Forbidden To Say No - The Billionaire's Plaything (An Erotic Romance Novel) by Ashley Spector
Authors: Ashley Spector
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legs, and anxiously skirt them along the tentative, goose-pimpled skin of my thighs, the manic question reverberates around my mind: what the fuck am I doing!?
He doesn't say anything more; he knows he doesn't have to. He just watches me with lecherous eyes, enjoying the power he apparently has over me. I've never felt like this before; compelled by a higher authority, unable the face the prospect of disappointing my new employer, and driven by the rush of nerves this whole experience brings me. I put my index fingers to the hips of my underwear, and picking my butt up from the chair whilst pretending to adjust my seating, slide them to my upper thighs, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. My heart pounds away inside my chest - my fingers and toes tingling with anxious, nervous tension - as I push them to my knees, and down to the floor below.
He looks back to the menu as I step out of them, signaling the presence of someone behind me. I quickly pull my blue dress back down to my knees, feeling a gentle draft of cold air upon my moistened vulva beneath. I can see from the look on his face - stern, and dutiful somehow - that it won't be enough for him.
"Why don't you show me just how committed you really are?" he asks, exciting a simultaneous twinge of excited nerves within me, "why don't you touch yourself?"
My jaw hangs agog, and my face quickly climbs to a crimson red, radiating heat from every pore. I knew he was going to put me through my paces; after this morning's events, I sure knew I wasn't coming here to bake girl scout cookies, but hearing him utter those words make it sound so much more real ! In my head I cycle through a stock selection of rejections - hell no, I'm not that kind of girl, that's cheap , etc - but of course, my mind isn't exactly in control right now. He is.
I close my eyes, blotting out all accusing stares from the non-existent restaurant-goers nearby, and put both my hands back beneath the table, finding my inner thigh - almost ticklish to the touch - before tracing a finger along my skin, up to my awaiting and impatient pussy.
I hear him take another sip of wine, undoubtedly enjoying what he sees, as I find my clitoris already engorged and impetuously demanding my attention, standing out from between my lips. I circle a fingertip upon it, slowly, feeling the blood rush around my body sumptuously, and the tides of nerves within me slowly dissipating. When I open my eyes, I see exactly what I expected; Daniel sitting quietly and calmly, watching me intently, the side of his lips contorting in a smug, knowing grin.
I'm startled when the waiter glides up to us, smiling graciously, apparently and thankfully unaware of the salacious things his boss is making me do.
"You know, I think we'll skip dinner for a bit" he tells the waiter, folding the menu and placing it in his arms. "I'm not hungry yet. Are you?"
I shake my head, trying to ignore the fact my damp panties are still lying on the floor down there. The waiter departs, and we're all alone again.
"How about I show you around," Daniel says, with a sly grin. All I can think about is how high his gorgeously jagged cheekbones ride in his face when he's satisfied. "I have an office upstairs. I think you'll want to see it."
I nod, silently, and subserviently. He climbs to his feet, bathing me in shadow, and breezing one of the candle flames out with his action. Extending a hand to me, he lifts me from my seat genially, and ignores my antsy glances beneath the table, to where the last layer of resistance protecting me from this rich and raucous billionaire lies, abandoned. I can't believe this; I feel like the girl who got the golden ticket, like this entire day's events have been just one delirious, fevered dream. A few days ago I was rehearsing lines for TV commercials, now I'm dining with the most powerful man in Hollywood?
He leads me through a set of double doors, and to an ornate staircase - dark brown, mahogany wood,
He doesn't say anything more; he knows he doesn't have to. He just watches me with lecherous eyes, enjoying the power he apparently has over me. I've never felt like this before; compelled by a higher authority, unable the face the prospect of disappointing my new employer, and driven by the rush of nerves this whole experience brings me. I put my index fingers to the hips of my underwear, and picking my butt up from the chair whilst pretending to adjust my seating, slide them to my upper thighs, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. My heart pounds away inside my chest - my fingers and toes tingling with anxious, nervous tension - as I push them to my knees, and down to the floor below.
He looks back to the menu as I step out of them, signaling the presence of someone behind me. I quickly pull my blue dress back down to my knees, feeling a gentle draft of cold air upon my moistened vulva beneath. I can see from the look on his face - stern, and dutiful somehow - that it won't be enough for him.
"Why don't you show me just how committed you really are?" he asks, exciting a simultaneous twinge of excited nerves within me, "why don't you touch yourself?"
My jaw hangs agog, and my face quickly climbs to a crimson red, radiating heat from every pore. I knew he was going to put me through my paces; after this morning's events, I sure knew I wasn't coming here to bake girl scout cookies, but hearing him utter those words make it sound so much more real ! In my head I cycle through a stock selection of rejections - hell no, I'm not that kind of girl, that's cheap , etc - but of course, my mind isn't exactly in control right now. He is.
I close my eyes, blotting out all accusing stares from the non-existent restaurant-goers nearby, and put both my hands back beneath the table, finding my inner thigh - almost ticklish to the touch - before tracing a finger along my skin, up to my awaiting and impatient pussy.
I hear him take another sip of wine, undoubtedly enjoying what he sees, as I find my clitoris already engorged and impetuously demanding my attention, standing out from between my lips. I circle a fingertip upon it, slowly, feeling the blood rush around my body sumptuously, and the tides of nerves within me slowly dissipating. When I open my eyes, I see exactly what I expected; Daniel sitting quietly and calmly, watching me intently, the side of his lips contorting in a smug, knowing grin.
I'm startled when the waiter glides up to us, smiling graciously, apparently and thankfully unaware of the salacious things his boss is making me do.
"You know, I think we'll skip dinner for a bit" he tells the waiter, folding the menu and placing it in his arms. "I'm not hungry yet. Are you?"
I shake my head, trying to ignore the fact my damp panties are still lying on the floor down there. The waiter departs, and we're all alone again.
"How about I show you around," Daniel says, with a sly grin. All I can think about is how high his gorgeously jagged cheekbones ride in his face when he's satisfied. "I have an office upstairs. I think you'll want to see it."
I nod, silently, and subserviently. He climbs to his feet, bathing me in shadow, and breezing one of the candle flames out with his action. Extending a hand to me, he lifts me from my seat genially, and ignores my antsy glances beneath the table, to where the last layer of resistance protecting me from this rich and raucous billionaire lies, abandoned. I can't believe this; I feel like the girl who got the golden ticket, like this entire day's events have been just one delirious, fevered dream. A few days ago I was rehearsing lines for TV commercials, now I'm dining with the most powerful man in Hollywood?
He leads me through a set of double doors, and to an ornate staircase - dark brown, mahogany wood,
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