by EM BROWN
His For A Week:
TORMENTED
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
TORMENTED
First edition. August 2, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 EM BROWN.
Written by EM BROWN.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
What have I done?
Kimani Taylor had slept deep and dreamless, waking alone to the feel of luxury surrounding her body in the form of silken sheets and a feather bed.
Morning light streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows. Last night she had been too exhausted to appreciate the modern elegance of the bedroom that included a panoramic view of San Francisco’s Pacific Heights, plush rugs over gleaming hardwood floors, and a gas fireplace six feet wide opposite the bed.
A part of her wanted to stay snuggled in the bed, but she had work to do. Too many times, thanks to one Benjamin Lee and his killer caresses, she had lost sight of her objective: to expose the Scarlet Auction and its exploitation of the women participating in its program. In doing so, she would become the journalist she was meant to be.
No more messing around with Ben. She wasn’t here for sex. Or to be someone’s fucktoy. Besides, Ben had given—or maybe extracted was a better term—enough orgasms to last the week.
But he expected sex. And not just a vanilla quickie. If she wanted to get her scoop and put a stop to the dubious operations of the Scarlet Auction, how was she going to accomplish that without having sex?
Deciding that the answer might come to her in the course of the day, she looked about the room for clothes but remembered she had left her things on a sofa in the main room, and Ben had torn the tank top she had worn yesterday.
A shiver went through her as memories of his playroom taunted her, making the warmth churn below her belly.
To quell the sensations, she wrapped a sheet around her nakedness and got out of bed. A clock on the wall indicated it was a few minutes past six. She opened the bedroom door and made her way into the living area.
Ben was outside on the basketball court going through what looked like tai chi movements. He wore only sweatpants, and she tried her best not to salivate at the sight of his sleek muscles. They had just the right amount of contour and hardness to them, not too puffy or swollen-looking. Most of the time, he had her too tied up to touch him. She imagined what it would feel like to run her hands over his pecs, his abdomen, his—
As if sensing her gaze on him, Ben turned around. His expression seemed to soften before he came inside. She decided that she liked the look of morning stubble about his jaw.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
She nodded. “Beats sleeping on the mattress in Jake’s basement.”
More like the bed was in an entirely different stratosphere.
His gaze took in the bedsheet she wore, and even though he had seen her fully naked, she couldn’t help but blush. It was the intensity of his stare. That wolf-eying-red-riding-hood look.
Remembering her resolve to keep focused, she said, “I thought I would get in a shower before getting dressed, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed her things.
“You won’t need the clothes from the thrift shop,” he said as he headed into the open kitchen.
Was he going to make her walk around naked the whole time, like Jake required of the other women still at the lakeside cabin? She frowned at the thought, even though she had been plenty naked in front of Ben already. “Why not?”
Opening the black stainless refrigerator, he pulled out eggs and cracked a few into a glass.
“Aren’t you afraid of getting salmonella?” she asked as she watched him down the raw eggs.
“The eggs are delivered fresh from a farm in Sonoma County. Their chickens are pasture-raised. The chances of salmonella are low.”
“I’ve heard of cage-free eggs, but what’s pasture-raised?”
“Cage-free doesn’t always mean the chickens get to roam in the fresh outdoors. They could still be in a cage, only it’s barn-sized. And they could still be fed a corn and soy diet.”
“Is that bad?”
“Chickens are omnivores. Like many other birds, they eat bugs.”
“Oh. That makes sense, though I never thought of chickens that way. Guess I’ll think twice next time I buy eggs with the labels ‘cage-free’ and ‘vegetarian-fed.’”
She tucked the information away. There was a lot about the food industry that could make for compelling stories.
“So how do eggs taste raw?” she asked.
“Best way to find out is to try for yourself.”
“You don’t like them cooked?”
He cracked an egg into a new glass. “I like them cooked but there are certain benefits in their raw state.”
He presented her the glass. She stared into it. The yolk stared back.
“Yogurt and granola is more my thing for breakfast...”
She wondered if he was going to make her drink the raw egg the way he made her drink green tea. To beat him to the punch, she downed the egg. She set the glass down as if she had just thrown back a shot of whiskey.
“That went down so fast, did you get a chance to taste anything?” he asked.
“Not really, but I don’t think I’m missing out.”
She saw a grin tug a corner of his mouth.
“So about my clothes,” she said, “what’s the problem with them?”
“You need better clothes to have breakfast at the Pacific Room.”
She did a double take. “I’m coming to your meeting?”
He eyed her carefully. “Any reason you shouldn’t come?”
