His Secret Muse: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (12 page)

And there is something else. 

A warm and familiar tingling between my legs. 

"Yes, Sir," I whisper.

Without awaiting his reply, I put the phone aside and get up from my seat to make my way to the bathroom.

His phone call made the memory of my weekend a lot realer than it seemed to be before midday.

It is still vivid even now while I am jogging next to my oblivious best friend. Lesley has been chatting on about a fantastic picnic she had with her boyfriend during the weekend. I know that she is generally happy with her relationship, but today she is especially cheery. It eases my guilty conscience tremendously.

I have a feeling that it is only a matter of time before these two finally get married. I am surprised that it hasn't happened yet, but that might just be because Lesley loves to rebel against social expectations. Not getting married to her long-term boyfriend, even though they are both approaching their late twenties, is just one of many ways for her to keep her family off-balance. 

I almost admire her for her stubbornness in this matter, because I know deep down she is dreaming of all those things. The perfectly romantic wedding ceremony, a bright white dress, children. I would be surprised if none of that ever happens for her.  

But of course, it is only a matter of time before she drops the question on me that I have been dreading all day.

"So, how was your weekend?"

I provide her with the same answer I gave to my coworkers. But Lesley wouldn't be Lesley if she didn't notice that I am hiding something. She not only knows me very well but has an almost eerie intuition when it comes to people's feelings.

Just like Cedric, she is an expert in detecting lies.

Or I am just terribly bad at lying.

"Home all weekend, huh," she says, glancing at me from the side. "Why do I feel like that is not entirely true?"

I shrug without looking at her while we pass through the entrance of a nearby park that has become our usual running course after both of us moved to the neighborhood.

We have only been running for about ten minutes, so I cannot blame exhaustion for not wanting to talk right now.

Instead, I focus the ground in front of us, paying excessive attention to my steps.

"You know, you always do that," Lesley points out. "You look down and away from me when you're trying to hide something."

"Yeah right!" I retort.

"It is right!" she insists. "It usually has to do with a guy you don't want to tell me about. For whatever reason."

I hate lying to Lesley. I am dying to tell her about Cedric. About the last three days and what has happened between us. Well, I don't need to tell her in all detail, especially about his phone call to my office this afternoon and what he made me do.

But I loathe not being able to tell her anything about it. It makes me feel like such a traitor.

"You know I don't judge you," Lesley adds. "There's nothing wrong with having a little fun. Did you meet some guy from the internet again?"

"No!" I truthfully deny. "Geez, you make me sound like such a loser!"

We both laugh. It's true that I am not exactly proud of the way I have been meeting men during the past years. I wonder if online dating will ever lose its stigma.

Then again, the experiences I have had with it don't exactly militate for it either.

"Alright, alright," she says. "I'll stop pestering. You'll tell me eventually, right?"

"There's nothing to tell," I insist.

"Whatever."

We continue most of our run in silence. It isn't until we are on our way back that I remember a favor I wanted to ask of Lesley.

"I was wondering," I say as we are leaving the park, now walking because we both reached our limit for the day. "If you don't mind - could I maybe borrow that book Cedric was talking about on stage last week?"

She glances over at me. "So, it's '
Cedric
' now?"

I hadn't even thought about how odd it must be for her to hear me calling him by his first name.

"Cedric Crow, yeah," I correct myself.

"I know which Cedric you're talking about," she says sulkily. "Why? What suddenly got you interested in his books?"

I thought it could be a good way to find out more about him
, I think.
To understand how he ticks, what is going on in his head. It's not like he likes to share any of it with me, despite the intense time we've had together
.

"Well, that reading was impressive," I mumble. "He seems to be an interesting person. I thought I should give his books another try."

"Interesting person?" She repeats. "Don't tell me you have a crush on him now!"

"What?!" I gasp, raising my hands in defense. "Don't be ridiculous! You should know me well enough to-"

"It would be cute, though," she teases. "Cold and bored Renee, losing her mind over someone like Cedric Crow. And after he put you on display like that!"

