Sheer Punishment (Sheer Submission, Part Three) Read online

  So I slid off my robe, leaving myself naked and exposed under the lights of the gym, my body completely on display to him.

  “On your knees.” His voice was low, deep, the storm in his eyes still raging, even though his shoulders were thrust back, his chest puffed out, his body totally in control.

  I got to my knees.

  “Come to me.”

  I started to get back up, but he stopped me. “No. Crawl.”

  I began to crawl to him, naked across the gym floor, but every time I got close, he moved back a few feet, until he’d made crawl all the way across the room until we were back by the boxing equipment.

  He tilted my chin up, then pushed his finger past the seam of my lips. I sucked on it hungrily.

  He was still holding the tie from my robe, and he slipped it around the back of my neck.

  He waited a beat, like he was expecting me to stop him, to safe word. But I didn’t. I swallowed the panic that rose in my throat, and allowed myself to give myself to him. I didn’t know why, but in that moment, I trusted him. I trusted he wouldn’t hurt me, trusted that this was what he needed, that he wouldn’t do anything to me that I didn’t agree to or enjoy.

  “Take my cock out.”

  I reached up and pulled at his shorts, until his cock sprung free, bobbing right in front of my face.

  Jesus, it was big.

  He didn’t expect me to put that in my mouth, did he? I’d never had a cock in my mouth before, and I wasn’t sure how, exactly to suck.

  “I’ve never –”

  “Quiet,” he growled.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He grabbed each side of fabric that was around my neck and pulled me toward him, twisting the ends in his hand until the fabric went taut.

  Then he pushed the head of his cock past my lips, which had no choice but to open.

  “I’m going to teach you how to suck me, angel,” he said. “I’m going to teach that pretty little virgin mouth how to suck and lick and stroke until I come. I’m going to teach you just how I want it.”

  The feel of his cock in my mouth was an invasion, and my instinct was to move away, but my body was wired with excitement and anticipation, and my pussy pulsed with desire.

  “But right now, I’m just going to fuck your mouth.” He pushed into me, then, hard and fast, all the way to the back of my throat, so far that I gagged.

  I tried to move back, but he was holding the ends of the robe tie, not allowing me to. I was forced to take his cock, and he kept it there, fucking me, holding my head in place and bucking his hips, using my mouth to get himself off.

  When he finally released me, I collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

  I could taste his saltiness on my tongue, could still feel the hard velvet of his cock against the back of my throat.

  “Good girl,” he said approvingly.

  And then he was standing me, pulling me toward him and spinning me around so that my back was to him.

  We were against the sidewall of the gym, and I could see my reflection in the mirror, my lips swollen from the blowjob I’d just given him, my cheeks flushed, my breasts heavy and swollen with desire.

  Behind me, Landon towered over me. He stepped out of his shorts, and I watched in the mirror as he held his palm out in front of me.

  “Spit on it.”

  I spit on his hand, then watched in the reflection as he stroked his cock up and down, two full strokes, his dick seeming to get even harder, thicker, longer, if that was even possible.

  I closed my eyes.

  “No.” He slapped my ass, the raw skin burning where he’d belted me last night. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to see the expression on your face when I fuck that tight cunt.”

  He took the tie from around my neck, then raised my arms up over my head, twisting it, tying me to a hook that hung a couple of feet above us, a hook that was meant to hold boxing equipment but now held me.

  He grabbed my hips, and then he slid into me, hard and fast, not waiting for me to get used to him.

  I watched his reflection in the mirror, focused on his face, the look of surprise as he thrust into me.

  “You’re so wet,” he said, his hands on my hips as he began to fuck me, hard and deep, faster and faster. “You must like being treated like this, like a little slut, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His words were so dirty, so nasty.

  I loved what was happening.

  Me, wrists tied over my head, bound, completely at his mercy. Him behind me, his beautiful, chiseled body moving as he thrust into me, his tight muscles flexing with the exertion, the look on his face one of pure possession.

  “I’m yours,” I whispered.

  His hand tightened on my throat and he pulled me back toward him. I gasped as the new angle allowed him to get even deeper into my pussy. “Say my name,” he whispered.

  “Landon, I’m yours.”

  He thrust into me, deeper harder, pulling my hair and using it for leverage. My pussy clenched as I cried out and came, and he came at the same time, inside of me, groaning as he unloaded into me.

  Then he pulled me close and kissed me, hard and deep, and when he pulled back, he was looking at me in wonder.

  “Aven,” he whispered. “Jesus, Aven.”

  And that’s when I knew we were both in trouble.

  I showered and got dressed in the opulent main bathroom of the suite, while Landon showered in the other bathroom, the one further down the hall.

  The water was hot and steamy, a welcome luxury after the weak water pressure I had in my apartment, but it stung my bruised flesh. Every beat of water against my skin reminded me of him, of his touch, and I turned the handle and made the water a little less warm.

  The products in the bathroom were elegant and extravagant, packaged in rose gold with names I’d never heard of, like microexfoliators and dark pine moisturizers. I shampooed and conditioned, shaved and moisturized.

