Submission: Servicing the Billionaire Part 4 (A BDSM Erotic Romance)

  Submission: Servicing the Billionaire Part 4 (A BDSM Erotic Romance)

  Published by Adriana Rossi at Smashwords

  Copyright 2012 Adriana Rossi

  Discover other titles by Adriana Rossi at Smashwords.com

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical reviews.

  * * *

  She left work in a hurry so that she could go home and read the rest of the contract. As soon as she had passed the threshold of her apartment, she grabbed her laptop out of her bag and powered it on. She printed the contract, which was a whopping 68 pages, and made a cup of tea. Mary seized the freshly printed paper and stapled them together, determined to get through it all.

  Soon, almost the entirety of the contract was highlighted in yellow. What was ‘caning?’ Fisting? Much of the terminology was lost on her. She researched a bit online, her eyes widening at the photos depicting various acts. She found out enough to know that if she allowed Mr. White to do all the sexual acts listed on the contract, she would soon be colored in black and blue. Not all of it was horrible, though. The idea of being handcuffed and tied to a stock, allowing Mr. White to take her in any position he wanted, filled her body with warmth. But did she really want to be on call for him, subject to his every whim? Mary wasn’t sure.

  In the morning, she dressed in modest clothes. She gave a wry grin at the thought of how it would annoy her demanding boss.

  * * *

  The restaurant Mr. White had chosen for lunch was small and had an alarming amount of windows. It was the afternoon and the sidewalk was awash in sunlight. Mary peered at the restaurant’s interior under her sunglasses, wondering how on earth they would get through lunch without Mr. White roasting to a crisp.

  As the hostess opened the doors for her, she spotted him in a secluded area of the restaurant far away from the windows. Looking outside, she noticed that it was quite dark; the windows must have been tinted.

  “I’m meeting someone—”

  “Ms. Kramar,” she interjected. “Yes, right this way.”

  Mary followed the smartly dressed hostess. Mr. White’s handsome face lifted from the menu and gave her a rare smile. A pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses rested on the table, and his fingers drummed happily on the wood. Her heart pounded as she took her seat, returning the smile. He poured her a glass of Chardonnay.

  “I’m very happy to see you here, Miss Kramar.”

  Mary reached for her glass and took a sip of wine. It was strange. Mr. White was often moody and sarcastic, but the expression on his face was light. She could practically feel the giddiness emanating from him the way he bounced in his seat.

  “Good to see you,” she said. She glanced around before whispering in a low voice. “Isn’t a place like this dangerous for your…condition?”

  “I just found this place. Tinted windows that block UV rays,” he sighed and stared longingly at the people walking down the sidewalk.

  She set the glass down. “I have some questions about the contract?”

  “Well, I thought the contract was quite clear,” he said, adopting a business-like tone again.

  The wine slipped down her throat as she considered her question. She was almost afraid of the answer, but had to ask. “What exactly do you want from me, Mr. White?” She gestured to the contract. “Is this strictly a friends with benefits thing or—are you looking for a relationship?”

  To her relief, Mr.White didn’t laugh in response to her question. He studied the table, suddenly thoughtful. “What I envision for us is a dominant-submissive relationship. You must understand; I crave control. To outsiders, you would look like my date. I will take you to events, out to dinner, whatever you like. I do not usually have exclusive relationships with my subs.” He looked at her over his wine, his eyes raking across her flesh. “But, in your case…Well, I won’t make any promises,” his voice drifted as he took another gulp of wine, savoring the taste as if her blood was rolling on his tongue.

  Mary felt a little stab of disappointment. She definitely didn’t want to share him with anyone else. Even the thought of him drinking someone else’s blood filled her throat with bile.

  “I am a hard man to please, Mary,” he said, sensing her thoughts.

  “What will I be, then?”

  He grinned with those impossibly white teeth. “My obedient slave. I will provide you with a pager. I expect to be called back immediately after being paged. I might even email you. In any case, you are to obey my every command and serve my every whim.

  “However,” he said hurriedly. “This does not mean that your needs will be swept aside. That is why I drafted a contract. We can talk about what’s acceptable for you and what’s not.”

  Mary didn’t know what to say. A pager, really? Who uses them anymore?

  “Why don’t you just text me with a cell phone? Pagers haven’t been used since the nineties.”

  “A cell phone,” he considered doubtfully. “I don’t like them.”

  “For a successful business man, you’re a bit behind the times,” she muttered under her breath.

  Mr. White heard. “Did you just criticize me, Miss Kramar?”

  She flinched at the venom in his voice and quailed under his furious gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

  “You’re lucky we’re in a public place, or I would flog you for such disrespect.”

  A sudden thrill shot through her body at the threat. Everything he was saying sounded fantastic, even the fact that she would be utterly helpless under his control. She was tangled in his sticky web, paralyzed by her attraction to him. She just wanted him. “I don’t want people at work to judge me,” she said, voicing her concern for the first time.