Her pulse quickened. Sam, her mentor and editor at the San Francisco Tribune, had said she was in a unique position to provide some insight into Oakland’s mayoral race as Gordon Lee, one of the frontrunners, was Ben’s uncle. Sam had also been interested in the Oakland waterfront property that the Lee family planned to redevelop.
At first she had shared Sam’s excitement at the opportunity, and she had initially requested Sam dig into Benjamin Lee because she was worried about who she had been sold to. But Ben was nothing like Jake Whitehurst, who had initially bid on her at the Scarlet Auction.
And she had gone undercover to expose the Scarlet Auction, not cover the Lee family.
“No answer, pet?”
That last word snapped her from her thoughts. She decided she liked it better than Slut #2, Jake’s moniker for her, but she wasn’t sold on being “pet.”
She evaded his question by asking, “This is a work meeting, right? About the waterfront property in Oakland?”
“Is that a problem?” He poured two glasses of water and pushed one across the counter in her direction. “Drink.”
She raised a brow. “No green tea?”
“Water first. Most people don’t drink enough water.”
She walked over and took the glass. “Is this part of your BDSM thing? You like to micromanage what your subs eat and drink?”
“Not always, but when I choose to, I expect you to obey.”
The rebel from her teenage years reared its head, but she was wise enough now to know not to fight the smaller battles. She started to drink the water.
“So who’s your meeting with?” she asked between sips.
“The head of the Asian Community Alliance in Oakland. Dawson Chang.”
She choked on the water. Of all the people for Ben to be meeting with, did it have to be someone who knew her to be a reporter?
“You okay?” he asked after her coughing fit had settled.
She nodded. “Water went down the wrong pipe.”
He was looking at her as if he meant to stare straight through her.
“Is it just you and Dawson Chang?” she asked.
He folded his arms. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. It seems rather awkward to bring me to a work meeting. Are you going to pass me off as your assistant or something?”
As much as Sam might have loved for her to be a fly on the wall of a meeting between Benjamin Lee and one of the most influential community leaders in the city, she couldn’t risk exposing herself. While Dawson might not remember her from two years ago, when she was a journalism student writing a profile on Carlos De Reyes, the youngest person ever to serve on the city’s planning commission and one whom Dawson had mentored, she couldn’t take that chance.
“I don’t have to pass you off as anything,” Ben replied.
“Then how are you going to explain my presence?”
“I don’t owe him an explanation.”
“But Dawson’ll wonder.”
He raised a brow. “You’re on a first-name basis with him?”
“Well, calling him Mr. Chang sounds rather old-fashioned.”
He seemed to buy that. For now.
In researching De Reyes’ background, she had come across an old photo of him with Dawson at a noted hangout for the Communist Party. Carlos had admitted to being in the league during his college days and credited Dawson as the biggest influence in his life. According to Carlos, Dawson could do no wrong. She had later interviewed Dawson about Carlos and asked him if he had been a member of the league as well. Dawson had replied, “No comment.” At Carlos’ request, she had omitted any mention of the league in her write-up.
“What if he thinks I’m your date—or some call girl you picked up?”
He grinned. “Is that better or worse than being my pet?”
She returned his mocking smile with a scowl. But what if he wasn’t joking around? She imagined him commanding her to do something embarrassing—like fetching something in the middle of breakfast. It was one thing to engage in petplay in the relative solitude of a cabin in the boondocks of Northern California, and quite another to bring their master-sub relationship into a public place in the community where she had grown up.
“I think you’d get a lot more done without me tagging along,” she said.
“You’re not expected to participate in the meeting.”
“Then why have me there?”
“Because I feel like bringing you along.”
“You don’t trust me to hang out by myself?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to be a difficult pet?”
“I’m trying to help you out. And truth be told, I don’t know that I want to sit in a boring developers’ meeting.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind to bore easily,” he said. “You strike me as the curious type.”
He was assessing her again. She decided to finish her water to show she wasn’t trying to be difficult on purpose. What else could she say to persuade him?
“We don’t have time to swing by my place to get clothes that would be appropriate for the Pacific Room,” she said, even though it wasn’t impossible if they hustled.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“How?”
“My assistant can grab some things from the store.”
“No shop is open at this hour.”
He turned to his cellphone, which lay on the counter. “Call Beth.”
“Good morning, Ben,” came a woman’s voice after the second ring. “Your reservation is confirmed for the Pacific Room.”
“Thank you. I also need reservations for Ishikawa West tonight and to do some clothes shopping for—”
“But I still owe you for the stuff we bought in Weaverville,” Kimani protested, refusing to have someone who didn’t know her tastes shop for her.
