The Billionaire's New Piece (The Billionaire Temptation #1) (BDSM Erotica)
Read The Billionaire's New Piece (The Billionaire Temptation #1) (BDSM Erotica) Online
Authors: Chloe Kale
The
Billionaire’s New Piece
(Part
I of The Billionaire Temptation)
By
Chloe Kale
Text
copyright © 2013 Chloe Kale
All
Rights Reserved
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Stories by Chloe
Kale:
The
Billionaire's New Piece (The Billionaire Temptation #1)
The
Billionaire's New Toy (The Billionaire Temptation #2)
The
Billionaire's New Fantasy (The Billionaire Temptation #3)
The walls of the
art gallery were long and so achingly white that your attention naturally clung
to the myriad of hanging paintings. Of course, the building was designed this
way. That didn’t mean the wall didn’t bore me, however. This month’s feature
artist was a young woman from Chicago, who painted exotic skylines imposed over
cityscapes that she saw from her apartment window. They were beautiful, truly,
and I couldn’t help but be a little jealous.
I uncrossed
and then re-crossed my legs, fumbling clumsily around my pencil skirt. My
blouse was just as restrictive; I slid my hands around my slim torso, and –
since no one else was around at the moment, least of all my boss – I quickly
cupped my breasts, placing each thumb over a nipple. At least my tits looked
perky in this top.
I slung a
strand of loose auburn hair around my ear. Working at Jamieson Gallery, I’d
apparently traded both my sense of style as well as my flexibility for the
trimmings of the professional world. I adjusted myself on the chair again.
And why did I
always find myself stuffed into corporate clothing? That one was easy to
answer; I was Clarissa Drayer. I was merely the girl who helped showcase other
artists. The real artists. I was never the artist myself. Always a bridesmaid,
never a bride. Heh. My life thus far had felt stagnant and unfulfilling. I was
where I was, and I had no one to please but myself. And at that, I was failing.
I was just waiting for something powerful to come and excite my being.
I opened my sketchbook
(that I kept hidden in a compartment inside the reception desk in case my boss
came around – Mademoiselle Pia, an older woman, with a taste for young
men).
And the first
page I turned to was a self-portrait. Great. The only thing I had going for me
was my own looks. Somewhat. I’d always been told I was a pretty girl, cute, but
never hot. And never beautiful. My eyes were too big, and somehow, always
revealed my naiveté and trusting nature immediately upon meeting someone. Maybe
that’s why boys always took advantage of me. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t land a
boyfriend. And, just maybe, that’s why I’d never had an orgasm.
That’s when my
boss came strolling around the corner; I quickly shut the book closed and
placed it under my seat.
“Good morning,
Clarissa.”
“Hello,
Mademoiselle” I said. That’s what she preferred to be called. Sigh.
“You’re
looking a bit… tired? Do you have a brush by any chance? You should run one
through your hair, quickly. We have a very big client coming today.” She said
as she walked about the room.
“Oh, no, I’m
sorry I didn’t bring one,” I said, quickly running my hand along the top of my
hair. I knew what tired meant. I thought my hair looked fine, but every now and
then, I could be a little absent-minded in the morning.
“A big client,
Mademoi-“ I said before being cut off.
“Yes,” she
moved closer to whisper, “and with very deep pockets.” She backed away to
stroll around the room looking at the featured artwork, her stilettos clicking
on the black ceramic tiles of the floor.
We were
dressed quite similarly today, except that Mademoiselle actually looked the
part of a professional adult. I wondered, was this how I was going to end up? A
middle-aged sex-starved spinster, hanging on to the last of her good looks,
bullying around her employees? No, I’m only twenty-two. I still have
time.
“You might
actually have heard of our client. In fact, I’d be surprised if you hadn’t.
He’s the young Will Garrett, the founder of PEAR Corporation.”
I didn’t know
him. Damn it, I told myself to become interested in current affairs. “Oh right.
Worth a million dollars, right?”
