His Secret Muse: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (13 page)

As often as I have been up here, there has only been one short incident during which I stepped outside on the rooftop terrace. It was during our second or third weekend together, and I had asked him to see the outside area. It was still too chilly then to spend some time out there, but I did have a quick glance around.

The terrace is about twice as big as the sunroom. It doesn't cover the entire roof of the building because a part of it was designed to serve as a shared area for other residents. Luckily, that part is secluded from ours - Cedric's - terrace and separated by a tall wall. 

But tonight, the terrace looks completely different than it did the last time I stepped out here. 

"Oh," I exclaim as we step outside. "You... redecorated?"

"Well, not me," he says. "But yes, I had few things done. Now that it is warm enough to use the terrace. And now that it is completely ours."

I turn around to him. The look in his eyes reveals that he is aware of what he just said.

"Ours?" I clarify.

He smiles at me. "I guess you could say that."

He approaches me and leans down to plant a quick kiss on my mouth.

"You are the only person I have spent time with here," he whispers. "It's no surprise that I think of this place as ours, wouldn't you agree?"

I nod quietly.

"So," he adds. "Do you like it?"

He takes a step back and places his hand on my back to slightly push me forward. Even after so many times, his touch still sends shivers of excitement through my spine. 

I have no idea how he does it, but this man unravels me in a way that I never would have expected.

I take a few steps forward and take a good look around. There are plants all over, so many plants. It almost seems like a little jungle paradise, especially in contrast to the omnipresent concrete of the city beneath us.

To my right, I spot a secluded sitting area that is similar to the one in the sunroom. Except that there are also two sun loungers and, a little further away, something that looks like a bed without bedding. 

It is standing by itself, surrounded by an array of giant plants that seclude it from everything else on the terrace and provides some extra privacy. A little smaller than an actual bed, but has enough room for two people to lay next to each other. It is pretty much just a light mattress in a dark frame decorated with a few cushions.

"A play area," he whispers behind me. "For later."

He kisses me on the back of my neck, causing me to sigh.

"It's... nice," I mumble, again disappointed at my lack of eloquence.

"Come," he says.

He takes my hand again and leads me to a different corner of the terrace. There, close to the edge and secluded from everything else, is a large dining table. It is bigger than the one in the sunroom and could easily seat eight people. But tonight, there are only place settings for two.

It is filled with food. For the first time since our first date, he is serving sushi again.

"I thought it's a good celebratory food," he explains. "And perfect for the warm weather."

"It is," I say and turn around to him.

I place my hand on the back of his neck and get on my toes to kiss him. "Thank you."

He displays a confident smile and beckons me to sit down.

Since we are sitting so close to the edge of the terrace, right next to the balustrade, we are blessed with a breathtaking view across the city while we eat.

"This is insane!" I exclaim while scanning the view below me. "How am I supposed to ever enjoy a normal dinner again, after having this?"

He smirks at me. "Maybe you won't have to."

I look over to him, raising my eyebrows with skepticism. This is the second time tonight that he has said something like this. Something that suggests that we are far more than just a Dominant and his submissive play partner. More than two people who just enjoy fucking each other in unusual ways.

I am not sure whether he is aware of the signals he is sending with his words.

I don't dare address it. Yet.

"I am almost done with your book," I say, diverting from the subject.

"Are you," he says with a monotone voice. He keeps his eyes down on the plates in front of us, randomly picking up pieces of sushi without looking at me.

"Yes," I continue. "It's quite interesting. Very compelling. I like your writing style."

"Thank you."

He still doesn’t look at me. One would think that a writer gets a little more excited when he is sitting across someone who is talking about her reading experience with one of his books.

Maybe he is just bored by the subject.

"I am sorry," I say. "Do you not want to talk about it? I don't want to bore you."

"You never bore me," he objects. "Is there anything, in particular, you wanted to say about it?"

Finally, he raises his eyes and looks directly at me, awaiting a reply.

"Well," I utter. "One thing is particularly interesting to me..."

