. I have been running so long I am almost at peace knowing I’ve been caught. There’ll be no more looking over my shoulder for this cold, ruthless man; or running away from him in my dreams. I turn to look at him.
In the dimness of the car his eyes glitter like they are reflections of billowing smoke on glass. He’s livid. I wonder if he’s been angry these past two years. I pull my purse closer towards me; as if unconsciously shielding myself from his gaze. He snaps his fingers, and my eyes flicker towards the glass partition smoothly moving upwards.
“Where did you get that god-awful wig?”
Surprised, I touch my wig.
“Take it off,” he orders.
I drag it off my head and hold it in my hands.
“Were you running away from me … again?” he asks. His voice is cool and calm; almost pleasant. It makes my heart beat even faster. I don’t remember him ever sounding this way. For a man with such burning intensity, the sweet almost amused way he is speaking is unsettling.
I shake
my head automatically.
“I told you I’d be waiting for you at the front of the building. Yet here you are, appearing from the back entrance.”
I know that he’s never liked being taken for a fool. Continuing this lie would be pointless, especially since it’s pretty obvious exactly what I was up to.
“I’m really sorry,” I whisper.
“Are you really, little Chelsea?”
I bite my lower lip.
His gaze dips down to my mouth before rising up to meet my eyes. He raises one thick eyebrow. “Perhaps you enjoy annoying me.”
I shake my head. “No.”
He looks at me curiously. “Were you trying to provoke me into punishing you?”
“I wasn’t,” I gasp, my fingers clutching my wig.
Thorne appears to lose interest in the conversation. He taps a button and the limousine purrs to life. The car moves forward as if it is floating on air. I study him intensely so that I can be a step ahead of him if I need to be, noticing every movement his body makes. He turns his face towards me, jaw clenched.
“Come here, Chelsea,” he commands. His words are like ice and the hairs on my neck stand on end.
Unsure what to do, I lick my lips nervously. I hate to admit it, but mixed in with fear is pure excitement. No one makes me feel like he does. When he walks into a room the very air crackles with electricity and anticipation.
From the first moment I saw him, I wanted him with a clawing need. I lusted for the feel of his lips on my throat. I hungered for him to open my legs and take what he wanted. As time went on and he looked at me with nothing but cold professionalism I needed to completely submit to him, but always the burning intensity of my craving scared the shite out of me. I thought I could tame the desire. After I left, I thought it would go away with time, but no, it’s just become worse and worse.
No matter what I did or where I went the lust for him never went away. I thought of him every day and dreamed of him at night. Sometimes, like a drug addict, I gave in and searched the net for stories of him. There was almost never anything. Why would there be? I knew what he was like.
He locked himself away in his high security home, building his AI. The only thing I gleaned about him was his AI was due for an unveiling in two days at a secret location in London.
All the invited guests were told only to keep the morning of that date free. The location would only be revealed individually to them, the time set to coincide with exactly how long it would take them to reach the secret location from their addresses. I knew all of London was abuzz. Those that received an invitation have cancelled all their plans in anticipation. This reveal is supposed to change everything in robotics.
“Why?” I whisper now, staring into those mysterious, unknowable alligator eyes.
“Come … here …” he repeats, a slight edge to his voice.
My dark past rises up, and I don’t want to obey. I have worked so hard to make sure I’ll never be in a position of helplessness again, but another part of me, a secret part, wants—no, wants is far too weak a word—hungers to submit to him. And that makes me afraid of him. I’m terrified he has the power to unhinge me. To callously undo the carefully painted mask I show to the world.
“Thorne, please…”
“I’m not going to ask again.” His voice is cold and clipped.
My heart starts racing. Every self-preservation instinct in me kicks back. My hands clench to stop myself from lashing out, but I agreed to this. If I am to survive intact I have to learn to save my energy, keep the soft core of myself hidden. Fighting him every step of the way would eventually expose me. I can do this and still stay strong. I am strong. It will take more than him to make me fall apart.
Chelsea
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JF8BRvqGCNs
(Stay)
I take a deep breath and scoot a couple of inches closer to him.
He reaches out his powerful hand and holds it a few inches away from me. I look at it, then his expressionless face, and back to his hand. Gingerly, I move my hand towards his, unsure of what to expect.
The moment my fingertips reach his palm, fast as a knife-cut, he grabs hold of my hand, and yanks me towards him. I collapse over his lap. Except for the horrified gasp that escapes my lips, I’m too stunned to speak. The smell of the luxurious leather upholstery fills my nostrils and I can feel the hard muscles of his thighs under me.
I don’t struggle. I don’t do anything. I can’t. I just remain frozen and wait.