Mademoiselle
laughed a short, condescending high-pitched laugh.
“No, dear. Try
billions. The man can step away and never work another day in his life, imagine
that. Just like myself, actually, if I really wanted to.”
Somehow I
doubted she was worth anything within distance of Mr. Garrett’s fortune, or the
fact that she would ever consider leaving the one place where she could boss
people around.
“That’s
incredible, M’oiselle. What time will his… decorator, or art-picker-person, be
here?”
“Please,
Clarissa, have some tact. Try to mask your incompetence a bit when he gets
here. Yes, he’ll be coming in himself. I was surprised to, so you’d better
watch what you say – actually, it’s best you don’t speak at all.”
“Yes,
M’oiselle.” He was coming in himself? I felt my chest flutter for a moment, and
I attempted to quickly fix my skirt and hair. Oh, there was no hope.
Mademoiselle was probably right; I should just try to keep a low profile. I was
only going to embarrass myself in front of the most powerful man in the city.
It was ten
minutes past the scheduled appointment time when Mr. Garrett arrived. The
moment he walked in through the door, the atmosphere of the room changed. He
somehow radiated power, and confidence. He took a quick glance around the room,
and since Mademoiselle had stepped into her office to double-check the
appointment booking, his eyes fell upon me at the reception desk.
He confidently
sauntered over, and removed his sunglasses as he stood before me. Gosh, he was
handsome. A chiseled jawline, thick lips that betrayed the hint of a bemused
smile, deep grey-blue eyes, and thick brown hair slicked back. When he smiled
for real, slight dimples formed in his cheeks. I kept my eyes locked on his
chest, afraid to meet his eyes.
“Hello, my
name’s Will. I believe I’m late for my appointment, and for that I do
apologize.”
He took a
quick glance around the empty room. Just him and me were there.
“I hope I
haven’t caused too much trouble.”
I fell silent.
My nerves took over. Instinctively, I fussed about my skirt, my hands sliding
down my thighs, as I regarded him. Okay, he is really handsome.
“The
appointment was under the name Will Garrett, if that helps at all?” His smile
widened, making him more attractive as he revealed a straight row of perfectly
white teeth. How can he be so confident?
I coughed
slightly to clear my throat, but still my voice cracked as I spoke. Damn it.
“Oh yes, we’ve
been, um, expecting you. I’m sorry for the confusion.”
“You’re sorry?
And why are you sorry, my dear?”
I had
misspoken. I had no idea. Damn it. I didn’t realize he would be so young – he
was still far under thirty. Twenty-six, maybe.
“No, I mean. I’m
not sorry. You should be the one. The one who is sorry. You were late.” I
didn’t know what I was saying. My Achilles heel; I panicked whenever I was
nervous.
“Too true, I
am very sorry. And what is your name?”
“Clarissa.”
He held out
his hand. I took it to shake it, but he pulled me forward slightly, forcing me
to meet his eyes. For the first time, we make eye contact. My chest shuddered,
and my thighs felt tingly for a moment. Somehow, everything outside of him
became static.
“Will.” He
stated his name.
“I… it’s nice
to meet you.” I pulled my hand away, and things returned to normal.
Mademoiselle
strolled out from around the corner, this time her heels clicked against the
tiles in overdrive, as she hurried towards our guest, her arms outstretched.
“Mr. Garrett!”
She embraced him with a hug that he did not fully return.
“It’s nice to
see you again. I was just speaking with your secretary, here,” Will said,
motioning at me.
“Oh, don’t
mind Clarissa. She’s a university student I hired just a few months ago.”
Will smiled
again, though he was talking to Mademoiselle, he kept glancing over at me. Why
does he do that? He’s so gorgeous, never mind that he’s a billionaire.
“Oh, it’s been
my pleasure, actually.” Will said matter-of-factly.
Mademoiselle
seemed to ignore that.
“Here, there’s
so much I want to show, come with me!” She motioned for him to follow and took
off down the hallway.
