Bared by the Billionaire (5 page)

What would it be like to have a woman who matched him in intellect, who aroused his mind as much as she did his cock? He’d fantasized about meeting such a woman for years, but never felt so much as a spark with anyone. Until that night last spring.

The next day he dispatched Taylor to make some discreet inquiries about her. Apparently she was already spoken for. Alejandro Cabrera was a self-proclaimed lady’s man. He fancied himself a modern-day Casanova. He’d bragged to Taylor that he was an experienced dom and that his intelligent, cool, chief financial officer served as his personal slut after hours. She loved being his slave, his sex toy. The ‘perfect sub,’ he’d called her.

Being Kyra Thornton’s dom sounded intriguing. Harmon had tried BDSM a few times and was aroused by the experiences, but he’d never found a woman he wanted for more than one night. After talking to Taylor, he decided to learn everything he could about the D/s lifestyle. If that’s what it would take to get this woman, he’d become an expert. In his usual obsessive fashion, he devoured erotic books, watched a mind-numbing array of X-rated movies. For the most part, the books were boring, just wild sex scenes strung together with no hint of what was going on in the head of any of the characters. The movies he watched didn’t have much of a plot, nothing to engage his mind, and without that, his cock barely stirred.

Harmon decided he needed more real-life experience. He hired a female domme from an ad on the web that promised discretion. A hefty redhead who looked much older in person than in her pictures online showed up at the penthouse dressed like Catwoman. She ordered him to kneel and kiss her shoe, and then demanded that he crawl over to the sofa and submit to a flogging. He sent her packing. After that, he crossed ‘switch’ off his list of options to explore.

He got off on being a dom. But he dared not pick up some random woman in a bar or at one of the sex clubs up in Fort Lauderdale to hone his skills. Jake was never one to let his cock rule his head. All he needed was one tabloid picking up the story of the billionaire pervert smacking some unwilling woman on the ass while she begged him for mercy, especially a woman who might come prepared with hidden cameras and recording devices. There were too many wanna-be tech wizards waiting in the wings to usurp his place for him to risk losing everything he’d worked for in messy lawsuits.

So he hired professional subs to perfect his skills. But there was no challenge in dominating the women he brought in. He did everything he’d seen and heard about. He tied them up, whipped them, grabbed their hair and shoved them to their knees in front of him. They said all the right things, just like the women in the books and movies. They begged and moaned, licked and sucked at the appropriate times, squealed when he forced them to spread their legs and then pounded himself into one hole or another. Sure, he enjoyed the physical release. But where was that thrill, the intense rush of absolute power mixed with raw lust that everyone talked about? So far, he hadn’t experienced it.

Restless, unsatisfied, he turned to the friends that had never forsaken him, never let him down. Harmon’s lab now held a dizzying array of machines. Bizarre sex machines. Some he’d found on the Internet and had shipped to him. The Japanese were especially good at robotics. He owned a beautiful five-foot-tall geisha who called him master, knelt at his feet and begged him in a soft voice to beat her hard and then fuck her tight ass—an ass that was astonishingly realistic in every anatomical detail. That one was a prototype that had set him back a cool five million. She sat in a corner now, a rich kid’s toy played with a few times, then set aside when it failed to deliver a bigger kick each time.

Other machines he designed himself, like the solid gold nipple rings. They were implanted with tiny electrodes controlled once again by his thoughts. He’d built them using the technology he invented for the drone-flying ear buds. The rings delivered a shock to the nipples of the wearer at his whim. He’d tried that one out on several of his hired companions and it seemed to be a big hit. Of course, they might have been faking their cries of arousal.

That was the problem. He could never be sure how much of their enthusiasm was real, and how much simply a paid performance. So lately all his efforts had been put into designing a very special item: A piece of headwear. It wasn’t big and clunky, like those early versions of virtual reality headsets. This one was sleek and sexy—designer-framed wraparound glasses with black lenses, not much bigger than a blindfold. Black leather straps in back kept it fastened firmly around the wearer’s head, no matter what position he or she was in.