Thorne slips a hand under me and opens the closure of my jeans and pulls down the zip. Yanking my jeans down to my thighs, he rests a hand on my ass. Embarrassment floods my body. Why did I choose today to wear a black thong?
“Mmm …”
The hum makes me shudder. When he lays his large palm on my ass, I can’t help my entire body from clenching or my nipples from swelling and hardening.
“You’re far too nervous. Relax,” he murmurs soothingly as he tightens his grasp around my waist and runs the fingers of his other hand along the bare skin of my bottom. One of his thick fingers slowly slips in between my legs. For heart-stopping seconds, he feels around the silky, wet folds for my clit. I grit my teeth and don’t allow myself to moan with pleasure at the exquisite sensation.
As quickly as the touching begins, it ends. His hand is suddenly gone. When it comes back down on my flesh it is with such force that the crack reverberates around the interior of the car.
I scream out in shock at the intense burst of pain. I try to wriggle out of his grip but his hold is like steel.
“You … will … obey … me … Chelsea Appleby,” he says, biting the words out with each new burning slap. Hot tears roll down my face and I have to bite down on my lip to prevent myself from crying out.
It is the most humiliating thing possible. To have a man punishing me like a naughty child, but a tiny knot is forming in my stomach, making me tremble with an aching perverse craving.
I never thought it, but it turns me on to know that his driver is on the other side of the partition and could possibly be hearing every sound Thorne’s hand makes on my ass. I like the idea that I can cry out for help at any time, but I don’t want to. He lands another blow, and I feel the vibration of it between my legs. My ass is on fire, but it is a pain that is mixed with an achy, illicit pleasure. In fact, I am shocked by how much the pain electrifies my pleasure. Each sensation working off the other. My sex begins to throb harder and harder with every blow. It’s building into a crescendo.
I want him to reach for my clit again.
When he angles his hand, the next blow lands on my pussy. I gasp for air. Just as my pussy is dripping and I almost climax, he stops. He stops and gently tugs my jeans up. Thorne pulls me upright and sets me down next to him. I’m too afraid to look in his eyes. Too afraid to let him know how close I was to having an orgasm by what he just did to me.
Thorne reaches out to me, this time he is reaching for my face. I try not to flinch and keep my eyes on him as his hand brushes against my cheek. His touch makes me shiver. Then he slips his hand behind my head, and pulls my face right up to his so that I cannot avert my eyes even if I want to.
His face is more wildly beautiful than I remember. With his raven colored hair falling across his forehead, and his steely eyes like the ashy remnants of a fire, I begin to melt inside. My eyes travel down the strong, masculine bones of his cheeks, his proud Roman nose, and his jaw.
“Do not disobey me again, Chelsea. The next time I will not be so kind.” He breathes the words right into my face. They send a chill down my spine. Looking straight into his eyes, I search for his weakness. He cannot be so cold and cruel. He is not one of the AIs he builds. There must be some human emotion in him.
He pulls away from me suddenly and removes his grip from the back of my neck, but his touch lingers long after he has moved his hand away. I am still reeling by the way he had decided to punish me, and the way he claimed complete ownership of me.
I sit on my burning bottom a foot away from him and stare out of the window, frustrated not to have been allowed to come, and shocked that I had come so close to climax while he was punishing me.
Chelsea
Many hours later, Thorne is still sitting next to me, but we are in a different limousine with a different driver, and in a different country. I look out of the window as we navigate through the streets of London.
I was born in a farmhouse in France, but I was raised right here, in the inner-city of London. I watch the people going about their business and feel a strange sense of disconnect. I never belonged in New York, but I don’t belong here either. I really believed I would only ever come back here for one thing, but here I am, with only the clothes on my back.
Thorne drove me back to my apartment so I could pick up my passport. I don’t even know why I bothered to ask if it would be possible to go up to my apartment alone. His dark eyebrows came together in a forbidding line and his nostrils flared with impatience, but the truth was I was not intending to defy him again. I already knew it would be pointless to run.
I just wanted a moment on my own. I felt so vulnerable, so exposed. My thighs were wet and I wanted to change my underwear. Even more important I didn’t want him in my tiny studio-apartment. I want to hide as much of myself from him as I can.
“Take only your passport. Everything else you need will be provided,” he reminded me as we walked to the elevator.
I nodded, and after that no more words were exchanged. When I put my key into the door and pushed it open, he followed me in. His powerful presence filled the whole space. My apartment felt like a coffin. While his laser sharp eyes snaked around his surroundings coldly, I used the bathroom. My underwear and jeans were soaked through so I changed into a skirt. After getting my passport from the cupboard, I followed him out, putting my fate in his hands.