He took one
last look at me, smiled, and then walked away. I felt the warmth in my pussy as
he walked away. Oh god, why is he so perfect?
I don’t know
what came over me, but I had to sketch him. Right then, and there. I quickly
reached under the chair and snatched my sketchbook.
I drew the
outline of his face rather fast, as I didn’t want to forget how he looked like.
Although, how could I forget, truly? I started with his eyes, and quickly
wished I had brought color with me. I decided that I’d just color them later.
But could I find a blue just like the one in his eyes, or would I be endlessly
mixing blue and grey trying to capture them, just as they were? No, I didn’t
know. I knew then that this sketch would be an exorcise in futility. There was
no way a failed artist like myself could capture the radiance of a man like
that.
A man like
that could conquer a poor girl like me. I started to draw below his neck. I
drew the outline of his shoulders, his slender torso, and muscular arms. I was
drawing him topless, I realized. I can’t do this right now; I need to do it
when I get home. If Mademoiselle somehow saw this image, she’d fire me on the
spot for being such a freak.
I let my hand
slide down between my thighs for a moment, and felt the heat. Well, I knew what
I was going to do when I got home. I then felt my hair again, to check if it
truly needed to be brushed. Oh god. I pulled a pencil from behind my ear.
I’d had a
pencil behind my ear the entire time I was talking to him? No wonder he was
smiling so much! Damn it, I had sabotaged the encounter before it even began.
Good one, Clarissa. You’ve done it again.
I flipped past
several other sketches; fruit, the outside of my parent’s house in the suburbs,
a sketch of my best friend – a blonde girl, gorgeous, beautiful in all the
conventional ways – and then landed on the self-portrait I was looking at earlier.
Hang in there, Clarissa. You’ll grow into yourself soon, I hoped.
“Beautiful
portrait, Clarissa.” Will said plainly, suddenly standing behind me, as he
placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned down closer to inspect my sketchbook.
“Oh, no, it’s
just – an,” I stammered, as he laughed.
“It’s amazing.
You look wonderful in this picture, although I think you may be selling
yourself a bit short.”
No. He
couldn’t be serious. At this point, I was fairly certain he was mocking me.
“Well, it’s just
something I do in my spare time. I’m just an amateur. In every sense of the
word,” I said stupidly, as he placed his hand on the book, tracing his thumb
along my image.
“I don’t think
this is the work of an amateur. I think this is quite striking, I’d love to see
your other pieces?”
I pulled the
book away. I could barely turn to face him, as he leaned over me. Why was he so
handsome?
“Well, Mr.
Garrett. There really are no other pieces. Just a few doodles I keep at my
apartment,” I said, trying to end the conversation because of my nerves and the
butterflies in my stomach that were raging so hard, I thought I might see them
fluttering out my mouth any moment.
“Mr. Garrett?
I thought I introduced myself as Will,” he said, smiling confidently.
I blushed, and
intuitively straightened out my skirt. I remembered the pencil I had behind my
ear the last time we were talking, and silently cursed myself.
“Don’t be
embarrassed. I think you’re quite a talent,” Will said.
Where had
Mademoiselle gone? She wouldn’t want me talking to Mr. Garrett so much.
“Thank you…
Will. That’s very kind of you to say.”
“Hand me the
sketchbook, Clarissa.”
Every inch of
myself told me to keep the sketchbook away from, to keep him from seeing my
life’s work, my passion, but somehow my hands betrayed my mind, and they
instinctively handed the sketchbook over to Mr. Garrett. He was very
compelling, after all. Damn him for being so handsome. Damn it.
“Thank you,
lovely.” He said as he thumbed through the pages, his expression changing at
each image he passed. I could feel my pussy becoming wet as he looked through
my work; damn it, Clarissa. Keep it together! I blushed.
“These are
great, you should keep at it. I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw your work along
the walls in this gallery sometime, or perhaps an even greater gallery.”