Ben looked her over. “Female in her mid-twenties. Five foot six. About a hundred twenty pounds. Thirty-eight, twenty-six, thirty-six. Size eight shoes.”
“Thirty-eight, twenty-eight, thirty-eight” she corrected under her breath, miffed that he had ignored her and had her measurements down. She gestured for his attention and whispered, “But I don’t want—”
“I need the clothes in time—”
“I don’t want or need new clothes,” she tried again a little louder.
“—for my meeting with Dawson.”
“That doesn’t leave me much time,” Beth replied, sounding much less fazed than Kimani would have expected.
“Shop fast.”
“Shop fast?” Kimani echoed after Ben had hung up. “Even if your assistant could find a shop open this early in the morning, I don’t need new clothes.”
“Beth is very resourceful. She’ll be here. With the clothes.”
Partially intrigued at how this was possible, Kimani speculated aloud, “I guess Target could be open this early.”
“Beth will probably get Monica to open her boutique early.”
She frowned. “Boutique?”
“Monica is a family friend and owns a boutique downtown.”
Kimani usually didn’t shop the type of stores that could afford the rent downtown.
As if guessing her thoughts, he said, “You don’t have to pay for the clothes.”
It probably shouldn’t matter to her if he wanted to buy her clothes, given that he had “bought” her, but she wanted to maintain a little of her dignity. “Look, I know you could probably afford to buy the whole boutique and then some, but I’m not a charity case and I’m not looking for handouts or gifts.”
“Who said I’m giving the clothes to you?”
“You don’t plan on returning clothes that have been worn?”
He had made two cups of green tea as they spoke. “Of course not.”
“Then what will happen to them after I’m done—assuming I wear any of them.”
“I’ll have Beth donate them to Goodwill.”
She couldn’t complain about that. Putting aside the issues of the clothes, however, she still had to find a way out of the meeting with Dawson Chang.
“I’m sure your assistant has better things to do than to go shopping for me,” she stated. “Like I said, I’d much rather skip your business meeting.”
“You’d still need clothes. For dinner tonight. And it’s not at a noodle house in Chinatown.”
“Doing this Scarlet Auction thing is not something I’d like to broadcast to the world. I’d prefer to keep a low profile during this week, so please don’t make me go to this meeting in a public restaurant.”
He seemed to take what she said into consideration. To keep him in a better mood, she drank all of her green tea, which surprised her with its crisp aroma. She wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but this was easily the best tea she had ever had.
“If you want out of this meeting,” Ben said slowly as he eyed her in a way that immediately set her on edge, “you had better ante up.”
CHAPTER TWO
Her resistance had returned, which was why Ben pushed. He could see her guard come up in the way her chin lifted, her shoulders straightened
and her lips moved. Those lush, fuckable lips. He wanted to reach over, haul her over the counter and ravish her in the kitchen. But he had to settle the source of her resistance. Was it the sex or the meeting with Dawson?
What the bloody fuck am I doing?
He had no business bringing her to such an important meeting in the first place. He never brought dates, let alone expensive call girls, to business meetings.
But he liked having Kimani around. Knowing that he only had a limited number of days with her made him want to maximize their time together.
“What kind of ‘ante?’” she asked carefully.
“Go take your shower. I’ll let you know afterwards.”
She wanted to know now, he could tell, but she grabbed her stuff and retreated down the hall back to the bedroom. He sent a follow-up text to Beth about the clothes, then one to Stephens to pull the contract that Jake would have signed with the Scarlet Auction. Jake had texted Ben last night:
Need to call in my loaner. Turns out I’m not supposed to sell my sluts to third parties. You’ll have to bring her back.
Fuck that had been Ben’s first thought. But it made sense the Scarlet Auction would want to keep matters to only the parties who had signed agreements with them. Nevertheless, he texted Jake:
Will let you know.
He was far from being done with Kimani, and he wanted his full week with her. His cock had started stirring when he saw her wrapped in his bedsheets, and was now hard as he recalled the many ways she had spent for him last night. He adjusted himself and contemplated what she should ante up. So many options...
The prospects heated his blood. He had to clear his head or he’d be thinking of Kimani during his meeting with Dawson, so he headed down the hall into the bedroom, where he heard the shower going through the bathroom door.
Walking into the bathroom, he saw her standing beneath the waterfall showerhead. Shampoo suds inched down different parts of her body. The frameless shower doors weren’t frosted, so he saw her clearly. He drank in the sight of her breasts, her belly, the black curls at the base of her pelvis, and the rounded arse. His gaze lingered on her buttocks. So ripe for spanking, flogging and caning. And fucking. He remembered well how they’d sounded when he had pounded her from behind last night.