I roll my eyes. Sometimes, it seems as if Lesley has some kind of weird sixth sense. Without me knowingly giving her any hints, she is so dangerously close to the truth that it almost scares me.

"I'm just teasing you," Lesley adds, winking at me. "I'd be happy to lend you the book. You're talking about 'Silent Daughter', right?"

"Yeah, that's the one he was talking about on stage, right?"

Now Lesley is the one rolling her eyes.

"Yes, you ignoramus."

I curl up on my couch, freshly showered and relaxed, with 'Silent Daughter' in my lap and a glass of white wine next to me.

I check my messages by force of habit. Cedric texted me a few times throughout the day since we talked on the phone.

After I had obeyed his command and came back from the bathroom with my underwear hidden in my fist, I had picked up the phone with him still at the other end, waiting for me to return.

"Okay," I whispered. "I did it."

"Good girl," he praised me.

Then he started talking. He listed all the naughty things he would like to do to me right now and asked me how I would feel about them. How I would feel about him coming over to my office right now, pulling my skirt up and bending me over my desk to fuck me like the slut I am.

I never would have imagined that someone calling me a slut provoking anything but indignation. When he said it, it sounded like the sweetest and hottest compliment a man could give me.

I sat there blushing, pressing my thighs together and shifting from side to side on my seat while he continued his sweet and dirty monologue.

Our conversation stopped just as suddenly as it began. He excused himself and told me that he had to go now, but I was to continue the rest of my work day without my underwear.

That's what I did.

I have no idea why it was so easy for me to comply. It's not like he would be able to check. I could have gone back to the bathroom and put my underwear back on and just lie about it when he asked me later.

But I didn't.

Instead, I did just as he told me to. It was weird and uncomfortable at first, especially because his dirty monologue had caused certain reactions in my body.

But I not only got used to the feeling, I started to relish it. Sitting at my desk, bare ass naked beneath my clothes was a constant reminder of him and our play together.

By the time I got home from work, I was so turned on that I immediately had to do something about it. Luckily, I have a little secret drawer that is full of toys that could help me with that.

To my great disappointment, there is no new message from him. For a moment, I think about sending him one. Just to let him know, that I am finally about to read one of his books. Not just any book either, but the one that he had been talking about during our first encounter.

Then again, that does seem kind of silly. Instead, I decide to put the phone away and open the first page of 'Silent Daughter'.

Time passes and we continue to see each other on a semi-regular basis. Cedric is in and out of town and sometimes all we have is one evening together, but those are rare. In most cases, he asks me to stay over for the whole the weekend.

When we are apart from each other, he keeps me on my toes with plenty of requests that are very similar to the one he gave me on my first day of work after our first weekend together. I am shy about a lot of them, most notably when it comes to the kind of pictures he asks to see of me. It is a risky game, and I don't trust him enough to do everything exactly as he tells me to. But the danger, the risk is part of the fun for me. Even buying groceries can turn out to be so much more fun when one spends the wait in the line sexting and sending inappropriate thoughts and pictures back and forth.

I try to be cautious, still. But I fear that most people would say I am acting stupid and too willing.

Luckily, I don't have to hear their warning voices, because no one knows what I am up to.

No one except Cedric.

I can tell that he tries to be careful as well. He never sends any picture that would make it possible to recognize him. I have sent him selfies of my face because he asked to see it, but they were never connected to anything too compromising. My face is always completely hidden when I fulfill his requests to send him pictures of other parts of me. Parts that, according to him, he cannot wait to play with again.

Neither one of us possesses material that is compromising enough to blackmail the other. It saddens me that this thought even occurs to me, but after all, I still hardly know him. There is no reason why I should trust Cedric, just because he is well-known to large parts of the public.

Especially, because he still doesn't let me in on a lot of other things that constitute his life. All I know about is what he intends to do to me once we are together again and how much he claims to be smitten with me. I am still having trouble with that last part. It seems too surreal, too much of a fairy tale that could not possibly be happening to someone like me. 

I partly know his whereabouts. Not because he is telling me about it, but because the media does care about his private life as much as he said before.

