The Girl Who Can't Say No: Bound To The Billionaire (Part One) (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novelette)

The Girl Who Can't Say No: Bound To The
Billionaire

Ashley Spector

Copyright 2013 by Ashley Spector

All rights reserved. Except for use in any
review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including
xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit
written permission of the author.

Published by Forbidden Fruit Press

Smashwords Edition

All characters depicted in this fictional
work are consenting adults. Any resemblance to persons living or
deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are
entirely coincidental.

***

A taste of things to come:

"Okay," I finally say between gritted teeth,
feeling myself melt under the pressure, "and what would I have to
do for you?"

I feel I already know the answer. I bat my
knees together, and try to ignore what feels like a growing
dampness between my legs, excited at the very prospect of being a
billionaire's muse. Now he doesn't hide it. He breaks out into a
beaming smirk that reveals to me almost every one of his impeccably
white teeth.

"Anything and everything I say, Miss Everett.
It's the best sort of working relationship there is." The mere
mention of the word relationship has my ears burning. I take a sip
of wine, finding the taste rather too bitter and fruity. I'd hate
to know how much he paid for it. "Of course, there would be the
necessary disclosure documents to sign, contracts, whatever. But
right now, I just want to know if you're interested."

The unhappy thought enters my mind; I know so
little about him. I mean, when you meet up with a guy, and consider
surrendering yourself to him, shouldn't you at least do more than
search wikipedia for his name? I'm just stalling the inevitable,
though, as I feign indifference, trying my best to present a face
of indecision. I know fully well what I'm going to do. It's truly
an offer I don't dare refuse.

"Yes." I say, solely, opening my mind to the
possibilities of characters he'd want me to portray for him, all of
them submissive, and all of them delighting in the opportunity to
give themselves wholly to their billionaire host.

"Good," is all he offers, sipping from his
glass quietly, in a demeanor no different from having concluded
some generic business deal. I sit nervously, tapping at the table
with my fingernail, before he continues; "then, do something for
me, right now."

"What?"

"Take off your underwear."

***

Chapter One

I watch as shiny beads of water drain from
the tips of my knees, running down the length of my pale thighs to
join the body of water below. When every bead of water falls from
me, leaving nothing more than a trail of glistening liquid behind,
I sink my knees back underwater, only to surface them again and
repeat the process. I'm time-wasting; pointlessly distracting
myself from the task at hand, but
whatever
.

After a few minutes soaking myself, dipping
my head beneath the water briefly, only to resurface to face
reality yet again, I reach over and grasp the thin paper pages of
the script.

Intended for Chloe Everett's eyes only - When
The Night Is Young - Pages 13 - 15

A set of lines I'd requested from some
Hollywood agency, with the intention of attending an audition next
week. Little did I know it'd be this
explicit
. Sinking back
into the waters, I hold the pages barely above the surface, and
scan across them with my eyes. This is the third time I've read it,
and it never gets easier:

Mike and Jessica lie together in the moonlit
grasses, naked, their clothes scattered around them. Slowly, he
raises a hand to her breasts, and runs a fingertip along her skin,
thoughtfully. She shudders in ecstasy, the pair of them struggling
to contain their teenage urges.

MIKE: I love you Jessica,

JESSICA: I love you too, Mike.

They're disturbed by the howling of a wolf,
but Jessica knows she's safe with him. He wraps his arms around
her, and their bodies become one.

MIKE: You'll be safe with me.

Jessica: I know.

I close the pages, holding them tightly
between wet fingertips, and shut my eyes slowly, basking in the
warm, sweet embrace of the bath water, and try to put my mind to
work. I can feel it - the moonlight upon my skin, the windswept
fluttering of grass blades against my body - and I like it. I
imagine hands on me, caressing my skin, feeling the soft, fleshy
mounds of my breasts. I look over to see a faceless man - whoever
would be unfortunate enough to act alongside me in this role - and
immediately begin to feel the heat.

I try to recite the line to myself.
I love
you too, Mike
. Suddenly, my heart begins pounding, and I feel a
lump beginning to gather in my throat. My fingers tremble beneath
the water, and my cheeks start to blush. It's no use.
I can't
fucking do this
.

I toss the pages of the script onto the floor
beside me, and surface from the water, holding onto the sides of
the bathtub tightly. Why am I so scared of things like this? I
can't even watch a love scene on TV, it makes me so anxious. I jump
out of the bath, and begin to dry myself with a towel, excising all
thoughts of the script and the audition out of my mind.
Fuck
it
, I think to myself,
two auditions in a week is too many
anyway.
I have the one tomorrow, and I'll have to make it
count.

It's
the night before
. I truly hate
this feeling, really I do; knowing that the very imprecise actions
I'll take the next day will decide whether I eat for the next
month. There it is, that dreadful feeling that the tone, depth, and
manner in which I say a bunch of words clumsily printed upon a
sheet of paper tomorrow will dictate whether I have to beg my
sister to feed us yet again. God it kills me. Maybe I'm being
overly dramatic, but that can't be a bad thing. It's my business,
after all.

I've never been happy in my own skin. I know
that's something people say when they want to change their lives,
but I really mean it; I'm pale, and freckled slightly around my
shoulders, which roll unenthusiastically from my neck. I haven't
got the body of a fifties starlet; my breasts are too small for the
Marilyn Monroe look, and today's breed of permanently tanned,
ever-immaculate leading ladies would laugh me out of the room.