"And that is?"

"The similarities," I say. "Between you and him. And her and... me."

He smiles. "You see a lot of parallels?"

I shrug. "Yes, kind of. I mean, especially as the story progresses, and it becomes more of a love story-"

I bite my tongue. "I mean, I'm not saying that this is... that we are... you know."

"It's okay," he says, still with that adorable smile on his face. It's almost as if he is waiting for me to say something silly. He is definitely up to something tonight.

"What I mean," I try again. "Well, you should know what I mean! Their relationship, the way she lets him order her around - and she even starts to like him for it! He treats her very badly, and still-"

"Do I treat you badly?" he interrupts.

"No!" I object. "No, not at all. That is not what I mean. I was talking about the story just now and how it-"

"I know what you mean," he interjects again. "Haven't we talked about that when we first met? Even without having read any of my books, you gave a pretty accurate analysis of what is going on in them and what my readers like about them. I don't understand why you are so surprised."

"I'm not surprised," I dissent. "It's just a little different, now that I... know you. Kind of."

His eyes catch mine again.

"Kind of?" he asks. "You know me better than most people do."

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief.

"Really?" I wonder. "Why then do I feel like I don't know you at all?"

"After all the things we do together?"

"Alright, I know that part of you," I admit. "But I don't know anything about the person you are out there. I don't even know what you do when you leave the room for several hours while I am with you."

"I work," he explains. "Shouldn't that be obvious?"

"Yes, I kind of figured," I concede. "But other than that, you have to admit. There is not much you ever shared with me. About yourself I mean."

"What do you want to know?" he asks, jutting his chin forward.

I look at him for a few moments, too baffled to say anything. I did not expect this.

"The things you wrote about, especially in
Silent Daughter
," I utter. "Those are not really things you would like to do, right? Or things that you... have done?"

Cedric leans back and laughs.

"Are you serious?" he inquires. "It's fiction, Renee. Despite the similarities you think you are seeing, you should always distinguish between the author and the story."

I look at him with one eyebrow raised. "That is only half the truth, though."

He shrugs. His gaze wanders to the side, browsing over the darkening city beneath us.

"Sure, I like to work with certain interactions and human psychology that I am familiar with," he explains. "The relationship between a Dominant and his submissive can be a very complex and intimate thing. You and I, we are both not there yet."

He looks over to me, observing my reaction. I don't give him much to work with and just beckon him to continue talking.

"There are certain dynamics that I am familiar with and that I like to use for my books," he continues. "But it is still fiction. Writing stories does not mean that I would actually consider kidnapping you and locking you away to make you my slave. What happens between those two is more related to a phenomenon called Stockholm syndrome. That is not what is happening between us."

I smirk at him. "Well, in a way, you do lock me away. Just in a very comfortable way. We never leave the penthouse when we are together."

He chuckles again.

"You know why it has to be like that."

"Do I?" I wonder. "And does it still have to? Be like that, I mean."

He looks up at me, worried.

"Are you not happy?" He wants to know.

I return his questioning gaze with a startled face. That is a good question, one that I should have posed to myself before starting this conversation with him.

"I don't know," I reply.

"You don't know?"

He looks at me with furled eyebrows.

"I am sorry," I mumble. "I am just a little confused."

"That's understandable," he says. "You need clarification, is that what you're saying?"

I nod. "Maybe."

He clears his throat. "I can't give you that right now."

"Oh."

"Things are not as easy for me as they are for normal people."

"I know that, but-"

"No," he interrupts. "You don't know. For now I think it's better if we let everything stay the way it has been until now."

I sigh.

"Or you could just leave," he adds.

We look at each other, both displaying the same expression of sorrow.

"I don't want that," I whisper. "I really... don't."

A faint smile of relief appears on his face.

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear that," he says. "Especially after all the things I have done to you - and will do."

I frown at him. "Don't make me sound like a spineless victim."

Cedric laughs and winks at me. "I would never, Renee. I know who I am dealing with here."

