Dorian sat back, ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. Nothing worthwhile ever was. Although he was a billionaire, at heart he was still a computer software designer, which made him well aware of glitches and the difficulty in achieving a desired end result.
Malachi may have backed his first ventures with his vast wealth, but it was he who’d brought his vision and unique software to the world.
He leaned back and began typing on his laptop, his fingers moving at impossible speeds. He worked on an extremely complex program to clear his mind for a few hours.
He sent a quick text message to Ian telling him to text Jennifer at noon. Mostly, he told him exactly what to say. Of course, that wasn’t always possible. If she replied, Ian was told to improvise. The man knew him well enough. The text was a necessity. After all what would she think if he simply dropped off the face of the earth every day, coming back to her only in the hours of night?
Ian replied immediately.
Will do Mr. Taylor.
Thank you Ian,
Dorian texted back
. Get some sleep. I’ll not need you for the rest of the night.
It was going on 3 am. Ian was only human after all. The man was a God send to him. He took care of his business and personal needs.
Dorian stood up, looked at the Miami skyline and thought,
“Like a moth to the flame.”
But who was the moth and who was the flame? He and Jennifer’s relationship was as irresistible as the flame to the moth. And just as dangerous.
Ch
apter 16
Jennifer was not having a good day at work. She was completely exhausted. She’d been tired a lot lately and the last three nights with Dorian didn’t help. She was not used to being up until all hours or the intense nature of their love-making, or fucking as he called it. She blushed, thinking of the blunt, yet seductive way he told her what he wanted to do with her
She thought of his eyes. They were so intense and exotic, his mouth, his voice, his touch and on and on it went.
God!
She was exhausted, and yet she felt her sex throb, her body tingle.
She was lost in an erotic daze while Julie and the others chattered away about mundane things they’d done over the weekend. They’d already asked her how her weekend was. She’d told them very little.
“Girl, you look like hell,” Julie had said when she came in.
“Thanks. I’m not feeling so great today.”
“Anything we can do? A cup of tea, ginger-ale maybe?” Suzanne asked with concern.
“No. It’s just a bad headache. I’ll be fine. I didn’t get any work done this weekend. I’ve got so much to do.” She sighed. “I hope you won’t think I’m rude, but I really don’t feel much like talking. I’m just going to try to get through the day.”
The girls left her alone. She was thankful for it. They’d all had their share of days like these and didn’t take it personally when one of them didn’t want to be bothered.
At noon, she heard the jingle of her cell, indicating she had a text message. She picked it up as fast as she could; hoping Mr. Marshall hadn’t heard it. She was already on his shit list today as it was for being behind on her work after just having three days off.
“Was that a cell phone I just heard?” Jennifer peered up. Mr. Marshall was standing directly in front of her desk, looking down at her with a malignant frown.
The room grew quiet. The others stopped typing, photo-copying and talking. You could literally hear a pin drop.
“Um . . . yes.”
“I’ve told you ladies time and time again to shut your frigging cell phones off when you come in this office. I don’t pay you to text your friends back and forth all damn day long.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not, Reese. If you don’t have enough to do, I can give you more. Oh, and don’t you dare come in here again looking like you’ve just been fucked. Straighten yourself up.” He glared at the others “Well? The shows over. Get back to work.” He walked back to his office, leaving the door open this time. Probably so he could listen to them and catch them saying something about him. He obviously enjoyed humiliating people.
“Asshole,” Julie muttered under her breath.
No one else spoke.
Jennifer glanced down, anxious to read the text, knowing it was from Dorian. She had to answer him quickly. He expected it of her. She clicked on messaging. Sure enough, there was a text from him.
Hope your day is going well. In dreadfully dull meetings all day. I look forward to seeing you. Giving some thought as to what I shall do with you tonight. Text you at 8:00 tonight. Make sure you answer. Love, Dorian.
Jennifer forgot her headache and crappy job for the moment. Just what would he do with her tonight? She knew what she wanted to do with him. She was continually amazed by her reaction to the man. He was awakening her sexuality, but it was much more than that.
She remembered last night, having fun with him on the motorcycle, their talk on the beach and when he’d actually
laughed
and said she was killing him when she’d asked for a passionate kiss good night. She didn’t mind the dark, brooding, simmering sexuality of him and didn’t mind that he was a little demanding. But, last night, he’d shown her a different side, a playful side and she liked that.
She texted back:
My day is going shitty to speak plain. I got reamed out by my boss for this text. We’re not allowed to have our cells on. Here is my e-mail address at the office. Please send me messages that way if you don’t mind of course, Mr. Taylor.
She added a smiley face, hoping he wouldn’t think she was ordering him around. She didn’t think he’d take kindly to it.
She hit send and waited. No response. Ten minutes went by and still no reply.
Shit, I’ve pissed him off!
She felt a stab of fear.
Why
would you be afraid of a man you have feelings for, unless you think he’s an abusive bastard?
Ms. Prudinsky threw her two cents worth in. Bitch.
Then it dawned on her. She pulled up her e-mail and there it was; an e-mail from Dorian Taylor, CEO, Taylor and Van Ness Inc.