  Their lunches finally arrived. Mr. White had ordered for her—blackened chicken with squash ragout. How could he have known that she loved this dish? He must have seen her bring it in for lunch one day, and made a mental note about it in his head. Evidently, Mr. White was far more observant than she ever gave him credit for. To her horror, she felt tears threatening her eyes. It was a thoughtful gesture that she would have never expected of her boyfriends. Mr. White is not your boyfriend.

  “Mary,” he said when the waiter had gone. “Who cares what anyone thinks?”

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed without incident. Mary did not catch a glimpse of her boss. She avoided everyone’s eyes as if they knew what she had done. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she thought about what she had agreed. In the end, she had signed his contract, a strange feeling filling her gut as she left the restaurant.

  She was so distracted that she almost missed an email from her boss.

  From: Matthew White (matthew.white@whitegroup.com)

  To: Mary Kramar (mkramar@whitegroup.com)

  Subject: Tonight

  Slave,

  Your presence will be required at my apartment tonight. A car will be waiting for you after work to take you shopping—your current wardrobe is unsuitable for my needs. There is an envelope in your desk containing a credit card I have provided for you. Also, you will be accompanying me on Thursday to Houston.

  That will be all for now.

  Matthew White

  CEO, White Group Inc.

  Mary giggled nervously as she read the email’s contents, but stifled the laugh quickly when she thought what Mr. White’s reaction would be if he had seen her laughing. So, she was going on the bu
siness trip with him. Mary’s heart was filled with glee as she imagined a romantic getaway with her boss, wining and dining with all the bigwigs. She typed back, thinking that she might as well do the thing properly.

  From: Mary Kramar (mkramar@whitegroup.com)

  To: Matthew White (matthew.white@whitegroup.com)

  Subject: Re: Tonight

  Master,

  She faltered as she began the email. Exactly what was she supposed to say? She fought to keep her lips set in a firm line as giggles threatened to burst from her mouth.

  Yes, Master.

  Mary Kramar

  Executive Assistant

  She laughed again and sent the email, hoping that it would be suitable. Mary glanced around nervously before she filed the email in a special folder. It wouldn’t do if anyone accidentally caught a glimpse of the email.

  * * *

  Later, she was riding the elevator to the street with her coworkers. They made small talk, but Mary was transfixed on the floor numbers they passed. She couldn’t believe it when she saw a black town car parked in front of the building, the driver recognizing her immediately.

  “Miss Kramar,” he greeted her with a warm smile as he opened the passenger door. Her coworkers ogled her as she stepped inside; no doubt they were making their own conclusions based on the paparazzi photo taken of Mr. White and her. Mary gave them a smile and a little wave as the door shut.

  She sat on something that made a noise, and lifted herself to grab a white envelope. It was addressed to “My Little Slave.” A piece of plastic slipped out of the envelope and Mary caught it. The printed name on the credit card was her own, but the account number must have been Mr. White’s. Excitement flooding her stomach, Mary took the small sheaf of paper inside and unfolded it.

  Slave,

  The driver will bring you to several places where I have reserved a small collection of items to my liking for you to browse through. I require my subs to wear a collar in my presence at all times. The driver will take you to Tiffany’s, where I have already ordered several custom made collars. They are different styles for various occasions, but again, I expect you to wear a collar at all times in my presence. It signifies my ownership of you and will keep others at bay when we are out in public. Failure to wear the collar will result in punishment.

  I also would like you to purchase more clothes for tonight and the nights to come. Please use the card at your leisure.

  - M.W.

  By the time she had read and digested the letter’s contents, the car had shuddered to a halt in front of Tiffany’s. Trembling, she grabbed her purse and left the vehicle. Mary had never even walked inside a Tiffany’s. She had avoided the store based on the assumption she would never be able to afford anything inside, so what was the point of torturing herself?

  She hesitated as she pushed open the door. There was a nagging feeling inside her that they would know at once that she was a fraud—that she could not afford anything in the store. Mary clutched the piece of plastic in her purse as if she was afraid of losing it.

  After gazing longingly at platinum earrings with sapphires on display, Mary approached the front of the counter.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes, Mr. White ordered a few pieces of jewelry for me?”

  “Ah, yes.” The attendant seemed to disregard Mary’s insecurity. She reached under the counter and produced three black boxes.

  Mary opened the first and almost closed it immediately, blushing crimson. The first leather collar was studded with hundreds of small, white gold spikes that were packed together. It was definitely not something she would wear around the office. The second was simpler, yet still beautiful. It had an intricate design but it was not studded with jewels. She would most likely wear that one to the office. The third—Mary gasped out loud. It was made of three slim bands of metal that were encrusted with thousands of small diamonds. It sparkled even in the dimly lit store. Mary replaced it in the box carefully, and then paid for all three. God, he has great taste.

