Don't Ever Stop: A BDSM Billionaire Romance (14 page)

Just then, I saw the door of the blue warehouse swing open, and I saw Mr. Cooper standing there. He lifted a palm in greeting, but there was no smile on his face.

‘Go on then, Miss,’ said the driver. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you. Got three hours to kill, apparently. Hope you like whatever he has to show you in there.’ From the jovial but polite way the driver was talking, it was clear he had no idea what Mr. Cooper had planned.

I got out of the car, steeling myself for what was about to come, and I walked towards the door.

Mr. Cooper didn’t step forwards, and he still didn’t smile. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and loose black pants. It struck me that I’d never seen him out of a suit. He looked good. Even more muscular. And, in those loose black pants, he looked like a martial arts expert or something. Very rugged.

I gave him a nervous wave as I approached, and, for some reason, a nervous giggle, but he didn’t respond. His face remained deadly serious.

‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ I babbled nervously. ‘A warehouse. What are we doing here?’

Mr. Cooper stood in the doorway, blocking my entrance. ‘Take off your shoes,’ he commanded.

I noticed that his shoes were bare.

I bent down in front of him and unfastened my kitten heels, then stood on the concrete outside in bare feet, shivering. I wished I had worn a bra under my t-shirt. I looked down and confirmed my worst suspicions: my nipples were like bullets. Mr. Cooper wasn’t looking at my nipples, though. He was staring at my feet.

‘You’ll need to wash those,’ he said, walking inside, leaving me to grab the door after him, and follow me in.

‘Thank you so much for the spa treatment,’ I said (you know what I’m like, with my nervous chatter) as we walked down a plain, white corridor, my bare feet freezing on the cold, hard floor, shoes grasped tightly in my hand.

He led me into a small, basic-looking kitchen. There was a sink, a stove, and a table. No chairs.

‘Wash your feet,’ Mr. Cooper said to me. ‘They’re filthy. I sent you to the spa to get clean. Look at you now.’

‘I, I–‘ I wanted to tell him that they were perfectly clean before I had to take them off in the parking lot, but I could no longer find my tongue. Mr. Cooper looked so harsh, so annoyed, so mean, that I didn’t want to upset him further.

‘On the floor,’ he said, pointing.

I looked up at him, at his glaring sincerity, and then sat down on the floor. He went to the sink, wet a sponge, and then threw it down beside me with a wet thud. Some of the water splattered onto my skirt.

‘Wipe,’ he said, and I took the sponge, and began to wipe my feet. ‘Your legs are dirty now too,’ he said. ‘Wipe your legs.’

I put out my legs in front of me, and rubbed my shins with the sponge, which had now grown dirty from the floor too.

I looked up at Mr. Cooper when I felt I was finished, and caught him staring intently at my legs. ‘You haven’t finished,’ he said. ‘Wash them all the way up.’

I felt like I was smearing dirty dishwater all over myself. The water was tepid and dripping onto the floor and forming brownish pools of water. Still, I did as my boss said, desperate not to disappoint him this early on in our meeting. I lifted my skirt and ran the wet sponge over my thighs.

‘The insides of your thighs too,’ Mr. Cooper said, sensing I was going to leave them out.

I opened my legs a little, not even needing to look up to know that he was staring intently at the space between my thighs. Then, shivering, I ran the wet sponge all the way up to my panties, feeling the water dripping onto the fresh white cotton, making them see-through at the crotch.

‘That’s enough,’ said Mr. Cooper softly, taking the sponge off me, then carefully washing his hands with soap and water. I stayed shivering on the cold floor until he told me to get up, and then I followed him down another corridor.

I was worried, having washed my feet, that they’d get dirty again, and that would displease Mr. Cooper, but the floor in here was immaculate. It had been painted white, same as the ceiling and walls. I was sure I could smell fresh paint.

Eventually, he took a doorway to the right, and led me into the huge, open space of the warehouse. In here, just as in the corridor, everything was white. There was no furniture anywhere to see, just plain white floor, white columns, every few metres apart, a high, white ceiling and white walls.