He takes another sip of champagne and casts me an enigmatic look. "The stronger a woman, the greater the gift of her submission," he whispers. "There is a reason why I like you so much, Renee."

I gulp. He has said a lot of sweet things to me in the past, but never something as intense and ponderous as this.

"You like me?" I repeat, sounding a little girl.

He laughs. "Obviously."

"Good," I say, trying to sound as confident and business-like as he does. "It's always good to know when a feeling is mutual."

"Isn't it," he agrees, raising his glass to me as if I had made a toast.

"But that is exactly why I'd like to know more about you," I keep pressing. "Because I like you."

He nods. "Understandably."

I roll my eyes. How can he be so 'understanding' and not be able to give me any satisfying answers at the same time?

Of course, my gesture does not go unnoticed by him.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?"

Damn. The tone of his voice changed completely. I am in trouble.

Sweet, sweet trouble.

"Yes," I say defiantly. "Yes, I rolled my eyes at you, because you are so withdrawn - and stubborn!"

He narrows his eyes.

"Get up," he hisses. "Now."

I pout. If he is refusing to give me what I want, I will at least make him fight for my submission a little harder today. Under normal circumstances, I would jump up from my chair immediately, not second-guessing my obedience to him.

But not today. His reluctance stirred a bratty attitude inside of me that is new, even to myself.

"No," I say.

He jumps up with such abruptness that his chair knocks over behind him.

I flinch in surprise and look up at him, my eyes wide with fear. Even while we were playing, I have never seen him this serious, almost mad. I have never seen him move this fast and with such unpredictability.

My pulse races to the point that it completely overshadows my hearing. I can literally hear my fear.

He dashes over to my side of the table. I expect another command for me to get up from my chair - but he has no forbearance left.

Instead, he grabs my hair at the back of my head and pulls me up.

I cry out and try to protest, but just for a second. My chair knocks over as well when he pulls me closer to him with no consideration of the pain he is causing me.

He pulls my head back, forcing me to look up at him. My face distorts from the position and pain his pull is causing, but I still manage to maintain eye contact with him.

He leans down, his stern face getting so close to mine that our noses almost touch.

Fury burns in his dark eyes.

"No, huh," he repeats. "You roll your eyes at me, and then you refuse to obey when I tell you to do something. Do you think that is the correct way to behave?"

I squint at him.

"Obviously," I breathe. "I wouldn't do it otherwise now, would I?"

He frowns. I can see the machinery working behind his forehead. For the first time since I have met him, Cedric Crow appears unsure of what to do.

Strong or not, when he turned dominant on me, I have usually been quick to comply. There may have been hesitation or confusion about what he asked from me - but today is the first time he has to deal with actual back talk from me.

I cannot wait to see what he comes up with. This feels like a triumph, despite my awkward position.

He yanks my hair again, pulling my head back even further than it was before. Tears roll down my cheeks. The stiff posture and the constant strain on my scalp hurt more with every moment that passes.

"You're in trouble," he hisses. "I’m giving you one last chance to apologize for your behavior."

I deform my face into what I hope looks like a smug grin. "Or else?"

He groans with anger and takes a few steps back from the table, pulling me with him. I sigh with relief when he lets go of my hair, but the feeling does not last long.

He grabs my shoulders and turns me around so that I am standing with my back towards him facing the city beneath us. Then he starts undressing me by literally ripping my clothes from my body.

I always wear a dress or a skirt when I go to see him because I know that is what he likes on me. Coincidentally, today I am wearing the dress he gave to me during our first weekend together. The light summer dress that has become one of my favorites.

There are buttons at the front of it, and I wail when I notice two of them jumping off as he yanks the dress off of my body. I would care less if it was just any dress, but this one is special to me because he gave it to me.

My eyes follow the buttons as they dance across the floor while he pulls the dress down my shoulders. I hear tearing when he pulls it down over my hips taking my underwear with him.

"Careful!" I cry out, mourning the death of my favorite dress.