______________________________________________________
It’s about time you checked your e-mail.
Y
ou asked me not to text you. Your wish is my command.
P.S. And no, I’m not angry with you.”
Signed: Dorian Taylor
(Not quite the inconsiderate ass you think
I am.)
She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at the way he’d known she’d wait for his text, knowing she didn’t always get things right away. Again, he’d surprised her.
When five o’clock came around she filed out with the other girls. She knew she should stay, but her head ache had become a full blown migraine. Of course, she’d have to work late for the next few nights and complete work that was time sensitive.
“Hope you feel better,” her co-workers said.
She thanked them and walked home. Once inside, she kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch, her arm across her eyes. The throbbing in her head continued. With enormous effort, she got up, took two Excedrin migraine tablets and grabbed a piece of cheese and a cold face cloth.
After scoffing down the food, she collapsed on the couch, putting the cold cloth across her forehead and pulled her afghan around her. She wasn’t very hungry. These headaches made her nauseous as well. She’d sleep it off. That was the only way to be rid of it.
Dorian would be texting her in three hours. Hopefully, the pounding in her head would subside. Even through the pain, she anticipated being with him.
Unfortunately, her sleep was anything but peaceful. She dreamed of a dark dingy room, a place which looked like some sort of medieval dungeon. She saw a woman standing in the room, her arms in the air, her wrists shackled and above that, chains attached to a ceiling. She saw and heard the loud crack of a whip as it lashed the woman’s back. Saw the marks it left. She didn’t see who held it, but the whip itself was a dark color and ominously thin and lethal.
As the lashing continued, the marks began to bleed! Why did it seem as if her body moved
toward
the whip instead of away from it? And whose hand held that horrid thing?
She woke up gasping for air and soaked with sweat. A thought broke through her befuddled mind. Sometimes dreams had hidden meaning, important messages the subconscious was trying to bring to the surface. How could such a horrible nightmare hold any significance to her?
She got up, went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Still, she kept seeing the disturbing image.
Bits and pieces of a memory were coming back to her. She remembered the night at the masked ball and those private rooms, the people coming out of those rooms appearing dazed. Others had marks and bruises on them. Not huge injuries, but then again, they’d been fully dressed when they’d emerged from them.
She thought of how domineering Dorian could be, how he ordered her to do certain things during sex. He’d also said he didn’t want her to be completely submissive to him; that he’d had enough of that. He wanted her to look him in the eye. Dominants didn’t want that. But then again, he’d demanded she look in his eyes at all times. That
was
dominant behavior. It almost slipped by her. And what about his saying he’d had enough of that sort of thing? In order to have enough of something, you’d had to have experienced it.
I like adventurous sex
.
She’d forgotten about that comment as soon as he’d touched her.
Was he some sort of sexual deviant? Perhaps even a sadist? Please don’t let it be true!
She wasn’t very street smart, but she wasn’t an idiot either, she just lacked common sense a lot of the time.
Her parents had joked about it many times. “You may be as smart as they come, but you have no common sense.”
She’d taken many psychology courses while at Colby. She remembered the semester they’d spent on Abnormal Psychology. One of the subjects covered was deviant sexual behaviors, which included the study of voyeurism, fetishism, Bondage and Discipline, Sadism and Masochism.
She went to find that book. There was a volume of information on the subject and she
’d been the type of student who’d taken meticulous notes.
She glanced quickly at the clock, 7:30 pm. Shit! She didn’t have much time. Her notes were neatly labeled in composition binders on the bookshelf. She found what she was looking for right away and speed read her notes, skipping the sections on other sexual deviance and maladaptive behaviors until she reached the one with the heading:
BDSM Behaviors and Perspectives.
The book described heavy and light dominance and the difference between the two, as well as the perspectives on ways to deal with these activities when they were truly detrimental to the participants.
She read the light stuff first.
For some people, inflicting and receiving pain is incorporated into sexual activity using only mildly painful acts, such as biting, nipping, light spanking and hair pulling.
Jesus! They’d done those things, except the spanking and she’d liked them.
She took a deep breath. Thinking back, she didn’t really see anything wrong with what they’d done. However, that wasn’t what she was concerned with. Was that only the beginning? Was he
drawing her into the world of hard-core BDSM by starting out with light stuff?
According to her notes, both sexual sadism and masochism were
chronic
conditions. Meaning the subject couldn’t change. These people went way beyond mild pain and couldn’t enjoy sex any other way. For the sadist, they needed to inflict pain or humiliate others in order to achieve orgasm.
Although, some clinicians believed the roots of these behaviors began in childhood and many study subjects admitted having fantasies of being bound, raped and tortured from an early age
, there was no real answer for the cause of it. A sizable number of test subjects, while not sexually abused, felt emotionally abused as children.
These
sexual sessions can be brutal enough to result in serious injury and even death
. Death? Holy fuck!
As she read about Masochistic behavior, she knew she was
n’t like that at all. She didn’t want to be humiliated and abused. She wanted to be loved.