  I dressed in the clothes Landon had provided for me – a pair of dark skinny jeans and a black tank top, with a deep purple and cream checked button-up shirt over the top of it.

  Black leather knee-length boots completed the look, somehow managing to look rugged and sophisticated at the same time.

  It was the look I’d been trying to pull off last night, but now I realized there was only one thing that could make me look the way I did now – money. The fabrics were high-quality, the shirt like silk against my skin, the boots as soft and supple as butter.

  I pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail, then swiped on some lip gloss and eyeliner.

  When I walked back into the suite, Landon was there, wearing black jeans and a black sweater. Black boots were on his feet and a black leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders.

  He was on the phone, turned to the side, and I took in the strength of his jaw, the curve of his brow, the fullness of his lips.

  “Find out who she is,” he was barking. “I want her off the story, and I want her to never bother Ms. Courtland again. Do you understand? Call me when it’s done.” He hung up the phone, then turned to look at me. “Jesus,” he said. “You look beautiful.”

  I thought about protesting, about saying that I knew I wasn’t the kind of model or actress he was used to, but instead, I thrust my chin in the air and just said, “Thank you.”

  “Except for one thing.” He strode toward me, and when he was close to me, he loosened my hair from its elastic. He brushed it back from my neck, then traced a line down over my collarbone. When he got to the collar of the shirt I was wearing, he began to unbutton it.

  “This shirt is meant to be worn open.” His knuckles skated over my bare cleavage. I had on a black tank top underneath, but it plunged down in the front, straining against the cherry red push-up bra that had also been provided for me. Everything fit me perfectly. I didn’t know how he knew my sizes, or where he’d gotten the clothes. I was afraid to ask, because I knew he wouldn’t lie to me. And if he told me somethi
ng I didn’t want to hear, I’d be forced to think about whether or not it was a good idea for me to be here.

  When Landon was finished unbuttoning my shirt, he stepped back, the lust in his eyes unmistakable.

  It was hard to imagine me wanting someone more, and not for the first time, I wondered what would happen when this arrangement was over. How could I possibly go back to guys my age, to normal, ordinary guys? Would they touch me the way he did? Kiss me, take me, hurt me the way he did? There was no way.

  “So, did our flight get moved back?” I asked, breaking the spell.

  “We’re not taking the jet.”

  “Why not?”

  “The conditions aren’t safe for a flight right now.”

  “Okay. So, what now?”

  “We drive.”

  “Drive?” I frowned.

  “Do you have a problem with driving, Ms. Courtland?”

  I shook my head. “How long of a drive is it?”

  “Six hours.”

  Six hours. Six hours in a car with Landon Sheer. “Will Byrd be taking us?” I asked, remembering the driver from last night.

  Landon shook his head. “No. Just us.”

  Just us. The two of us, in a car, together, driving on back roads, to… what was it he’d called it? A remote location.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Would you like to eat breakfast?” Landon asked. “The kitchen can prepare and send up anything you’d like.”

  “What are you having?”

  “I already ate.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “You need to eat something, Aven.”

  “I don’t usually eat before ten am.” It was true. I’d always been that way, even in high school. Coffee was okay, but anything else and my stomach rebelled. It was like it was protesting being awake so early.

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged.

  “That’s not healthy,” he said. “You need to eat something. We’re going to be in the car for six hours.”

  “We’ll get gas station snacks.” I was walking toward the elevator now, anxious to get on the road. I was anxious to see Violet, anxious to see if she was with Conner, anxious about what we were going to find when we got to Vermont.

  And more than that, I was anxious that if we stayed one more moment in this suite, we weren’t going to leave. Because the way Landon’s cool blue eyes were lingering on my cleavage, on my hips, the way he looked in that damn black leather jacket, the way his hair curled sexily over his forehead, how it faded perfectly into the back of his neck…

  I worried we were going to end up naked again before we left.

  I wanted to end up naked again before we left.

  I forced myself to push the button for the elevator.

  “Gas station snacks?” Landon asked as we stepped into the elevator.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Or I’m sure there’s a diner somewhere on the way.”

  “A diner?” He sounded shocked, like the idea of him eating at a diner was completely out of the ordinary. “You can’t eat at a diner, Aven.”

  “Diner food is delicious.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me skeptically, and I liked this – shocking him, even if it was in just a tiny little way.

  “Stick with me, Mr. Sheer,” I said, giving him a wink. “And maybe I’ll be able to teach you a thing or two.”

  “This is the car we’re taking?” I asked a few moments later, when we were in the underground garage of the Belmont.

  “You have a better one?” Landon asked, holding the passenger side door open for me.

  “This is a Porsche.” My understanding of cars was extremely limited. I knew nothing about them, but everyone knew that a Porsche cost like, hundreds of thousands of dollars. And this didn’t even look like a normal Porsche. It was sleek and shiny and black (of course), the carriage sitting so low to the ground it seemed impossible a person could even sit in it.

  “Yes.” Landon held the door open wider, sounding slightly impatient.

  “We can’t take a Porsche to Vermont,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because a Porsche is… it doesn’t go on road trips,” I said.