This device had a built-in ultra HD screen that projected whatever images he chose onto the inside of the lenses. CAT scan technology he incorporated from his medical invention showed him when the pleasure centers of the wearer’s brain responded. He controlled the whole thing with a small headset of his own. All he had to do was talk about or even imagine a sexual act and the wearer saw it as though it was real. He could map her level of arousal on a computer screen, knowing instantly when her body responded to a specific fantasy he projected. With this device, any man could become the perfect sex partner, ferreting out the darkest, wildest hidden desires of his woman, then showing her virtual scenes that hit all her hot buttons while he fucked her senseless.

And it worked both ways. A woman unwilling to get as down and dirty as her husband might want in real life could put the glasses on him and fulfill his desire for a three-way with her best friend in the virtual world. She could let him lick her pussy while she played with his cock and sent him the image of the other woman’s hands and mouth touching him, sucking him off. In the mind of the wearer, it was all real. He’d shoot come happily down the throat of his wife and swear it was the hot blonde next door who swallowed every drop.

While Harmon was dreaming up these devices, he’d had one woman in his mind. He’d pictured the aloof and unapproachable Kyra strapped down on a table in his lab, helpless and at his mercy. In his visions, she was hooked up to every one of his toys while he projected different scenarios into her mind and tracked her responses to them on screen. She’d scream and writhe, unable to deny her arousal when he hit a forbidden secret. He’d be able to draw a virtual map that would lead him to the key that would unlock the treasure he sought—discovering her wildest BDSM fantasies so he could use them to get her hotter than she’d ever been.

Taylor said she was into submission. Well then, he’d learn how to be the perfect dom… for her. She’d forget all about that asshole Cabrera and become his slave instead. Then, using his devices, he’d gradually add other scenarios, blending his fantasies with hers. Having sex with Kyra would become a transcendent experience for both of them—and he’d finally have a partner he could bear to face over a cup of coffee the next morning.

Now that Cabrera was out of the picture, his path was clear. Kyra would be all alone now, abandoned by her lover, vulnerable and in trouble. She’d be forced to accept the offer he’d make her tomorrow morning. Harmon knew that Cabrera had set Kyra up to take the fall for the theft. She’d been foolish, trusted the man, and he’d used her and then ran out on her. Harmon decided all he had to do was play on that, threaten to turn her in if she didn’t agree to all the terms of the employment agreement he was about to offer her.

He hadn’t made billions of dollars by accident. Jake Harmon was as smart as they came. He’d spent months setting his plan into motion. All he had to do now was follow it through.

Smiling, he went back to his workout, determined to push his body to a new level tonight.

Chapter Four

Kyra surveyed her reflection in the mirror. Conservative gray suit, white silk blouse, black pumps with heels high enough to show off her legs. She debated leaving her hair down, then reasoned that, despite her reputation, a man like Harmon would be more intrigued by the challenge of turning a prim and proper businesswoman into his slut than he would playing dom to someone who walked in looking like one already. Hands shaking a little, she twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her neck, securing it with a couple of pins. Then she practiced a few times to make sure the pins would fall out easily with a firm shake of her head.

She took one sip of her favorite Cuban coffee, then set the cup aside. This morning the powerful brew hit her stomach like a fist. Her nerves were already raw. She didn’t need another reason to feel jittery.

Rather than having to deal with finding a parking space downtown, she hailed a cab and headed for Harmon’s building with plenty of time to spare. Salsa music blared from a Spanish station on the radio and her Cuban cab driver sang along at the top of his lungs. Thanks to Alejandro, Kyra was familiar with the song. She even knew the words. But it only brought back bitter memories and she asked him to turn it down. He pretended not to understand and she finally had to tell him in Spanish that his tip depended on it before he grudgingly complied.

Harmon’s headquarters took up most of a gleaming twenty-story building near Bayfront Park in downtown Miami. She tossed the driver a ten and got out of the cab. The vicious glare of the summer sun reflecting off the towering walls of glass gave her the first faint twinges of a headache. She hurried inside to the blessedly cool shade of the lobby.