Mr. Cooper led me over to one of the white columns, and pushed me up against it. The warmth and closeness of his body surprised me. I dropped my shoes and the clatter as they hit the floor echoed around the space. His torso pushed against mine. Without my bra on, my breasts felt bare against him. He was so tall that his abdominal muscles pressed against my nipples. I wondered if he could feel how hard they were beneath my t-shirt.

He bent down, pushing my back hard into the pillar behind me, and whispered into my ear: ‘I didn’t ask you to come dressed like a little whore.’

I was so embarrassed that I almost yelped. What had I been thinking? A white t-shirt and no bra? In front of my boss?
And
his chauffeur?

Mr. Cooper took hold of my forearms, and held them tight at my sides, while he stepped backwards and looked at my breasts. He tutted. ‘
I’ll
tell you when I want you to dress like a whore,’ he said. ‘I’m the one in charge.’

His words echoed around the space while his eyes lingered on my nipples for a while longer. Then, still gripping my arms, he held my arms high above my head, and pushed them up against the pillar, restraining me. He held my wrists together with one hand, and with the other, began pulling up my t-shirt. ‘I want this gone,’ he said scornfully. ‘Take off your t-shirt.’

He pushed my wrists hard against the stone behind me, and then stepped back again, so he could take my body in as I undressed.

I knew he wanted me naked, that it was a prerequisite for getting tied up, but I’d been trying not to think too much about the moment I’d finally have to do it. No man had ever seen me
completely
naked - not even Jacob. He’d felt me up in the dark a couple of times, but I was nervous about anyone seeing my body. It didn’t look perfect, like women in magazines. My left breast was a little smaller than my right. Even though I was super skinny, I had stretch marks across my hips.

Even so, Mr. Cooper was looking at me impatiently, and I had no choice but to obey him. I took the hem of my t-shirt, and pulled it up, over my breasts. I got my head caught in the fabric as I tried to pull it all the way off, and for a moment I was stuck, blindfolded, my face covered in white cotton, while my breasts hung in the air completely free of clothing, before my boss’ eyes. I was half-expecting him to reach out and grab them, or to comment on the way they looked, but if he was reacting, I couldn’t tell. Finally, I got the t-shirt over my head, and stood there, topless in front of him, cold and afraid.

‘Now take off your skirt,’ he ordered. ‘And your underwear.’ His voice had changed slightly – become deeper.

I took the elastic waistband of my skirt between my trembling fingers, and pulled it down over my knees. My white panties, a brand new pair I’d spent forever choosing on my lunch break the other day, were damp with the sponge water, and I could see my pubic hair beneath them. I took them off too, and left the clothes in a heap at my feet, unsure what to do with them.

I crossed my arms, then tried hiding my pubic hair, then both, but Mr. Cooper grabbed my arms again, and held them behind the pillar. Something cold licked against my wrists, then I heard a lock snap shut: handcuffs. He’d handcuffed me to the column.

He stayed pressed up against my naked body, and inhaled deeply. ‘You smell good,’ he said. ‘Sandalwood. Frankincense. Ylang-ylang. Just as I wanted. Perhaps you aren’t
such
a naughty girl after all.’

‘I’m a good girl,’ I said, quietly, under my breath.

‘Did I ask you to speak?’ he replied quickly.

I shook my head.

‘Say “no sir”,’ he ordered.

‘No sir,’ I said, and swallowed.

‘No I did
not
ask you to speak, little whore.’ He began to walk around me, in a circle, taking me all in, my nipples, my stomach, my pussy. ‘I’m going to go and get the rope now. You,’ he grabbed me by the hair, and pulled my face just inches from his mouth, ‘don’t move a muscle.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Green To Red

I watched Mr. Cooper walk away, in thick-soled black boots, commanding the space, seemingly at home here as much as if it was his own apartment. I looked around the empty, echoing warehouse, my breath shallow and quick, wondering what on earth I was doing here. If I was safe. Whether Mr. Cooper had a screw loose.

I’ll admit: I thought, for a moment, about screaming. Maybe the limo driver was an innocent party, and he’d hear me outside. Perhaps he’d be out there having a cigarette, or on his cell, and he’d hear the screams and come running in. I even thought about trying to reach my bag with my foot, and somehow pressing 911 with my big toe, alerting the cops to my location.