  “Well, unless you want to take the Lamborghini or the Ferrari, I’m afraid you’re going to have to make do, Ms. Courtland.”

  I climbed inside.

  Jesus.

  This car was… insane was the only way to describe it.

  “Put your seatbelt on,” Landon instructed once we were settled in.

  He started the car and shifted it into gear.

  We pulled up the ramp toward the Midtown traffic, and the guard at the gate nodded at Landon before raising the bar for us to drive out.

  Landon was a sure driver, steady, and I watched as he downshifted and handled the gear, his hands moving in tandem with the clutch.

  He guided us onto the highway, and soon we were on our way out of the city, driving over the George Washington Bridge, watching New York recede into the distance, seemingly so small, even though being in the middle of it was extremely overwhelming.

  “You don’t drive the way I thought you would.” I pulled my phone from my purse and tapped out a quick text to Emma, letting her know I was okay and on my way to Vermont. I hesitated, wondering if I should add the fact that the reporter who’d shown up at our apartment wouldn’t be bothering her anymore, and to let me know if she did.

  Something about telling Emma that felt strange, though, like I was being loyal to Landon, like I was intertwined in his life somehow. I decided against it and exited out of the text screen.

  “How did you think I would drive?” Landon asked, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Fast. Reckless.”

  “Not with you in the car.” He reached over and placed his hand on my knee in a gesture of ownership.

  Hot desire burned through my jeans where he was touching me, and I looked down at his hand, big on my thigh, his fingers slightly splayed, and I remembered how they’d been inside of me. A shiver ran up my spine.

  I turned back to my phone and checked my email, scrolling through the messages.

  “Anything important?” Landon asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m looking for a job, but no one’s getting back to me.”

  “You should work for me.” He said “should” but his voice was more of a demand, almost like it was already decided. His hand tightened on my thigh.

  “I don’t have any tech skills,” I said. “I mean, I know how to code a bit, but my degree is in business.” Of course, he already knew that. “Once I get my MBA, it will be easier to get a job. But I need money for grad school, so I need a job first. It’s kind of like a vicious cycle.”

  “I need a publicity assistant,” he said, merging into the right hand lane with deft ease. “You did study marketing, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have my assistant set up the interview.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I know.” He turned and looked at me, his jaw set in a determined line, the tone in his voice conveying that it was settled. I wanted to protest – there was no way I could work at Sheer Multinational. Being at his company, seeing him every day? No, I wouldn’t see him every day, I decided. In fact, I might not see him at all.

  I would be a lowly publicity assistant, while he was CEO of the company.

  Still.

  There would be the chance of seeing him, if not every day, then at least sometimes -- a glance, a glimpse, his name on the building, every day a reminder of what he’d done to me, how he’d touched me and punished me and taken my virginity.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  On the other hand, it would be stupid not to take the interview, wouldn’t it? A real job, with a salary and benefits, at one of the biggest companies in the world, wasn’t exactly something I could afford to turn down.

  I didn’t have to decide now.

  I s
pent the next hour scrolling through job listings on my phone, submitting my resume for anything that looked like it could even remotely be a fit.

  Landon and I didn’t talk, but it wasn’t awkward. We fell into a comfortable silence, the satellite radio playing an R&B station with soothing, rhythmic beats.

  Landon drove, his hand firmly planted on my knee, burning me up, a constant distraction from my job-hunting.

  Finally, when we were safely out of the city and somewhere in the middle of Connecticut, my stomach gurgled.

  Loud enough to be heard.

  Oh. My. God.

  How humiliating.

  “Hungry?” Landon asked with amusement.

  “I guess a little.”

  “We’ll find something to eat.”

  I put my phone away and sat up, watching the next two exit signs go by before we finally passed a sign that said, “Fifties Diner, Exit Ahead, Easy On, Easy Off. Home Of Ruby’s Famous Pancakes.”

  “Get off there,” I said.

  “Fifties Diner?” Landon asked, glancing at the sign skeptically. “Could they be any more cliché?”

  “Most diners are cliché,” I said. “They make up for their lack of originality with their delicious baked goods.”

  “Baked goods? At a diner?” Landon looked aghast.

  Even so, he pulled the car off the ramp.

  As promised, the diner was right off the highway, and Landon guided the Porsche into the parking lot, totally out of place in the midst of the Accords and Corollas.

  Before we got out of the car, he reached into the backseat and grabbed a black baseball cap, pulled it on and tugged it down over his brow. In his black leather jacket, with stubble dusting his cheeks, he looked like a sexy bad boy instead of the control freak billionaire I knew that he was.

  He held the door open for me, and we walked inside.

  The diner was done in a fifties motif, of course – oversized red booths, black and white checkered floor, jukebox in the corner. It’s My Party And I’ll Cry If I Want To wailed from the speakers, and sure enough, a glass case of cakes and pies spun in front of us, showing off its tempting wares.

  The waitresses were dressed in white blouses and pink poodle skirts, and one of them brought us to a booth in the corner and set laminated menus down in front of us.