It might have to do with the fact that he has a new, long-awaited book coming out later this year. Or with him mentioning his intention to move back to his home town, which many journalists or 'inside sources' argue he has 'fled from' years ago, because of some terrible demons from the past that are still hunting him.

I would love to ask him about all these things, mostly to find out how much of it is true. But it doesn't feel right to do this via text, especially with someone who is always so private and withdrawn.

Every time I see him, he somehow manages to make me forget about most of the questions that pop into my head during the long intermissions between our meetings.

Every time I see him, I get extremely nervous hours in advance, more than I was before our first meeting. We usually spend the night together, even when I have to work the next day. We always stay at the same penthouse even though Cedric argues that he still hasn't decided whether he will buy it.

He is usually waiting for me on the rooftop, looking incredibly sexy with his hair combed to the side so that his undercut is emphasized. He always wears a suit, usually with a more casual but perfectly fitting cut.

Our routine is to have a light dinner in the sunroom on the rooftop. We chit chat about mundane everyday things, and every time I leave, I realize once again what a smart conversationalist he is. I am by no means a big talker, but for some reason, Cedric manages to guarantee that I am the one who talks more during our dinner dates than he ever does.

It is usually cut short by the overwhelming tension sizzling between us. Most times, Cedric asks me to do something for him. Undress. Walk over to him. Sit down on my knees in front of him. Things would commence from there.

Weeks have passed since that life-changing event when Cedric humiliated me more than anyone ever has before. Spring came and went to make room for summer.

He keeps traveling. I don't understand why he is touring around this much during a time where he should be finishing up his newest novel.

He hasn't announced an official release date yet. Even with my restricted knowledge about the publishing world, I have a feeling that with each week passing the chances are getting slimmer for him to actually make it.

I know he is still writing on it. That much he is willing to tell me. Nothing more, though. Every time we spend one or two days together, he vanishes for a few hours and locks himself away in a room that apparently has become his office in the penthouse.

That part is completely fine with me. 

Being confined in an apartment with him for an entire weekend would be too challenging for my unsocial nature if he didn't leave me to myself once in a while. Besides, it gives me time to continue my reading.

When I told him that I am reading his bestselling novel, he didn't exactly show the kind of reaction I was hoping for. I thought he would be happy, proud even. Or that he would take it as a sign of appreciation from my side.

But instead, he looked a bit unsettled for a moment and then shrugged it off with a "If that's what you want to do."

I am a slow reader, and it takes me a lot longer than Lesley to get through the gigantic tome that is his bestselling book. She repeatedly asks me about my progress and if I have gotten to certain parts that she wants to talk to me about. I usually have to disappoint her.

It is not only my slow reading that keeps me from turning through the pages like an avid reader. It is hard for me to distance myself from the story and the writer behind it. Now that I have come to know him and know what kind of things he is into, it is close to impossible for me not to see parallels. Lots of them, actually.

I can see a lot of Cedric in the main protagonist. The scary bad boy who kidnaps a neglected girl and confines her in his home. The way he acts around her, even some of the things he says to her are verbatim quotes of phrases that I have heard from Cedric while we were playing.

What scares me even more are the parallels between the girl and me as well. It is not only the way he describes her appearance but also how she acts around him. At least the way I am when he has me on my knees with nothing else in mind but to serve and please him. When I am willing to submit to him fully in exchange for the greatest pleasure I have ever felt in my life.

The story changes its point of view between him and her, and every time the reader gets to see the world through her eyes, I feel strangely familiar with everything she does and thinks.

There are so many similarities in their relationship and ours. At least, as long as we are in the bedroom.

The female protagonist in the story was captured by the guy and locked away in his home against her will, and he orders her to do all kinds of things for him. In the beginning, there is nothing sexual about any of his requests. It appears that he just wants to have someone around him who is willing to obey his every wish, even if it is only dusting off his furniture or keeping him company while preparing food. The guy treats her more like a house slave, and he spanks her every time she doesn't do exactly as she is told or when she makes a careless mistake.

There is a huge difference between their interaction and ours, but in a way they are very similar, too. For quite a long time, it remains unclear why the male protagonist even captured the girl in the first place. She comes from a wealthy family, so it immediately suggests itself that he might be interested in kidnapping her for some kind of ransom. But nothing like that is ever mentioned.