“If there are
greater galleries, why did you come here?” I dared to ask. If he was going to
look through my private work, I might as well try to challenge him as well.
He merely
smiled.
“This is far
from the only gallery I’ve visited today. The reason I’m late is because the
last gallery I perused wouldn’t let me leave without painstakingly describing
the process of each piece I showed an interest in, however slight.”
Of course this
wasn’t the only place he had visited, you dummy.
“Have you
decided on anything yet?” I asked meekly, as he continued to flip through my
pages.
“Well, it was
much simpler when I had a designer doing this for me. But at least I’m having
fun.” He replied, not answering my question.
Mademoiselle
reappeared, heralded by the clack of her stilettos on the tile.
“Should we
discuss payment options, Mr. Garrett?” She placed her arm inside his, to lead
him away from me. As they moved toward her office, she looked back, staring
daggers at me.
I knew it; I
had overstepped my bounds.
Mr. Garrett
held up his index finger to motion for her to wait a moment. He took a few
steps backward, and gracefully handed me my sketchbook with a grin. I blushed
again, as I absent-mindedly put it on the desk. Damn it, I got lost in his eyes
again.
“Dreadfully
sorry for the holdup, Mademoiselle Pia. Let’s step inside your office, as you
said.” He said with his charming smile, instantly erasing the look of unease on
Mademoiselle’s face.
They stepped
into her office. I took a deep breath, and tried to settle the feeling of
lightness in my chest. I found my hand slipping between my thighs yet again; I
could tell my pussy was slick wet just from thinking about Mr. Garrett, and his
good looks, and his billions of dollars (though his money had made him
instantly appealing, it hardly seemed to matter once I had met him).
I was lost in
a daydream for a few minutes until finally, they emerged from the office. Mr.
Garrett confidently strode from the office to the front door, winking at me as
he passed.
“See you,
Clarissa.” He lithely opened the door and disappeared from my life. And though
this encounter had only lasted a few seconds, I was trembling.
Then
Mademoiselle sat on the desk next to me. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was
displaying a familiar look of unease and repulsion. She slowly turned her head
to look at me, her fingernails clacking much like her stilettos had been.
“Did he not buy
anything, M’oiselle?” I asked tentatively, scared of the answer.
She regarded
me blankly, and then shrugged her shoulders. “He’s commissioned a piece.” She
said, as the glass entrance to the gallery opened, and another client walked
in. Mademoiselle paid no mind.
“That’s good
then. From our showcase artist, or one from the archive?” I asked, gauging the
situation.
“From you. He
wants you to do it.”
What. The.
Hell.
“I’ve brokered
the deal. His secretary will be contacting me shortly with details.” She said,
as her client stood impatiently behind her, waiting for her attention.
“M’oiselle?
You… surely, there must be some kind of mistake?” There simply must have been a
mistake. Why would he choose me over our featured artist, or any other number
of artists in this city?
No, he’s a
billionaire, you idiot – he could have any piece from any artist in the entire
world. I could tell Mademoiselle was not impressed; she was jealous. And well,
at this point, I couldn’t really blame her.
“There’s no
mistake. He must have seen something in you. What, I can’t really say.”
Madamoiselle gave me one last look, and then finally turned to greet her new
client.
She notably
lacked her normal pep as she took the client on a quick tour. I guess the news
about Will had sucked the spark right out of her. I smiled, and suddenly
remembered my sketchbook on the desk. Mr. Garrett wanted me to create a piece
for him? I couldn’t believe it – this must have been a dream; if this was the
summation of all my life’s work, then so be it. I noticed the final image he
had looked at - the portrait of himself.
Damn it,
Clarissa, you freak. He knew I was drawing him. And now he’s commissioned me to
create his new piece of art, even though I’m such a weirdo. What the hell?
Could I really do this? I glanced one last time at the outline of his face and
body I had drawn before closing the sketchbook.
He is
gorgeous, though…