A no-nonsense security guard stopped her politely. He wasn’t the usual overweight ex-cop you see everywhere, taking on an easy desk job for a few more years to fatten his retirement benefits. This guy was in his early forties, with the closely cropped hair and ramrod stance of someone who’d spent years in the military.

“May I help you?”

“I have an appointment with Mr. Harmon. My name is…”

“Miss Thornton,” he said before she could finish. “Mr. Harmon is expecting you. Please follow me. You’ll be meeting in his private quarters.”

He led the way past a bank of other elevators to one at the end of the hall. Kyra stepped into a plush cubicle, paneled waist high in an expensive-looking honey-brown wood she couldn’t identify. Tinted mirrors covered the top half of the walls. The guard slipped a chain from around his neck and inserted what looked like a simple plastic tag hanging from it into a slot to the right of the door. Then he placed his flat palm on a screen below it. There were no buttons to push, no way to choose which floor he wanted. Kyra couldn’t help feeling slightly intimidated by the level of security surrounding Harmon. The guard stepped out, keeping his eyes trained on her as the doors closed. She restrained herself from giving him a mocking salute.

The elevator rose swiftly and silently and she couldn’t help giving a gasp of delight. The mirrors on three walls were actually tinted windows, offering an incredible view once she got past the lobby. She turned to take it all in. Across the street, small groups wandered through Bayfront Park, gawking at the rows of luxurious yachts moored in the adjoining marina. The park was busy, tourists anxious to get in some sightseeing before the crushing heat of midday drove them inside. One side of the palm-studded expanse of green was dominated by the enormous bulk of the American Airlines arena, where the Heat would soon kick off a new season. Gaily colored kiosks down the center of a row of shops and restaurants traced a path to an outdoor stage at the other end of the park. As she rose higher, she could see the high-rises lining Miami Beach across the calm waters of Biscayne Bay.

She was so lost in the view that she didn’t notice the doors silently opening behind her.

“Miss Thornton.” The voice was low.

She whirled around. Jake Harmon stood in front of the elevator door. He looked much different than the last time she’d seen him in person. That night at Vizcaya, he’d worn a tux, like most of the other men there. Today he had on a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt with the arms cut off, showcasing an impressive set of guns for a techie. If anything, he was even more attractive in casual wear than he had been in formal attire. Under other circumstances, he was definitely a man she’d be drawn to. Super intelligent, physically fit, and very hot. Kyra let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and pulled herself together. Time to get to work. After all, things could be worse. She might be whoring for the FBI, but at least she wouldn’t be screwing some sweaty, fat old gangster.

Thanks to the sunlight streaming in through the enormous wall of tinted glass in the background, his face was in shadows. She couldn’t read his expression. “Please, come in,” he said.

She took a few steps, glancing around as she did. The elevator opened into a spacious foyer. Straight ahead lay a huge room with a ceiling at least two stories high. Stark white sofas and chairs were scattered around in intimate groupings here and there, paired with sleek stainless steel tables empty of any adornment. Unlike most Miami high-rise apartments that were paved with the same boring two-foot square blocks of white travertine, this floor was a gleaming expanse of dark wood.

Cool hallways painted a soothing soft shade of pewter stretched off on either side of the foyer. Subtle lighting in the low ceilings added to the feeling that walking down those halls would be like being enveloped in a cocoon. It made the contrast of the large light-filled space in front of her even more striking. Noting the rows of closed doors lining both halls, Kyra couldn’t help wondering how many rooms Harmon had here at the top of his fortress.

He led her into the living room and motioned for her to take a seat near the wall of glass. She looked around, then deliberately chose a grouping that faced the view, sitting in a leather sling chair on one side, so that when Harmon sat down on the sofa his face would be easily visible. Kyra was familiar with all the tricks of intimidation in a business meeting and she’d be damned if she let Harmon get the upper hand so easily.

He smiled and pulled up another chair, placing it at right angles to hers, as though arranging them cozily together. But now his back was once again to the windows.
Point to you,
Kyra told herself.
But this match has just begun
. She realized that her competitive nature was bubbling to the surface.
I’m supposed to be a submissive,
she reminded herself, lowering her eyes so he wouldn’t see the sudden flash of anger she felt at being forced into this position.