Falling into Black

Falling into Black

By Carrie Kelly

Copyright
2012 by Carrie Kelly

Published by Eccentric
Erotica

Cover Art:

© Can Stock Photo Inc. /konradbak

(Formally
called Billionaires Prefer Curves and Curves Collared)

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This
ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to
share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for
each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved.

All characters in this story are made up by
the author. They aren’t based on any real people.

 I stood in line with the other girls
and fixed my pencil skirt, pulling it down toward my knees. Maybe I should’ve pulled
it up. It really depended on what they were looking for, and I had no clue. In
the back of my mind I couldn't believe I'd answered the ad. Mr. Dorian Black's
personal assistant -- the gorgeous billionaire who rose to power and fame at
just twenty-nine. I didn't have a chance in hell at the position, but Lord
knows I needed the money.

With less than five hundred in my
checking account, I had about a month before I lost everything -- my apartment,
my crappy car -- everything. This was my last shot besides working fast food.
And what girl with a degree in business wants to end up flipping burgers? I
hadn't had that kind of job since I was a teenager.

Damn the economy!

Looking at the other girls, then down at
myself, I felt woefully underdressed in my T.J. Maxx blouse and Payless shoes.
How did they afford designer duds like that? And maybe I should've done something
different with my hair, but a bun was the only way to contain my wild brown
curls.

Did it look too matronly at the base of
my neck? I should've gone for the red lipstick and not the pale pink. Sure it
looks professional, but it doesn't pop. I know fashion shouldn't really matter,
I was there for a job as a personal assistant, but the rest of those girls
looked way fancier than I did. Way more put together while I looked plain and
boring.

An older woman, probably Mr. Black's
gatekeeper, moved down the line of girls glancing at our resumes as she passed.
I smiled at her, and she stopped for moment, looking me up and down before
shaking her head.

"Alicia Jones," she said and
glanced at my meager resume. After graduating college last year I'd been hard pressed
to find work. Temp jobs here and there, but nothing permanent and nothing
impressive.

"Yes?" I asked and stood up
straight.

"Pass," she said and moved down
the line.

The girl next to me, a tall pretty
blonde, snickered at my misfortune. I took a deep breath and bit my bottom lip.

Don't cry Alicia. Not here. Not in front
of everyone.

Slowly, I walked to the table in the
corner and gathered my things before I headed for the door.

What a royal waste of time.
What was I going to do now?

Stepping outside of the boardroom, the
bright sunlight in the opulent hallway seemed like a cruel joke. The potted
ferns and fig trees that dotted the smooth marble floor flush with life, and
there I was not one step closer to getting a job.

Who was I kidding? This wasn't where I
belonged. A girl from a middle-class family in a high-class place like that? A
personal assistant to one of the most powerful men in the city? My parents
still had their anniversary dinners at the Olive Garden for God's sake. Maybe I
could get another temp position. At least something to make money. I'd get by
-- I had to.

I turned the corner in a rush, my mind on
my failure, and bumped right into someone. Of course he carried not only a pile
of important looking papers but also an iced coffee. The papers flew,
scattering across the floor. Coffee spilt on both my pink blouse and his fine
Italian suit, as we ran into each other -- my breasts pressing against his firm
chest.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered,
looking up.

Shit. This was not happening. Mr. Dorian
Black. I just ran into Mr. Dorian Black!

A frown creased his perfect brow; sharp
blue eyes staring me down with barely concealed annoyance. "I don't care
how sorry you are, girl. Look at the mess you've made."

"I know, Mr. Black. I'll, um, clean
it up." I fished in my purse, pulling out a pack of Kleenex and patted
down his suit, trying to soak up the worst of the mess. My hands trembled, my
heart racing a mile a minute.

How could I be so stupid?

He stood still as I cleaned off as much
of the coffee as I could. Crumpling the used cloth in my hands, I willed myself
to look at him again.

Sure, I'd seen pictures. Dorian Black and
his model good looks were a well-known fact. But up close he was breathtaking.
Long black lashes lined those impossibly blue eyes. A straight nose punctuated
by slightly full lips. Cheekbones that could cut like a knife, and dark wavy
hair that fell just passed his temples, tickling the edge of his suit jacket,
stylishly messy.

"I hope it's not ruined," I
said, taking in the fine craftsmanship -- the broad shoulders and perfectly
fitted waist of the suit.

What did his body look like underneath?
Why am I thinking that at a time like this?

For a moment, he didn't say anything. His
eyes traveled over my body, almost scorching me with the intensity of his look.

He probably thinks I'm so stupid. So
inexperienced and unstylish.

"Are you going to clean up the
rest?" he asked and motioned at the papers littering the floor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Black. Yes,
right away," I said and fell to my knees, gathering the papers. As I stood
up and handed him the pile, his eyes traveled down to my soaked blouse.

I knew he could see the outline of my
lacy bra under the wet pink material, and I tried to keep my head high and
fight the blush that crept over my pale cheeks. Too bad I wasn't tall and
gorgeous like some of the other girls applying for this position. But I
couldn't do anything about my petite and chubby body.

"Come with me, girl," he said
and turned on his heel, walking towards the elevators.

Great. Was he going to take me to
security or something?

But when we got inside he pressed the
button for the fiftieth floor. That high up? I wanted to ask him where we were
going, but the words died in my throat. He didn't look at me once, just
fingered through the papers I’d picked up, and my trepidation grew with each
floor.

Where was he taking me and why?

The doors opened and we stepped out into
an even fancier hallway than the one below. Huge windows overlooked the city,
the floor a slick black marble that was so shiny I could see my reflection in
it. He walked toward a pair of huge oak doors stained dark, and an empty desk
sat in front of them.

His office? No way.

"Come in," he said and opened
the door.