After a while, he starts asking her to do different things for him. No service duties such as cleaning or helping out with things around the house. But instead, he asks her to talk about herself. She is reluctant at first, so he chains her to a chair and places himself in front of her, asking her very intimate questions about her childhood, her life, her interests and dreams.

Of course, considering the circumstances, she is suspicious of his behavior and expects him to use any information he can get about her to his advantage in some way. But after he does not let go of his repeated questions and spends hours sitting in front of her listening, she starts speaking up.

But she lies.

She makes up stories about herself, her family, her background, and her dreams and wishes.

As soon as the point of view switches back to him, the reader finds out that he is aware she is lying. But he doesn't stop her. He lets her keep talking because he enjoys her voice.

It becomes more and more apparent that he is smitten with her and that he wants to make her to be
his
.

"Miss Branson?"

I look up. I was so absorbed by the story that I didn't even realize the car stopped. 

Craig looks back at me through the rearview mirror.

"We're here," he says.

"Oh, thanks!"

I hurry out of the car. During my last few visits, Craig has been picking me up from home. He always double-parks the unobtrusive black car directly in front of my house and waits for me to come down. I cannot say that I have gotten used to this special service, but at least I stopped fighting it now.

I want to believe that Craig and I are getting closer with every drive, too. Even though he still hasn't said more than three words at once to me.

It was just a thirty-minute drive from where I live, yet this place could just as well exist in another universe. Every time I visit Cedric, it is as if I am taking a break from my real life. We never leave the penthouse together, because he still claims that it would be too dangerous. Still, he doesn't want anyone to know about our relationship.

While I am riding the elevator up to his place, I ponder whether that is the right word for it.

A relationship.

Is that what we are doing? Is he my boyfriend? He never referred to himself as anyone but my Dominant.

And neither have I.

Because that is what he is.

A boyfriend would be someone who takes me out to places. A companion. Someone I could introduce to my friends. My parents even. Oh my God, how much they would love that! Finally, the problem child might be getting hitched! And to a stupidly rich bestseller author above all!

He is more than a fling. I care about him. I know that this feeling is mutual, even though Cedric has a very specific way of showing it.

When I reach the uppermost floor to meet him on the rooftop as usual, I am greeted with a surprise.

He is wearing a black suit and has his hair combed in a similar manner as he usually does. But tonight, he is also sporting a silver grey tie with his ensemble. He holds up two glasses of champagne to greet me.

I pause at the door and look at him with questioning eyes. Something is different today.

"I bought it," he says, smiling at me with the most gorgeous smile I have ever seen on his face.

"Bought what?" I ask, not understanding.

He shakes his head and beckons me to come closer.

"This place," he explains. "I finally decided to buy the penthouse, and this wonderful rooftop you have come to love so much."

He casts me a naughty smile as I approach him. Of course, I know what he is talking about. Every single time we meet, we start out on this rooftop, in this sunroom, on the floor, on the sofa, on the table even. 

There have been so many times where I got fucked by him while staring at the vibrant lights of the city beneath us - or the stars above.

I blush at the memories while he hands one of the glasses to me.

"I am happy to hear that," I say. "Guess I am not the only one who has come to love this place."

He chuckles. "Yes, I admit, the fantastic memories I made up here did play a huge part in my decision."

We clink glasses and sip on our champagne.

"Does that mean you will be around more often?" I want to know.

"Yes," he replies. "Not all the time, because I have a tendency to get restless. But a lot more than I have during the past months."

"Good," I whisper.

He looks down at me, but my eyes shy away. Somehow, I am expecting him to say more. To say something about us. He will be moving here. Our meetings will no longer be limited to occasional weekends during which we lock ourselves away from reality.

We could meet up like a real couple. A normal couple. At least in theory.

"Hungry?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah, a little."

I turn around and notice that something else is different. There is no food waiting for us on the dining table.

I look back up at him with a questioning face.

"Come, let's eat," he announces and takes my hand to lead me outside.