"Shut up!" he yells back at me, accompanied by a harsh slap on my naked behind.

I stumble out of the clothes around my feet as he grabs me by the hair again and pulls me aside. He pulls me close to him, pressing my almost naked body against his costly suit while he reaches around to open the hooks of my bra.

Even with his brute and rash motions, I still enjoy his proximity. I close my eyes and take in his incredible smell for the short moment that it takes him to remove my bra.

He pushes me away, standing about two feet away from me as I try to regain composure and withstand his gaze.

"Turn around," he orders.

I narrow my eyes and look up at him, still determined to defy his commands.

But before I can verbalize my defiance, he dashes forward and grabs my upper arm, pulling me further away from the dining table.

My heart leaps with shock when I realize that we are moving towards the balustrade, me stumbling next to him like a little child.

The balustrade is built out of thick bricks and rather high, thank God. He places me in front of it, turning my back to him. The illuminated city stretches beneath me, still scarily close, despite the thick wall in front of me.

Then he bends me over. I instinctively support myself with both hands on the balustrade, but shriek out with fear as the abyss appears to come so much closer than before.

He places one of his hands on my lower back and pushes me down a little further, forcing me to hollow my back and lift my ass up to him.

"Spread your legs," he commands.

I smirk. He should know by now that I am not in the mood to listen to verbal commands today.

He groans with fury, and before I know it, I can feel his hand between my legs, forcefully pinching the skin at the inside of my upper thighs.

I yelp and move my legs apart, but not enough it seems. He adds a slap on each side, causing me to move my feet further apart.

For seconds that feel like an eternity, I stay in that exact position, supporting myself on the balustrade, with my back hollowed, my ass facing up and my legs spread apart. Naked and exposed.

The vulnerability that comes with this position causes me to shiver and pant. I can't hear him behind me and don't even know if he is still standing there, observing me. Or if he just walked away. He has a tendency to move as quiet as a wildcat and could be anywhere right now.

As defiant as I am trying to be, I don't dare to move or turn around to look for him. Instead, I wait.

Then I do hear him. Slow and steady steps that move closer behind my back. So he did walk away, probably to fetch something.

I have a faint idea what that something could be, and what he intends to do with it.

"This is going to hurt," he warns. "But you brought it on yourself, you brat."

I am interrupted by the first blow before I can come up with a witty reply. I gasp, but don't give him the satisfaction of crying out. Not yet.

Unlike other times, he doesn't add pauses between the strikes but lets them rain on my behind in a consecutive sequence without giving me time to process the pain that each one of them causes.

I clench my teeth and groan, taking in every fiery cut that meets my skin. He chose the flogger, a toy that he has used on me before - but in a gentler manner.

Soon, my breath turns into heavy panting and huffing. My groans increasingly sound like whimpering, and the sweat that runs down my forehead is soon accompanied by tears.

But he doesn't stop. At this point, he usually would.

He continues to place blow after blow on my behind in a steady and repetitive succession. His motions don't change, but the pain does.

Each spanking turns into an atrocious sting.

It is too much. I can't control my reactions anymore.

Involuntary cries escape my mouth, growing louder and more desperate with each spanking.

The leather straps that cut into my tortured skin could just as well be knives. The pain is agonizing.

I start to hyperventilate in an attempt to deal with this unknown kind of pain. This is going to leave marks, heavy marks. I would not be surprised if they were bloody, too.

No one has ever done something like this to me, not even him. I can hear him breathing deliriously between the blows, and for a moment I fear that he might have lost it. That his anger at me has taken over, and he is beating me out of control.

The thought scares me.

My vision blurs by tears and vertigo, but I can still perceive the shimmering lights more than thirty floors below. I wonder if anyone down there can hear my screams. It is unlikely.

The intensity of his merciless hits becomes too overwhelming. My hands still rest on the balustrade, but my body convolves and flinches beneath his spankings.

"No!" I cry out. "Stop! Please!"

But instead of stopping, he increases his speed and grants me with an especially fierce array of strikes.