But I’ll also admit that I was kind of intrigued. I’d signed the contract – sorry,
negotiation
– that my boss had emailed to me the other day. He’d been very clear about what to expect. I knew we were acting out a ‘scene’. That I could stop the whole thing if I wanted to, by just uttering one safeword. What was it again? Green for more, yellow for less, red to stop. Easy enough to remember, right?

I couldn’t believe my boss had seen me naked. The first man to see me without any clothes on. It was strange. Being naked in front of someone wasn’t so bad. It felt kind of freeing. I wasn’t sure what I’d feared might happen. Laughter. Disgust. Horror. Having Mr. Cooper in charge, acting like this with me, dominating me, telling me what to do, telling me off for doing things wrong – that felt freeing too. I knew that I wanted more of it. As I waited there, cold and nervous, I begun to say a word in my head. That word was:
green.

Green, green, green…

After what felt like about half an hour, but in reality was probably only ten minutes, Mr. Cooper returned with the box he’d shown me at his apartment. I felt a twinge of fear when I looked at it.

‘I’m going to tie you up,’ he said, placing the box on the floor, its echo sounding above me. ‘And then I’m going to take pictures of you.’

Photographs? Oh shit. He hadn’t mentioned that.

‘If you misbehave, little whore, then you’re going to get punished.’ He lifted up a wand of some kind, with what looked like twigs tied together into a thick rod. He smacked the floor with it, suddenly, and the crack it produced was so loud and violent that I winced. My hands strained automatically, trying to cover my ears, but my hands were restrained around my back, so the sound just reverberated against my ear drums painfully. This was all I needed as a warning. I didn’t want to get punished.

‘Let’s get you out of those cuffs, then,’ he said, pressing his body up against me again as he unlocked my cuffs. He took another deep breath of the scented oils on my skin, then said: ‘Get on the floor.’

I knelt on the floor, the freezing concrete rough and unpleasant against my skin, changing my knees and shins. But if Mr. Cooper saw me wincing, it didn’t deter him in any way.

He pulled the rope out of his box, which looked longer than the one he’d shown me at his apartment, or perhaps I had just been too drunk or too shocked to take it in properly the first time, and he stood in front of me, holding the rope to my face, rubbing its coarse surface up against my cheek. ‘You look pretty without your clothes on, Rose,’ he said softly. ‘With this rope around your limbs, you’re going to be stunning.’

I sat perfectly straight while he maneuvred behind me, and then I felt the flat of his palm on my throat. He held me firmly, not like he was choking me – in fact, it was more like he was protecting me, enveloping me in his arms. His other hand sought my stomach, lay flat against it, pressing hard but not hurting me. He remained still then, and I could feel the warm pulse under his skin, travelling into me. It made me shiver with a kind of heat. I felt like his essence was travelling into me.

Then he stopped, whipped one of his hands back, producing the rope, and pulling it tight across my chest. He looped it around my arms, then I felt him tugging it quickly at the back, swiftly tying a knot, my arms tied tightly at my sides. ‘I’ve wanted to do this to you since the first moment I saw you,’ he growled in my ear. ‘Since I saw you standing on stage that night, trembling and crying. I wanted to take your pretty little arms and tie them tight around your back.’ He tied another knot beneath my armpit, the shock of his fingers so near to my breast making me gasp, and then he pulled the rope across my torso again, this time right underneath my breasts.

‘Please!’ I gasped. I wasn’t sure what the
please
meant.
Please stop? Please carry on? Please fuck me?

Mr. Cooper ignored me, yanking the rope tight, and then tying another knot at my back. This time he grabbed the rope under my breasts hard, and pulled. I felt it cut into my ribcage, flatten my arms, pushing them right into my sides. I closed my eyes, feeling the slight burn from the rope, the shock of his fingers as they moved gently over me one minute, then swiftly pulled the rope, jerking my body and making it hard to breathe the next. Sometimes, his hands stopped and rested on my skin for a moment, as they had done at the start, and I heard him breathing heavily behind me.