"What is this life, if it isn't
ours
to enjoy?"

Reciting some meaningless line of dialogue
from a soap-opera I watched earlier this week, it takes me a moment
to realize but I'm tensing every muscle in my body. I step
backwards, letting go of the sink before me, whilst still staring
into my reddened eyes in the mirror. My knuckles turn from white to
pink again, and I try to empty my mind, creating a mental image of
a tranquil plain. My calm place.

"What is this life, if it isn't ours to
enjoy
?"

Fuck, I don't look like I even believe what I
say. Holding my arms to my breasts, and squeezing the air from my
lungs in one last exasperated effort, I finally divert my eyes from
own pallid, naked body, and recite it one final time.

"
What
is this life, if it isn't ours
to enjoy!?"

My words echo around the tiled walls of the
bathroom, providing a strange and ghostly crescendo to my chorus of
anxiety. Of course, I don't think I'll get the part. I never walk
into an audition believing I'm the one for the role, because I'm
not. I'm the daughter of a lawyer and the sister to a law student;
I've experienced no life-affirming moments to draw from, and
suffered no more than any other struggling actress straddling the
poverty line.
Luck
seems to be the name of my game.

The part is a supporting role in a rather
hush-hush
movie; they haven't even revealed the title to me
yet, nor any part of the script. How do I know it's even going to
be a decent film? Funnily enough, by this point I don't even care.
Finding a supporting role in a big production studio's movie is
enough for me. The paycheck is a nice convenient bonus, of
course.

Again, without realizing it, I've leant
forward to the sink once again, clutching it tightly with trembling
fingers, and inch my face closer and closer to the mirror.
Bloodshot eyes, mascara beginning to run, and wet black hair
clumped up around my face in matted, uneven tangles. I should
really sleep.

"What is this life, if it isn't
ours to
enjoy
?!"

My only applause is the furious banging on
the wall opposite. I guess she's trying to sleep. Still, it's nice
to have an appreciative audience. I close my eyes, and take a deep
breath, gulping loudly. Come this time tomorrow, it'll all be over.
At least, that's the thought that'll get me through the night.

Chapter Two

Fuck, it's hot. I put my elbows upon my knees
and peer out of the window next to me, watching the heat rise from
the black tarmac car park in effeminate, dancing waves. The whole
room is bathed in a supreme golden glow, rifling through the blinds
in visibly warm shafts of light, and still doing nothing to ease my
nerves. I bat my hair away from my face with the back of my hand,
feeling the first beads of sweat begin to build upon my brow. It
won't be long until I have that nervous sheen of sweat upon my
face, and after that, the tell-tale make up smears. They're gonna
read it in me as soon as they see me; the hopelessly nervous,
anxiety-ridden mess. They're gonna eat me alive in there.

Shut up Chlo,
shut up!

I've waited here for thirty nerve-wracking
minutes, and agonized for sixty whole seconds of each. One by one,
I've watched different women of different looks, different races,
and different minds walk into the room beside me. None have yet
returned.

I clutch my fingers together, trying my
damnedest to hide my trembling fingers, shooting a quick glance to
the girl who sits opposite - blonde and curly hair, and an
effervescent smile, not to mention tan - who seems quite happy, and
composed enough to read a magazine. I fucking hate people like her;
how can she not be nervous at a time like this? At least, why
doesn't she show it?

I'm startled from my anxious bitterness by
the shrill cry of the receptionist;

"Alyson Grieves?"

The blonde jumps to her feet, giving me one
last smile, before neatly closing the magazine and placing it back
upon the coffee table beside her. She slowly, calmly paces into the
unknown, leaving the waiting room a lot less warmly illuminated
without her. I crane my neck from side to side, ironing out the
considerable nervous knots that have worked their way into my
muscles, and realize that I'm all alone now.

Relax Chlo, close your eyes, and find your
calm, tranquil place.

I do as my inner monologue says, and try to
relax, imagining a prairie, beset by glowing green grasses and
dotted with daisies. The sky is blue, and the wind is gently
lashing against my body. Yet throughout all of this, I can't erase
the memory of the heat rising from the ground, dancing prettily
before me, bringing me back to the same sweat-inducing,
nerve-wracking waiting room.

"Chloe Everett?"

Jesus
, that was fast. How long have I
been away from this world? I jump to my feet, swaying to-and-fro,
before steadying myself with a deep breath and a firm handle on my
hips. I try to ignore my beating, pulsing, deafening heart, and
slowly put one foot in front of the other, walking to the audition
room slowly.
Here goes.

"Hi Chloe," a soft, but stern voice says as
soon as I push aside the door, finding a sparsely-decorated room
almost as stunningly bright as my so-called calm place. "How are
you today?"

Three men, of differing ages, expressions and
builds, sat at a table at the end of the room. Oh yeah, it's an
audition alright. I find a comfortable place in the center of the
wooden floorboards, close enough for them hear me clearly and yet
far enough so that I can't see their displeasures without my
glasses. I open my mouth to answer his question, and yet manage to
distract myself by standing upon a creaky floorboard.

"I'm very - uhhh," I stammer, apparently
unable to handle both a simple pleasantry and a creaky wooden floor
without losing myself.

"Is something wrong, Miss Everett?"

I pause, hearing little but my own pounding
heartbeat in my ears, before looking up at my inquisitor;
sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a leather jacket. How the fuck does
he wear a leather jacket in this weather?