  Her chauffeur brought her to a succession of stores, where Mary pawed through a selection of dresses and skirts, which ranged from highly inappropriate to dangerously sexy. Her cheeks burned throughout the process as if they had been stained with crimson. She entered Victoria’s Secret to find that Mr. White had reserved a large amount of lingerie for her to browse through—many of them were lacy thongs. Guilt bubbled in her throat as she gave the cashier Mr. White’s credit card. Was she taking advantage of him? He had written in the note to buy whatever she wanted, and still Mary could not escape her feelings of guilt as she racked up thousands on his card.

  Fortunately, the shopping did not take too many hours. Mr. White had carefully selected clothes that almost seemed tailored to her body type. She did not have to try many of them on; they all seemed to hug her body. She marveled at his incredible good eye for fashion. How in the world did he learn how to pick clothes for women? It only enhanced his mystery and her attraction to him.

  “Mr. White will be coming by to pick you up at eight,” the driver said as he bid her good-bye.

  Mary thanked him and entered her apartment, her many shopping bags bouncing as she struggled through the door.

  What should I wear? she thought agonizingly as she perused the contents of her shopping bags. There was so much to choose from.

  In the end she chose a fitted dress made out of dark blue patent leather. It ended just under her buttocks, but the dress managed to look somewhat classy. It was styled in such a way that it looked futuristic. She wore the spiked choker around her neck and put her hair in a tight bun. Her heels were the only part of her outfit that was scandalous—she had chosen a pair of black 4-inch pumps.

  Eight o’clock came too quickly, and Mary was applying the finishing touches of her makeup when she heard the doorbell ring. Oh my God, he’s here. She spritzed some perfume in the air and walked through the mist on her way out of the bathroom.

  Her heels clacking on the hardwood floors, she hurried to the door and opened it.

  Mr. White was smartly dressed, as usual. He looked exceptionally pale in his dark grey suit and blue tie, but it suited him. His bright eyes widened as he took in her appearance.

  “Mary,” he began hoarsely. He realized that his mouth was slightly open and he shut it. “You look ravishing.”

  Mary beamed at him at took his proffered arm. “Where are we going, Sir?” she asked.

  “To a nice bar,” he replied, looking at her as though he regretted this decision. He led her to his silver Audi R8 and opened her door.

  She could feel his eyes raking over her body as she slid inside.

  Then he started the car and they sped into the night. Mr. White, it turned out, was a fast driver. He laid his hand in her lap and Mary squirmed as his hand slipped to her thigh and began to knead her flesh. He inched his hand higher and higher up her dress, until the tip of his finger grazed across her lace thong. Mary heard his intake of sharp breath before he pulled his hand out.

  Breathing rather hard, she closed her legs and watched Mr. White, who now seemed very agitated. Did I do something?

  Again, Mr. White seemed to hear her unspoken thoughts. “I haven’t eaten all day,” he growled as they stopped in front of the bar.

  Somehow, she knew that he wasn’t talking about food.

  The entered Stanford’s, which seemed to be a high-class bar, and were promptly whisked away to a private table. A waiter came to ask for their drinks.

  “Vodka tonic,” Mr. White grunted.

  “Do you have Chianti? I’ll have a glass of that.”

  He almost drained his glass when they received their drinks and grabbed the waiter’s wrist, asking for another.

  Nervous, Mary took an unnecessary large gulp of wine and felt warmth spread to her groin and legs. Mr. White was drumming his fingers on the table—he looked edgy. For the first time, she noticed dark circles under his eyes.

  “So,” she began in a timid voice. “Mr. White
, why is it that you need to drink blood?”

  He looked at her with those haunted eyes. “Because I am a monster.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Drinking blood is the only way I feel normal. It’s an addiction—a necessity.”

  Mary found herself unable to meet his intense gaze. “Were you born this way?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” He paused. “I have lived for a long time, Mary. I don’t remember.”

  His hands were shaking and he clenched his fists to stop them.

  She seized his hand. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

  “What?”

  “You need to feed.” She stood from the chair.

  Mr. White’s face was twisted with anger. “Sit down,” he hissed.

  “No,” she said, knowing that it would incense him.

  “What did you say?”

  One look at him told her that it had worked. The tips of his fangs just protruded from his lips as he stood up and grabbed her wrist so tightly that Mary flinched with pain. He dragged her to the back of the bar, which had an intersex single toilet. Not willing to let go, he yanked her inside.

  Mary had barely enough time to react before she was slammed against the wall. She caught a brief glimpse of his fangs and shrieked as his mouth closed over her neck. Mr. White covered her mouth with his other hand as his fangs sunk into her flesh.

  She moaned against the palm of his hand as blood spilled out of her neck. Mr. White’s tongue was working to lap it all up, sucking on her like she was a straw and her blood was a milkshake. She pressed herself into him, savoring the feeling of his tongue on her throat. She wanted to be taken, dominated, and used.

  The hand slipped from her lips and trailed down her neck to her ample bosom. He yanked the dress down, almost tearing it. Mary slipped out of the straps as he pulled down, the dress so tight it was acting like a bustier.