I start sobbing uncontrollably. "Please! Stop! Pleea-heea-se!"

I can't hold my position any longer. My knees give way, and my body slowly descends, as if he was hammering me down like a nail that is sticking out.

I rest my forehead between my hands on the balustrade and gather all of my remaining strength not to fall on my knees completely.

Then he stops.

I don't move but stay with my hands down, shivering and howling with agony. I can't help it.

"Please," I beg. "Please, don't..."

He is standing next to me and doesn't move for a while. I can feel his eyes on me as I fall to pieces before him.

My knees hit the ground while my hands still hang on the balustrade.

I flinch when I feel his hands on my shoulders. But his touch is tender.

Without saying a word, he gently pulls me into an upright position and back up on my feet.

I don't dare to look at him and keep my head low and my eyes closed.

The sobbing won't stop. No matter how hard I try to gather myself, my body keeps shaking and forcing me to wail and whimper.

Cedric softly turns me around so that I am facing him and wraps his arms around me. I can feel his heartbeat as he presses my naked body against his chest. He is anything but calm. Despite his controlled demeanor, his heart is in uproar.

He leans down and starts planting loving kisses on my tear covered cheeks while I continue to sob, only slowly calming down.

Just as I want to lift my head and open my eyes, he places his hand on my face and whispers: "No."

I comply and keep my eyes closed, only for him to blindfold me a moment later.

I thought that this was it, that this vicious spanking would be the only punishment I was to receive. But it seems that he is not done yet. Despite the gentle nature of his motions, I can tell that he is not ready with whatever he plans to do to me.

He withdraws himself from me, and I remain standing by myself, with my eyes covered and my naked body still shivering with agony. The ache on my behind still burns like a thousand needle sticks.

I cannot see him, but I know he is looking at me, observing me. He takes my hand and pulls me behind him as he starts walking. We are walking too fast for my own comfort, but I can't do anything but follow him because he has no consideration for my blindness.

The skin on my sore behind stings with each step I take. I cannot even imagine what it would feel like if I had to sit down right now. I don't think I would like to find out.

I am disoriented and cannot figure out where we are going at first. Until he stops and gives me a sudden push in the back, forcing me to fall forward.

I yelp in surprise, fearing that I might hit the ground. But my hands and knees don't land on the wooden floors we have been walking on but a soft mattress. The bed-like play area we saw earlier.

"Get on there," he hisses.

I lost my will to dissent, but cannot bring myself to reply with the obligatory "Yes, Sir". A subtle act of defiance that is met with another slap on my tortured behind.

I clench my teeth as I crawl on the mattress, waiting for further instructions.

"Should I make you lay on your back?" he asks. "I bet that wouldn't be fun for you right now, would it?"

That bastard. I bite my lip, withstanding the urge to give him a bratty reply.

"No, Sir," I bring forth.

"It would be more comfortable, though," he adds, making a humming sound as if he was considering the option.

"Please, it-"

"Shut up," he interrupts. "It's not like you get to decide this."

I remain in an all-fours position while he keeps standing behind me, pondering about what to do next.

"Alright," he concludes. "I'll be nice. We'll give your ass a little rest. Stay like this, but bend over, get on your elbows."

"Thank you," I breathe. "Sir."

"Good girl," he replies. More than ever, his words are like heart-balm. I hadn't even realized how much I craved to hear them until now.

"You should see it, though," he adds, while I am getting into position, lowering my upper body down onto my elbows and instinctively hollowing my back so that my ass faces up. "Beautiful. You look absolutely stunning. And the best thing is, it will stay like this for a while. My marked, little beauty."

I blush. His words make me proud.

I took it. I will have marks to prove it.

My pride is pushed aside by worry when he reaches for my wrists and ties them together. He fastens them somewhere at the head of the bed frame. I don't remember seeing something like a post, but there must be something there. He pulls at my tied hands, pulling them up to the front so that I am forced to lean down further until my forehead reaches the mattress.