An expensive rug lay across the black
marble. Huge windows and pieces of abstract art framed the walls. A desk loomed
at the end of the room, the same dark oak as the doors, and Mr. Black leaned
against it and crossed his arms.

"Come here," he ordered as I
stood awkwardly in the center of the room, trying to look anywhere but at his
impossibly handsome face.

He removed his suit jacket as I stepped
toward him, and I noticed a coffee stain on his fine shirt and silk tie.

Shit! Alicia, you've really made a mess
of things now!

"Take off my tie," he said and
stared at me, his eyes like dots of blue flame.

"What?" I asked.

He motioned impatiently at the coffee
stain. "My tie, girl. And my shirt while you're at it. They'll both need
to be dry cleaned."

I stared at him dumbly. "You want me
to take them to the dry cleaners, Mr. Black?"

Without a word, he reached forward and
touched my shoulder, taking the thin cotton material between his slender
fingers. "This will need to be cleaned too. Machine wash or dry
clean?"

Heat rushed between my legs at his touch.
What the hell was happening here?

"Well? The shirt?" he asked.

"Oh right, Mr. Black." I
fumbled with his tie, loosening it and sliding it off his neck. Then I started
on his buttons, my fingers shaking as I undid each one. The whole time his eyes
burned into me -- watching me, judging me, and my body scorched under his
stare. Underneath the shirt his chest was bare, his finely muscled physique
smooth.

I can't believe I'm undressing Dorian
Black!

Once I pulled the shirt off his shoulders
and stood with it folded over my arm, I wasn't sure what to do. "Mr.
Black?" I asked.

"Your blouse is cotton, is it not?
Go rinse it in the bathroom," he said and pointed at a small door to the
left.

"Now? I actually should get going,
Mr. Black. But thank you."

A thin smile spread across his lips, his
eyes lighting with mischief. "What makes you think you’re going, girl? Go
wash your blouse or the stain will set. Then get your ass back out here."

Part of me wanted to storm out of his
office, it's not like I worked for the man! But another part of me -- a strange
new part I never knew existed -- wanted to follow his orders more than anything
in the entire world. As I fought to make my decision, his smile turned into a
smirk.

"Oh, are you going to be obstinate,
Ms. Jones? Do you want this position or not?" he asked.

"Wait, is this an interview? I
thought I got axed back there."

Mr. Black chuckled, showing his perfectly
straight white teeth. "Oh, Mrs. Anderson doesn’t know what I'm looking
for, but it's lucky I walked around the corner right at that moment, isn't it
Alicia?"

About a million questions rushed through
my head. How did he know my name? Was he waiting for me to leave the boardroom?
But none of that really mattered. I was still in the running. I still had a
chance for this job -- the job I needed more than anything.

"Yes, Mr. Black'" I said and
headed toward the bathroom.

Taking off my shirt, I noticed the coffee
stained my bra. But I couldn't really wash them both in the sink. So I settled
for just the shirt. After I got most of the stain out, I rang it to dry and looked
around. Now what was I supposed to wear? Or maybe I was supposed to walk out in
just my bra? Well, there wasn't anything in the bathroom for me to put on, so I
took a deep breath and stepped back into his office.

"Anything else, Mr. Black?" I
asked.

His eyes hovered over my breasts peeking
out of the white lace of my bra, the tops heaving as I tried to suck in my
belly.

Dammit! Why did he make me feel this way?
So hot and bothered.

Well, I guess it had been a while since
my last boyfriend -- but still. He might be my boss. I had to keep it together.

"How badly do you need this job, Ms.
Jones?" he asked.

"Very badly, sir," I said and
looked at my cheap pumps. Maybe if he felt sorry for me he’d give me the job
out of pity.

Yeah, right!

Mr. Black chuckled, his voice rich and
deep. "At least you're honest. You see, Ms. Jones, I need a woman with
unique attributes. A personal assistant willing to do anything to please me. Do
you understand?"

My cheeks flushed. "I'm not sure I
do, Mr. Black." Was he talking about sex? Was he looking for an assistant
to fuck on the side? I didn't know whether to be flattered or offended.

"You’ve already passed the first
test, Ms. Jones, would you like to move onto the second?"

My mind spun with the possibilities of
what this test could hold, but I didn't really have a choice. I needed this
job. So, I nodded and waited for his next command -- my body tingling with
anticipation of what was to come. Looking at his toned arms, the muscles taut --
his fit chest and slender waist -- sex with Dorian Black wouldn't be bad.

Not at all.

He motioned for me to approach, and I
walked slowly across the thick carpet until I stood in front of him.

"Take your hair down," he
ordered.

Prickling all over with excitement, my
panties wetting just at the sound of his sexy voice, I took out the band that
held my hair in place. It fell over my shoulders in thick chestnut curls,
landing right on the top of my full, heaving breasts.

Mr. Black smiled. "Good. Now open
the top desk drawer and take out the rope you find inside."

Rope? What was he going to do with a
rope?

But I couldn't afford to ask. Opening the
drawer, I pulled out the thick length. It felt smooth under my hands -- smooth
and safe. Weird.

"Set the rope on my desk and open
the bottom drawer. Pull out the paddle, Ms. Jones. Can you guess what comes
next?"

My cheeks burned.

Was he going to spank me? Or did he want
me to spank him?

I shrugged. "No, sir, I don't."

"Who among us has been a naughty
girl today?"

The room suddenly felt too hot. My skin
feverish, and sweat trickled down my back, between my breasts. The heat all
flowed toward my needy clit.

"Me?"

"And who needs to be punished for
being a naughty girl?"

My head spun. How did the room suddenly
empty of air? And why did I want to bend over for him? Bend over and lift my
skirt so he could paddle the hell out of my ass.